Page 109 of Close Contact
My room felt quieter afterward. Too quiet.
Don’t get me wrong, I was glad someone was finally looking out for her. Even if it wasn’t me—not fully, not the way I wanted. I just… wanted it to be me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, hands in my hair. My chest ached in a way the physio couldn’t treat as I opened her private Instagram because I missed her so fucking much.
A story, nothing special. Just a blurry photo of the city skyline from her hotel window.
But I saw her reflection in the glass, her silhouette in my hoodie with my driver number stitched across her shoulder. I saved it without thinking. This was how we loved right now—in all the quiet ways. Behind closed doors. Beneath headlines and press photos.
Not hiding.
Justwaiting.
“Hey, Fraser.”
Marco’s voice snapped me back to reality as he dropped onto the couch across from me in our team’s hospitality suite. “You ready for quali? Or are you too busy still brooding over a certain Frenchwoman?”
“Shut up, Bianchi,” I muttered, barely looking up.
He wasn’t wrong.
Iwasdistracted. I’d been distracted since Monaco. Since that night on the floor in front of the mirror. Since her softJe t’aimebroke me in the best fucking way.
I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.
This morning, she sent me a video of her blowing me a kiss in the Luminis garage—“No one saw,” she’d typed, followed by the little pink heart I’d come to crave.
And yet, it still wasn’t enough.
Because she wasn’there. Not with me. For almost three weeks, we’d been doing this dance.
“Come out tonight,” Marco said, clearly fishing. “There’s no shortage of French-speaking women in Montreal.”
I shot him a look that could’ve shattered glass. “Not interested.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He leaned back. “Just had to check that you’re still completely crazy about her.”
I didn’t respond because I absolutely was.
I’d just finished scrolling through a blurry paparazzi video of her walking into her hotel after press—dark glasses, hair tucked back, jean skirt and white sweater. She was glowing.
And I couldn’t touch her without the world spinning out.
The rumors weren’t dying down, but I didn’t fucking care anymore.
She was mine. And I was tired of pretending otherwise.
“You okay?” Marco asked, watching me too closely.
“I haven’t been sleeping.”
“You FaceTime her last night?”
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
“’Til she passed out listening to me talk about tire degradation and the shit strategy we had in Spain.”
