Page 130 of My French Love Affair

I clench my jaw, shaking the thought away.

Focus.

I exit the tunnel, braking aggressively into the chicane. The car twitches under me, but I hold it firm, nailing the apex perfectly.

“Purple sector two,” Matthieu notes. “You’re flying.”

I barely acknowledge it.

All I see isher.

The curve of her mouth as she smirked up at me last night. The way she looked beneath me, flushed and ruined, her breath catching every time I touched her.

Fucking hell.

I cross the line - purple sector, personal best.

And still, she lingers.

“Box this lap, Frederic,” Matthieu instructs. “Time for a break.”

I exhale sharply, jaw tightening.

“One more.”

“Non.”

I grit my teeth, rolling my shoulders back.

“I said -”

“You’ve been in there forfour hours.” Matthieu’s voice is sharp. “Break.Now.”

I slam my foot onto the brakes, sending the virtual car screeching into the pit lane.

The session ends. The sim screen fades to black.

I rip off my gloves and helmet, flexing my fingers, my body still thrumming with adrenaline.

As I step out of the rig, Matthieu is already waiting, arms crossed.

“Four hours straight is excessive,” he says pointedly.

“Not when you have a race to win.”

Matthieu sighs, rubbing his temples.

“You’ve said that before. You’ll say it again. But you also need to sleep, eat, and take breaks like a normal human.”

Gilles lets out a low chuckle from where he’s seated, scrolling through data on his tablet.

“Not that it matters.He’dstay in that thing all night if we let him.”

I smirk, stretching my arms above my head. “And?”

“And you’re impossible,” Matthieu rolls his eyes.

I grab my water bottle, taking a slow sip.

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