Page 31 of Green Flag
“Livie told you to just smile,” Abbé sighed. “Nothing more, Everly.”
“Well, someone had to say something,” I said. “Luca was just fed to the sharks. I can’t believe the press are allowed on the track before the race.”
Luca groaned. “We’ve been fighting it all season.”
“StormSprint seem to like the drama,” Abbé sighed. “Live and all.” He looked at Luca with a sorry smile. “Did you say anything you shouldn’t have?”
“Don’t think so.” But his twitching mouth turned to me and put me right in the firing line.
The sympathy Abbé had for Luca disappeared. “Oh, Ever, what did you say?”
“Just that they were chasing stories that weren’t there.”
“She’s not wrong,” Luca said. “They won’t appreciate it though.”
Abbé sighed. “Well, it was your first and last day of working here, Everly. See you in Florida, I guess.”
And he walked off.
“See you in Florida?” Luca asked. “You got a little family holiday coming up?”
“No,” I grumbled, swapping the arm I held the umbrella with and crossing the other over my chest.
Abbé knew my strategy: I would see Dad a couple of times a year, mostly when Ciclati were in places I couldn’t afford to travel. Dad was always willing to fly me out. Mum had relocated to America, so he would pay for my plane ticket to Florida. I was always there for that race.
“Aw, don’t sulk, babe,” Luca laughed and slapped his knee.
“I’m not sulking,” I snapped. “I just… do they always speak to you like that?”
He crushed his can in his fist, the straw lifting further out of the can. It wasn’t threatening — but damn, it was hot.
My dad invited me to these races and didn’t expect me to want these men?
“No, they don’t,” he said thoughtfully and nodded when the last mechanic stood and left. “Normally, they actually like me. I made the front page of Australia’s bike magazine while I was there. Without a photoshoot. They like me when it’s fashionable to.”
“What does Livie say?”
“She’s helping me avoid them,” he said. “But that isn’t so easy when there’s twelve of them on the track and she’s not allowed here.”
“Maybe it would have been best for her to be here instead of me,” I mumbled, looking at my feet.
My arms hurt from holding the umbrella, but I could stay here with Luca for far longer.
“Nah,” he said and smiled up at me, grabbing his helmet with both hands, ready to put it on. “I quite liked your outburst. I think I’ll enjoy you being on the grid with me.”
As the green flag was lifted at the front of the track, my signal to go, I felt a real genuine smile.
Abbé waited for me at the side of the track and pointed me towards a recycling bin to put Luca’s can in.
The roar of the bikes was almost too much.
Yes, next time, I would take the offer of earplugs because, damn, this was not the comfort of VIP. My ears might vibrate off.
When the red light above the bikes went black, they all started to flee and I had no choice but to put my hands over my ears.
“Fuck,” Abbé mouthed and he was shouldering past people beside us to get on the tarmac. He was a seasoned racer, analyst, bike enthusiast, so I doubted the sound impacted him so wildly.
“What?” I shouted after him, but he and the mechanics were rushing forward.
