Pit Lane Persephone

Epilogue

Wednesday, January 15 – Winter Test 1: Losail, Qatar

Seb wasn't kidding about not wanting to spend too much time apart, and this couldn't have made me happier. He came back to California for Thanksgiving then invited me over to his place in Rome for Christmas. We even spent New Year's together in the Madeira Islands, our relationship finally outed to the world by a paparazzi shot of us kissing on the beach with the headline: Fellow Racers On-Track for Romance?

It was an awful pun, but I tweeted it out to my eleven thousand followers, even adding a winking emoji. By the next day, the number had gone up to twelve thousand.

While I could use another few weeks to just chill, I'm excited to start a new season with a new team. My Honda already rides like a dream. It isn't better and it certainly isn't worse than the Ducati, but as I leave the sand-lined Losail track (seventy-five degrees in January? Yes, please!), I'm already pumped about getting back in the saddle for the next session in a few hours. Maybe it's just that I have more experience on the Japanese make from my time in the American series, but for some reason, it also suits my riding style better.

Handing the bike off to a tech at the garage, I tug off my gloves and throw them on a table, their Kevlar knuckles clicking against the plastic. "I need to run to the ladies' room. Be right back," I say to a trio of mechanics huddled over a laptop as I head for the back door.

"Tell Bianchi I said hello," Diego yells after me from a chair by the wall.

I'd like nothing more than to flip him off, but something tells me that my new bosses would not approve. I hate that this guy can still have an effect on me, even after we've supposedly made nice. Well, I'm not sure you can really call the results of a forced teambuilding exercise at racing HQ in Asaka settling our differences, but it was good enough for the higher ups. It's honestly just easier to ignore him, anyway.

"Nah. Don't feel like it," I mumble into my helmet before ducking out the door.

I rush three garages down while fiddling with my chinstrap, but run into Shane just as I'm about to head into the Castello pit box. It's the first time we've been face-to-face since Italy. He did take his own advice, though. Right after the New Year, I got what I guess would count as an apology for his behavior that day: Never did congratulate you. Will promise to keep out of your business in the future. I don't think he was trolling me, but I couldn't figure out how best to reply, so I didn't.

"Hey. How are you?" I ask, stopping in front of him for what will either be a massive fail or the next step in repairing our friendship.

"Ja, nee I'm fine thanks," he says before looking at the Castello door. "Going in there?"

I grimace. Of course we'd meet when I'm running to the boyfriend we literally fought about. "Yeah. Seb's about to go out—"

"Go on then," he interrupts. "I'll see you around."

He's already rolling past me, but I call after him. "I hope so, 'cause I missed your face."

Turning his head, he smiles. "You do you, Dimas!"

I breathe a sigh of relief and give him a friendly two-finger salute before entering the pit box in an even better mood. The engines of the 2Prix Ducatis are roaring, and I catch Seb just as he's about to pull on his helmet.

"You have a good session?" he asks, reaching for my waist and giving me a big kiss.

I wrap my arms around his neck. "Amazing," I say, inhaling his familiar scent. The musky smell of his aftershave still gives me goose bumps. "Oh, by the way. Earlier we talked about having dinner in the souq. Are we still on for that?"

"Yes, of course." He nods. "But Nando say he would also like to come."

"That's fine. Actually, he can help me pick out a rug for your apartment. Maybe I'll get one for Celia, too." I'm getting increasingly excited about finally have a willing shopping buddy.

Seb pouts. "You do not think I can help you pick?"

His offense is adorable, but he better not talk Nando out of coming in some sort of macho power struggle. "Of course I do, but Nando has a really good eye for that kind of stuff," I say. "Unless you know the difference between a kilim and a baluch?" I make my point with two of the carpet types I remember from my earlier web search.

"Bianchi! Dove sei?" The order to get moving comes clearly across the divider wall.

Seb shifts and glances over his shoulder. "I need to—"

"Right. Go," I say, not waiting for him to finish. I knew we'd only have a few minutes. After giving him a quick peck on the lips, I playfully push him away. "I'll see you after the session. I love you."

We both freeze. What. Did. I. Just. Say? We've never used the "L" word before, and I honestly didn't intend to say it now. It just kind of came out.

"Do you mean it?" Seb asks from a body length away as his face remains expressionless.

I go back to him. We've been getting along so well, taking things slow and just enjoying being together. While I haven't analyzed where exactly we are in this, I suppose I do. "Yes. Is that okay?" I ask timidly.

He smiles, and my insides turn to goo. "Of course. Ti amo anch'io."

Shit, that sounds even nicer in Italian. I give him another kiss as the words replay in my head.

"Bianchi!" The call comes again.

If we keep this up, I'm going to be banned from this garage so I step back. "Go," I repeat.

Picking up his helmet, Seb pulls it on mid-stride. It's secured by the time he gets to the idling bike. After he takes his gloves off the tank, he looks over his shoulder at me one more time. He's so freaking cute and sexy and talented, I can't believe he's all mine. There's an extra spring in my step as I turn. Hightailing it out of the garage, I run back to the Magister pits.

"All right," I say, sitting down next to my new chief engineer, still in the same spot poring over data where I'd left him. "Where do you want to start? Because the settings can use a lot of fine tuning, and I have tons of suggestions. If we're aiming to get me on the podium this year, we need to do a lot of work." From the corner of my eye, I see Diego smirk at my plans. Screw him. In the immortal words of Veronica from Riverdale, karma may be a bitch, but I'm still going to have the last laugh.

Pivoting the laptop to give me a better view and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Kazuki nods. "Excellent. Let's get started."

The End