VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 90

[POV: Narrator]

The Ferrari garage was loud, but Andi barely registered it.

She was leaning forward against a waist-high container — arms folded on top, chin resting lightly, her gaze fixed somewhere across the bustle. The usual sounds of the paddock all blurred into white noise.

Charles stood beside her, trying to hold a conversation.

"You've been quiet since Italy," he said, not unkindly. "You still okay?"

Andi blinked, like the question had to travel extra far to reach her. "Hm? Oh— Yeah, yeah. Just... tired."

Charles didn't push, but his brow furrowed. "Speech aside, though, the announcement went well. You should see Twitter right now."

"That's good."

Her answers were too short. Too automatic.

Andi's attention was somewhere else entirely.

Across the garage — not even that far, really — Oscar was standing with a couple of McLaren engineers, half-zipped in his fireproofs, back turned to her. The thin black fabric clung to his shoulder blades, followed the pull of muscle down his back. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the curve of his forearms cut sharp by the lighting.

He was laughing at something. Andi watched the slope of his shoulders move as he did, how one of his hands combed through the back of his hair — still slightly damp, curling at the nape.

Her skin buzzed.

Her fingertips itched with the memory of touching him — bare skin under her palms, the heat of him close to her, the sound he'd made when she kissed just under his jaw. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard, trying to shake the images. It only made them worse.

Charles was still talking.

"You seen the photos from the dinner?" he said. "You and Oscar looked good. There was one with you and m—"

Andi shifted her weight slightly. "Oh, really? Cool."

"Right," he said, a bit too quickly. "Cool."

Her answers hadn't changed, but her posture had. Her spine straighter. She tilted her head just enough to keep Oscar in her periphery — watching him talk, seeing the shape of his jaw as he turned toward her side of the garage.

His hair had dried unevenly, messy in that way she liked. The way his fireproofs were riding low on his hips — revealing the slope of his waist and the start of his under-shirt where it bunched slightly — made something twist low in her stomach.

He hadn't even looked at her yet, and she was already halfway gone.

Charles said something else. She didn't catch it.

Oscar was coming closer now, being led by a member of the McLaren comms team toward pit wall. But as he passed — just near enough — he spotted her.

He didn't smile, not exactly, but once he'd seen her he didn't hesitate to come her way.

Andi straightened, too quickly, elbows sliding off the container as she stood tall and tried to look casual.

Oscar didn't stop walking, and as he reached her, his hand snuck around her waist, warm and confident, drawing her a step in without hesitation.

"Won't be long," he mumbled — voice focused, but undeniably fond.

Then he leaned in and kissed the corner of her eye — the kind of kiss that scrunched her nose up, made her cheeks twitch involuntarily with a ticklish giggle she couldn't swallow fast enough. Before she could say anything, his lips found hers, and then he was gone, walking off again.