Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 18: Lauren (Part 2 of 2)

Seb picks up his glass and holds it toward me. "Prost, I think is how they say it here."

I still don't think either of them believes me, but I'd rather just move to another subject so I clink my glass against his. "Cheers." The first sip of the cool, slightly sour beverage reminds me of those kid champagnes, but with a definite kick. "Hmm, this is nice," I mutter before gulping more down. I must have been thirstier than I thought.

Taking several drinks of his beer, Seb wipes his lips with the back of his hand. "Germans know their alcohol."

"Agreed, but I'm guessing that's not why you invited me in here. To introduce me to German booze?" I shake my half-empty glass in front of his face. If I had been thirty seconds quicker in returning, I would have missed him in the lobby and could be tucked into bed by now.

He laughs. "No, but it is funny to already see you getting a little red."

I touch my cheek. The skin is warm against my cool fingers. "Of course it is. I just ran three miles."

"Okay," he says, pursing his lips and nodding.

"What?" With my sarcasm radar on full blast, I tilt my head and look him in the eyes. "Do you think I can't handle my liquor?"

He sighs. "Why do you think I mean something bad for you?"

I put the glass down before running my finger around the rim. If my face wasn't red already, it definitely is now. Seb was just kidding, so why am I reading more into it all of a sudden? "I don't," I say. "Sorry. I guess I'm just used to people always assuming I can't do things."

He touches my hand and leans closer. "And then you prove that they are wrong."

The brief contact is like a jolt of electricity, and I pull away. "I do my best," I say before drinking the rest of the cider. Seb is still staring, and I need a distraction so I slam the glass back onto the counter with a thud. "I could use another round," I say in my worst cowboy-in-a-saloon imitation.

"Wait," he says before also draining his glass. "Okay, I am ready, too."

"This isn't a competition." I unzip my hoodie and sit back in the tall chair as the bartender takes the empty glasses.

Seb also pushes up his sleeves and taps the counter like he's drumming on bongos. "It can be."

It's refreshing to see him let loose a bit. "And here I thought we were teammates." Feigning shock, I widen my eyes, but his demeanor changes. The smile disappears from his face and he scoffs. I can't imagine what he's thinking as he stares at me, looking like he's undergoing a great internal struggle.

"Yes, we are teammates," he finally says as the bartender delivers a fresh beer. "Also bring us three centis each of Schnapps."

I want to know what the hell just happened, but I'm caught off guard by the additional order. "What are you doing? That's like pure alcohol."

"If we are going to do this, we should do it correctly," he says, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Do what, exactly?" I ask, fearing the answer. What are we doing? And more importantly, who—I mean what—what do I want to be doing?

He picks up the shot glass full of clear liquid the bartender just poured. "We celebrate another successful race."

I wait for my glass to be filled before raising it to my nose. It smells fruity, but clearly alcoholic. "Wow."

Seb's undeterred by the critique. Holding the glass up for another toast, he looks me in the eyes. "To Gareth. You did your best to eliminate him in free practice, but the bastard won the race anyway."