Page 27 of Dirty Air
“Are you afraid my cock will be too hard to race if you speak to me?” Fritz uses his full height and towers over his race engineer—pinning him to the door.
“I still talk to you.”
“Why thefuckdid you not tell me there was debris at turn six?! Chunks ofcarbon fiber?!I am lucky it only hit the car—shrapnel like that cankillme!”
“I’m sorry.” Henry stares off to the side, at the closet, instead of meeting Fritz’s furious glare. “You’re right. It was careless not to note.”
“I know I am fuckingright!” Fritz wants to kick a wall. “Ever since that night, you stopped talking to me. We need to figure this shit out before I fuckingdieout there.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Henry still can'tlookat him. “I’ll be more professional in the future. Both on the track and off.”
Fritz can tell this isn't going anywhere. If nothing is being said, nothing will get fixed. “Okay, fine, I will be the one to talk. I was stupid that night, calling you instead of finding your video.”
“Video?”
“I was drunk, yes, but I still take full responsibility for my actions.”
“What video?”
“You did not consent to taking part in my sexual fantasy, and for that, I apologize.”
“Oh.” Henry finally looks up at him. “Um, sure. Apology accepted. What video did?—”
“But here is the thing—you did not hang up. You encouraged me. Encouragedit. So I do not think it is consent you have an issue with. What made you retreat? Why are you so distant with me when you liked it too?”
After a few moments of Henry’s silent contemplation, Fritz grabs his phone and opens his social media. “Where are my bookmarks? I bookmark a post and then they hide it from me. What is the point?”
Henry helps him, clicking through menu screens until they find his bookmarks. There’s only one post saved.
“Thank you. You think I could have found that drunk? I just wanted to get off.”
Fritz turns up his phone’s volume. “I hope you understand that this is embarrassing for me.”
It’s not—Fritz doesn’t embarrass easily—but whatever helps them meet halfway.
He opens the video, automatically skipping forward to the part he always skips to.
Henry watches his own face in silence as he answers an innocuous question from months ago.
The greatest driver in the world.
Fritz closes the app and tosses his phone to his desk. “If it bothers you that I am attracted to you in this way, then we can talk about switching race engineers. I will not die on that track because you are too uncomfortable to talk with me.”
“Understood.” Henry sounds just like his race engineer again. “No, really, I understand. I’m sorry. You might not believe me, but I honestly didn’t know about the debris.”
Fritz scoffs.
“We were given the all-clear after the safety car. I would’ve told you if I knew there was still debris out there. But, I get it. I should’ve told you why the track had to be cleared, just in case.”
“Good.” It’s the most they’ve said since Germany, so Fritz accepts the apology. “I’m tired of losing races.”
“Me too.”
Fritz holds out his arms with a question. They used to hug, but things are different now. Now, Henry knows about his stupid little crush. Now, Henry knows what physical contact means to him.
Henry still steps into it, his arms wrapping around the driver, squeezing. He’s so much stronger than he looks, and it feels safe to be buried in his embrace again.
“No one can know,” Henry whispers.
