Page 25 of Kiss & Collide
Chase watched him fade and smirked. He was pulling ahead. Good. Turn Nine was approaching and Laurent, in Hansbach’s far superior car, was long gone. That meant there was no traffic ahead of him to get in the way when he started his hot lap.
He mashed the accelerator and—there it was, that mind-blowing feeling of the bottom of the world dropping out as the car shot forward underneath him. He’d spent plenty of sim time in Formula One cars, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. Even in Pinnacle’s shit car, this was, by far, the most sublime experience of his racing career.
He plunged through Turn Nine, down the hill, and through Turn Ten, into the start/finish straight to start his hot lap. He hung on to the tricky braking needed for Turn One, giving him some extra speed.
The car was a problem in complex turns, though. Chase kept it steady, but he had to wrestle it into line throughout the Turns Four-Five-Six complex. His tires felt right on the edge.
He was nearly there, but could sense his tires giving out.
Easy, Chase. He lined up the last entry and rolled onto the throttle. There was just enough left on the tires to carry him neatly through Turn Ten and across the start/finish line.
“Nice lap,” Emil said. “You’re currently P twelve and right on the bubble to move through to Q two.”
His dash still looked green as he navigated through his cooldown lap. He was holding his breath as the rest of the times filtered in and drivers moved up and down the qualifying rankings accordingly.
“Brendecke is P thirteen … Nolan is P fourteen …” Emil read off the rankings as they settled into place. “And that’s it. We’re at P fifteen and no one else improving. You’re through to Q two.”
Chase blew out his breath, feeling almost lightheaded. He’d made the cut. Brand-new to F1, and in the worst car on the grid, and he’d made it through to round two. Considering … well, everything … that was nothing short of a miracle.
“Thanks, Emil.” Then, trying to sound as uninterested as possible, he asked, “How did Dieter do?”
“P eighteen,” Emil replied.
Once Chase was done shouting into his helmet, he keyed the mic and with his best attempt at sounding nonchalant replied, “Okay, let’s see what we can do in the next session. Thanks, team.”
10
Considering Pinnacle had finished seventeenth and nineteenth in Austria, Reece Hammond’s massive post-race party seemed wildly over the top.
Then it became clear. The parties and VIP access were pretty much the only part of Formula One he had any real interest in.
The hotel ballroom was the tragic epitome of an uncool white guy’s vision of a cool European party. Thumping bass, a bunch of low-tier spokesmodels in matching silver minidresses and blond wigs serving drinks, and a vodka bar with dry ice smoke pouring out of it. Despite that—or maybe because of it—the place was packed to the rafters. Reece saw it as evidence of his own personal magnetism, but Violet could see it for what it was. Everyone wanted to see what the deal was with the new Pinnacle.
Reece was up on a raised dance floor, dancing in that unspeakable way of his, surrounded by underpaid spokesmodels who looked like they’d rather be getting dental work. But he was confined and content for the moment, so Violet focused on the other, larger part of her job: turning Chase Navarro into aracing superstar, irrespective of his actual results on the track. Though he’d done fine. She supposed.
She found him hanging out in a corner, chatting with Rabia and Leon. Sigh. All that money on clothes to make him look his best, and he was hiding in a dark corner talking aboutwork.
He looked amazing, she had to admit. The new charcoal-gray suit was fitted close to his body, showing off the wide shoulders, the long legs, the tight ass. They’d gotten him a haircut, too. Still long, but less “forgot to get a trim for three months” and more artful. She’d texted him and told him not to shave this morning. As a result, he was now sporting a shadow of dark stubble that outlined every dramatic angle of that gorgeous jawline.
She told herself that she was giving him a purely professional once-over, but come on … no one wasthatprofessional, especially not her. He lookedgood, and she sincerely hoped she’d get a chance to enjoy him one-on-one later.
“Here you are,” she said as she strode over. “You’re supposed to be chatting up Clive Pennington.”
He turned and his eyes slowly skated down her body and back up. Oh, yes, she definitely wanted to get naked with him tonight.
“Who?”
“I introduced you to him before qualifying? Head of marketing at Arrow Beverages? He told you to come find him for a drink.”
“Clive Pennington wanted to get a drink with you?” Leon asked.
“What are you still doing here?” Rabia added.
He looked around at the crowd awkwardly. “What, I’m just supposed to go up to the guy and start talking? What if he’s not interested?”
Violet reached out and grasped him by the shoulders. “Chase, you’re a Formula One driver now.Everybodywants to talk to you. So go have a drink with Clive. Show him how charming you can be, and how nicely you clean up. You need to sell yourself here. Why the hell did you think I dragged him over to introduce him to you?”
“You wanted me to make a new friend?” He grinned, that charming grin that he used to skate through life. Well, it was time to step up his game.
