VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 115

[POV: Andreanna Saunterre]

"This is your fault," I muttered through gritted teeth, low enough that only he could hear as we crossed the parking lot, my heels snapping against the concrete.

Even though Oscar was behind me, I could feel him grinning unapologetically as he reached to fix the top of my dress, pulling the zipper up the last couple of inches I couldn't reach.

"You said we had time," he said, voice obnoxiously smug.

"I said five minutes. Not— not forty!" I flailed, breath short as I slapped his hand away and finished smoothing the fabric out myself.

He then had the gall to grin at me.

Huffing hard through my nose, I spun on my heel and tossed his bowtie back at his chest as I went. He caught it midair, laughing now — not bothering to hide his smirk. His shirt was only half-tucked, collar skewed as he tried to fix it as we walked. "Forgive me for being confused! You complain about being late, yet you were the one who kept insisting I 'don't stop, don't st—"

I slapped my hand over his mouth so fast it startled both of us.

"You think this is funny?" I hissed, turning to him full-body, eyes wide.

He straightened immediately, shoulders pulling back like I'd barked orders. "No," he said — completely serious in tone, despite the grin still twitching at his lips, threatening to show. "Not at all."

I narrowed my eyes.

"I take full responsibility for the delay," he continued. "You are, of course, blameless."

His tone was dry, but his eyes didn't move away from me. It was the kind of look that should've made me roll mine, but, instead, it made me forget what I was saying. My mouth opened. Closed. I blinked, struggling to find the next scathing remark, but all I could focus on was the way he was looking at me, and how his face was still flushed from earlier, and how he was breathing a little too calm for someone who had just—

I shook my head.

He cocked his to the side. "Something wrong?"

"No," I snapped. "Just— just give me that." I slapped his fumbling hands away from the half-knotted mess he'd made of his bowtie and yanked it out of his grip.

He lifted his chin like it was a drill command, and I tied it for him in silence, tugging it tight at the end.

"Too tight," he said, scratching at it.

"Good."

Then his gaze dropped — somewhere lower — and narrowed.

He leaned in slightly. "Wait a sec... stay still."

"What?" I pulled back, ready to swat him with any given opportunity.

His finger hovered near my neck. "I think I might've left a—"

"No," I said instantly, hands flying up to cover as much surface area of my neck as I could with two hands. "No, fuck off, you didn't. Tell me you're joking. Oscar—"