Page 42 of Close Contact
She was curled up beside me on the mat, hair a mess, cheeks flushed and glowing, her breath slowing back to normal. I’d never seen anything so beautiful. The chaos of her, the calm after, and everything in between.
I reached over and brushed a bit of sweat-damp hair from her temple. She blinked, slow and heavy-lidded, then gave me the smallest, most tired smile. “We’re so fucked,” she whispered.
I grinned. “Speak for yourself. I feel like I just hit a personal best.”
She snorted. “Your stamina is absurd.”
“So is your mouth.”
“Shut up.”
I laughed and she giggled. God, I could’ve stayed like this forever. Just laughing with her, breathing the same air, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.
But it did.
And tomorrow morning, she’d be lining up in P1. I’d be beside her on the front row in P2. The grid would be watching, the media would be salivating, and if anyone saw us together like this—saw the way I looked at her like she’d hung the fucking moon—it would all unravel.
So we cleaned up. She found a towel and wiped down her skin. I zipped up my hoodie again. She fixed her shorts and put her hair in a loose bun, then grabbed her water bottle and phone.
She tapped the screen… nothing. “Merde,” she muttered under her breath. “My phone’s dead.”
She bit her bottom lip, cheeks still flushed, and looked up at me from beneath those lashes. “Walk me back to my room?”
My chest tightened. Fuck. She had no idea what she did to me when she asked me things like that—with softness, with trust, with that unspoken thread that tethered us tighter every time.
“Of course,” I said, already moving toward the door.
Neither of us spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but almost heavy. As if we both knew something had shifted and weren’t ready to talk about it or break our bubble that was just… us. I walked her to her hotel room in silence, our fingers brushing but never fully lacing together. The weight of what had just happened hung between us, and I could tell she felt it too—that pull, that ache, that terrifying knowing.
At her door, she turned to me, her cheeks still tinged pink with sleep-heavy hazel eyes that owned me. I wanted to stay. I wanted to crawl into bed beside her and hold her until morning.Except it was race day tomorrow, and she’d be my rival again in just a few hours.
“I’m really glad you came,” she said, biting her bottom lip. God, she was so beautiful.
“Me too. More than once, actually.”
She snorted. “I wish you could stay.”
I grabbed her hand and laced our fingers together. “Yeah, but just think how happy you’ll be to see me tomorrow in your mirrors.”
Her smile was dazzling. “So confident in me.” With a sigh, she added, “See you in the paddock tomorrow, Cal.”
My brows furrowed. “Cal?”
She shrugged and turned her back to me to unlock the door. “You call me Auri. I figured I’d give you a nickname, too. We’ll see if it sticks.”
“You’re adorable.”
Aurélie pushed the door open and pivoted back to me. “Goodnight, Fraser.”
“Not a fucking chance I’m sleeping,” I muttered, then cupped her face and kissed her. She kissed me back as if I already belonged to her.
And when I walked away, I didn’t look back. Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I could leave.
It was race day,but today something felt… off.
Maybe it was the overcast weather and impending rain. Or maybe it was that I wanted to win as much as I wanted Aurélie to claim her victory and prove to the world that she belongs in F1.
As I walked through the paddock, legs sore as fuck from my impromptu sprint through the downtown streets of Monaco last night, the usual pre-race chaos surrounded me. I waved at cameras but didn’t offer up any pre-race interviews. I typically didn’t, because my head had to be in a certain place to focus.
