Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Today he was reckless. Sloppy.
Scott frowned at the timing screens.
“That’s odd,” he murmured.
One of Ferrari’s strategists glanced up. “What?”
“Richter.”
The strategist followed his gaze.
On the screen, Cam dipped a wheel onto the dirty part of the track exiting Turn Six. The car twitched violently.
The man shrugged. “Everyone has bad sessions.”
Scott didn’t answer. Because this wasn’t one mistake. It was mistake after mistake. In Q1, Cam ran wide. In Q2, he locked up into a corner Scott had seen him navigate perfectly dozens of times on his simulator. Twice he abandoned flying laps entirely, barely managing to squeak into Q3.
By the start of Q3, Scott’s concern had grown into a sick knot in his stomach. The championship battle was too close for this. Hunter was just fifteen points behind. One bad qualifying result could completely reshape the title fight.
During the short break between Q2 and Q3, the television cameras zoomed in on Cam’s eyes, visible through his helmet. There was something dark in them. Something furious and barely contained. Cam looked like a man on the verge of throwing his steering wheel.
The final runs began, and everyone in the Ferrari garage focused on the timing screens. Hunter immediately found time. Purple sector one. Purple sector two. P1.
The Ferrari garage erupted in cheers.
Scott barely heard them. His eyes were fixed on Cam’s lap. Sector one. Messy. Sector two was somehow worse. Then came the final corner. Cam carried too much speed. The rear stepped out.
The correction cost him precious tenths, and when Cam crossed the line, he was just P8.
P8.
Silence settled over the Ferrari garage for all of half a second before the room exploded again. Hunter had taken pole while Cam Richter had just produced his worst qualifying performance of the season. The broadcast immediately switched to the championship standings. The commentators were already talking about momentum and pressure, wondering whether the championship leader was beginning to crack.
Scott barely heard them.
Because the cameras had returned to Cam, who was removing his helmet. And for one brief moment, before Cam noticed he was being filmed, Scott saw his expression clearly.
The sight made his stomach drop. Cam still looked furious. Furious and something else, his dark eyes glinting feverishly with something raw. The expression vanished almost immediately, replaced by the usual carefully controlled mask, but it was already imprinted into Scott’s mind.
It’s none of your business, Scott reminded himself sternly. Stay strong. He is none of your business.
***
Scott had just left Ferrari’s building and was heading toward the parking area when a hand clamped around his arm.
Before he could react, he was yanked sideways into the narrow service passage between the Ferrari and Mercedes hospitality units.
“What—”
The rest of the sentence never made it out. He was pushed against the wall and kissed forcefully.
Cam. It was Cam kissing him like he was trying to devour him, like Cam had been holding himself together by a thread and that thread had finally snapped.
“Cam…” Scott tried weakly, his mind quickly becoming foggy with want.
Cam kissed him again before he could finish speaking.
“Someone might see—”
“I don’t care.” The words came out rough and harsh.
Gathering all his willpower, Scott put a hand on Cam’s chest and pushed at it, breaking the kiss. His lips felt the loss immediately, but he knew it was the right thing to do. They were hidden between two hospitality buildings, but not well enough. People were nearby. Teams were packing up. Journalists were still wandering around the paddock. Any of them could walk past.
“You don’t mean it. Your career will be ruined if people see us.”
Cam stared at him with dark, feverish eyes. “Yes,” he said, cradling Scott’s face with his capable, strong hands. His thumb stroked Scott’s bottom lip. “It would be.”
Scott shivered, barely resisting the urge to suck it into his mouth. “Then snap out of it,” he said hoarsely. “People can’t see us together, not like this.”
“Snap out of it,” Cam repeated in a strange tone of voice. He gave a harsh chuckle. “You think I didn’t try?”
Before Scott could say anything, Cam leaned in for another hard, greedy kiss.
The intensity of it stole the breath from Scott’s lungs, but it wasn’t even just the kiss. It was the way Cam couldn’t seem to let go.
Every time Scott managed to create a few inches of distance, Cam closed it again immediately, his hands gripping Scott’s face, his waist, his hips, as if separation was unbearable, as if he needed physical proof that Scott was actually there with him. It did terrible things to Scott’s heart, making him so fucking weak.
“Stop that,” he tried again as Cam trailed his hot, parted lips down his neck and started sucking hickeys into it. God… Scott was gasping softly, his glazed eyes struggling to focus on the entrance to the passageway. People kept passing by—they were insanely lucky the passageway was dark enough that no one bothered to take a closer look at them.