falling for your enemy II Lando Norris

9. you fucked him?!

Lando's POV

I pick up my phone from the bedside table. 5:00 a.m. Too fucking early.

The room is dark except for the faint glow of the city lights peeking through the curtains. I turn my head slightly, glancing at Ashton beside me. He's sprawled out on his stomach, one arm dangling off the bed, his breathing deep and steady. The blanket is barely covering his waist, and his hair is a wild mess against the pillow.

If I had a nickel for every time I found myself lying awake next to a very naked Ashton Sidwell, I'd have two nickels—which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice. And, if I'm being honest, weird doesn't even cover it.

Last night still feels surreal. I can't believe I broke down like that. I keep replaying it in my head, trying to figure out why I let myself unravel so completely. It's not like me. I'm usually the one who keeps things light, avoids the messy stuff. But with Ashton? Everything feels different.

After, I told him it was too fast. And I meant it. Whatever this is—whatever we are—it's moving at a pace that has me gripping for the brakes. I barely know him, and yet here I am, tangled up in our bed, tangled up in him.

I glance at my phone again. 5:04 a.m. Time isn't flying—it's crawling. And my brain? It won't shut the hell up. I rub a hand over my face, debating whether I should just stay here and try to get more sleep or get up and clear my head.

The obnoxiously unnecessary glass shower in the middle of the room seems like as good a place as any to collect my thoughts. Ashton is a deep sleeper—one of the few things I've learned about him so far—so I figure I'm safe to slip away without waking him.

The water is scalding, and it helps a little. The steady stream against my skin drowns out the noise in my head, at least for a while. But even as I try to focus on the day ahead, I can't stop thinking about last night. About Ashton.

How the hell did I get here?

Ashton's POV

And we're off. Back in my seat next to Max on his absurdly massive jet, heading to Australia for my first Formula 1 race. My leg is bouncing, the anticipation buzzing under my skin. I've waited for this moment for years, and now it's finally here.

Testing went well. Red Bull looks ridiculously strong, but the other teams aren't far behind. Especially McLaren.

Speaking of McLaren... Lando.

We haven't spoken in three days. Not a word, not a glance. It's almost impressive how good we've been at avoiding each other, considering we were literally sharing a hotel room. But after what happened, I guess it's for the best.

The truth? I'm not even mad at him. It's just... complicated. Everything between us was so intense right from the start. I can't believe I let myself spill my feelings like that—like some lovesick idiot. And then there was him, breaking down after I kissed him.

I shake my head, trying to clear the memory. It was awkward as hell, and honestly, it's been bothering me ever since. I don't even know him. Sure, he's hot—like, ridiculously hot—but beyond what the world knows about him? I've got nothing. I don't know what makes him tick, what keeps him up at night. And yet, there's something about him that pulls me in like a goddamn magnet.

"Ash."

Max's voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. He's sitting next to me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"What's with the brooding philosopher act?" he teases. "You've been staring into space like you're about to write some tragic sonnet."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "Just thinking."

"Rare sight. It's scaring me," he quips, leaning back in his seat.

I let out another quiet chuckle, shaking my head, but the silence that settles between us feels heavier than usual. Max isn't the type to let things go unnoticed, and the way his eyes keep flicking over to me makes my skin prickle with unease. It's rarely awkward with him, but right now, it's as if he's dissecting me with his gaze.

He finally breaks the silence again, his voice a mix of confusion and genuine concern.

"No, seriously, you're scaring the shit out of me right now. Usually, you're blabbering nonstop about random nonsense, and now you're just sitting there like a kicked puppy. Honestly, I thought testing went pretty well, but—" He pauses, his expression suddenly lighting up as if he's cracked some secret code. His tone shifts, a touch of excitement creeping in. "Wait... WAIT... Ashton."

I immediately stiffen. "Uh... what?"

Max fully swivels in his seat, leaning forward until he's practically in my face. His eyes are wide with a mixture of suspicion and triumph, like he's about to call me out for a crime I didn't know I committed.

"Now, what the hell happened in that hotel room of yours with Lando? And don't you dare say 'nothing,' because that's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. Oh my God—did you punch him?"

He looks thrilled at the idea, like he'd be proud of me for socking one of his closest grid mates. The thought alone makes me scrunch my face in disbelief.

"No, I didn't punch him, Jesus Christ," I mutter, but my tone does nothing to reassure him—or myself.

Max's grin turns devilish. "Tell me what the fuck happened, or I swear I'll throw you out of the window of this jet."

I glance at the windows, my brain momentarily wondering if they can actually open mid-flight. They can't, right? Still, Max's threats are always unsettlingly specific, and while I'm pretty sure he wouldn't follow through, he's definitely not going to let this drop.

With a resigned sigh, I rub the back of my neck. "Fine," I mutter. "We fucked."

For a second, Max just blinks at me. Then his mouth falls open, and he lets out an incredulous laugh—loud enough to draw the attention of half the Red Bull crew sitting nearby.

"YOU WHAT?!"

"Hey, shut the fuck up," I hiss, my eyes darting around to see if anyone overheard. Sure enough, heads turn, curious glances aimed our way. I glare at Max, who claps a hand over his mouth, but his shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

"You fucked Lando Norris?" he finally whispers, leaning closer, his grin impossibly wide. "Ashton, are you insane? Do you even realize the drama you've just signed yourself up for?"

"Keep your voice down," I snap, feeling the heat rise to my face as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The sheer mortification of this conversation is threatening to overwhelm me. "And no, we didn't actually fuck. Like, not in the 'dick into hole' way—"

Max's eyebrows shoot up at that phrasing.

"—but yeah," I continue reluctantly, "we... got off."

For a moment, he just stares at me, clearly trying to process. Then his confusion morphs into a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "You got off? Like, what? A wank battle or something?"

I groan, dragging my hands down my face in frustration. "No, not a wank battle. Like grinding and kissing and... Jesus Christ, I'm not explaining this to you. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Max's grin only grows wider, the glint in his eyes making it clear he's having the time of his life at my expense.

"Mate," he says, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, "you're so fucked."

I shoot him a glare. "Thanks for the pep talk."