Page 21 of Formula Fling

“Posey, come sit,” Lex says, motioning to the spot beside him. His smile is authentic and kind, and despite the tension in the air, I feel a bit of the pressure lift as I walk over and take the seat.

“Want a pint?” Lex asks, his words a little slower now. “I’ll buy you one.”

I shake my head. “No thanks, I’m good. But I’ll take water.”

“On it,” Lex says, standing on the footrest of his stool and leaning forward to get the attention of the bartender down the way.

One of the women snickers and inclines her head toward her friend, whispering something while looking me directly in the eye. Obviously, talking about me.

Ronan isn’t so subtle. He leans behind Lex, eyes me up and down before asking, “Is that like a journalist’s uniform? Jeans and a jumper. I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything else.”

His words are mocking, his meaning clear. I’m plain and boring and unworthy of hanging out with two FI drivers.

The words hurt, but more than that, they piss me off because they were mean-spirited and degrading. It was an absolute mistake to come here, thinking I would be welcomed and could hang out with these people. Besides that, my dad taught me to not let that type of negativity into my space. He often said, “Well, darlin’, life’s like a porcupine at a balloon party—if you don’t choose where to step, you’ll be surrounded by a whole lot ofpopping nonsense. So, it’s up to you to stick with the soft pillows, not the pointy quills!”

I stand abruptly, grabbing my bag, vaguely hearing Lex order me a glass of water. I tap him on the shoulder. “Don’t bother. I’m leaving.”

Lex looks confused, his brow furrowing as he watches me walk away. “Wait—what? Why? You just got here.”

I turn back to face him, see that he’s off his stool. My eyes cut to Ronan, then the women who all watch me with judgment. “Because the people you hang out with are assholes, and I’m tired. I’m not in the mood for this.”

There’s some satisfaction as the women’s mouths drop open but Ronan’s caustic smile stays in place. Doesn’t matter, though. I am truly done with the social aspect of these drivers. I write fiction and I can make up my own story of how they should behave.

I walk to the door, my heart racing as I push through the crowded pub and into the cold night air. I don’t get far before I hear footsteps behind me.

“Posey, wait!” Lex yells, jogging to catch up.

I stop, arms crossed as I turn to face him. “What?”

He draws up short of running me over, throwing his arms out to the side. “I didn’t hear what they said, but obviously it upset you. I’m sorry.” He seems sincere, but I don’t say anything. It prompts him to add, “You’re seeing the shitty side of racing. People can be… like that.”

I shake my head, some of my anger melting away. “You’re not like that, though.”

He smiles, and for a moment, he looks boyish and only twenty-four years old without a care in the world. “I would hope not. My mother would box my ears.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, back toward the pub. “Ronan was raised by wolves though, so he clearly has no manners.”

“And the women?” I ask.

Lex has the grace to look a bit abashed, but he shrugs. “They sort of come with the territory.”

I wait for him to deny that they’re not part ofhisterritory, but he doesn’t. Implying… that’s part of his lifestyle and I don’t know why that disappoints me so much, but it does. I mask the letdown with a polite smile. “It’s fine. You should go back to hang out with your friends. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He looks unsure, glancing toward the pub but when he turns back to me, he motions with his hand down the block. “I’ll walk you back.”

“There’s no need,” I say, looking around. While the streets aren’t by any means busy, there are a handful of people strolling.

“I insist,” he says.

I shrug and start the short journey to my hotel.

We walk in silence for a moment, the chill in the air biting at my skin. I left my coat in my room since it was a short walk.

“So,” he says, followed by an awkward beat as if he can’t quite figure out how to talk to me. “Did you find an Airbnb?”

“I did,” I admit. “Nice little house at Goldsworth Park Lake. It will be the perfect place for me to base out of for the next few weeks.”

“One or two bedroom?” he asks.

“Three, actually.”

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