Page 10 of Racing Hearts
He waved me over with the subtlety of a man who’d already had two drinks. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Edward teased. “Surprised Daddy Rossi let you out to celebrate tonight with that sixth-place finish.” I rolled my eyes, before pulling my old teammate into a hug.
“Apparently, it would look bad if I didn’t celebrate the first woman winning in decades.” And I hadn’t exactly told him where we were going.
“Well, then here’s to Georgia’s win.” Edward’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he handed me a cold beer, but before I could clink my glass with his, another pint met mine, spilling some of its beer onto my shoes. I glanced up, instantly recoiling as I looked straight into the eyes of Anthony Walker, the human embodiment of mediocre white privilege with a trust fund, and my other looming problem in Formula 1.
Why Hermes had signed the inconsequential, untalented American to be our reserve driver in case Henri or I was sick was beyond me. Georgia had wiped the floor with him in Indy Car and F2. But somehow Anthony had managed to bag our reserve driver slot.
Actually, I knew why. His dad had more money than God. Formula 1 might be the pinnacle of motorsport, but it wasn’t immune to the scent of money. Unfortunately for me, Anthony had made it painfully clear to just about everyone he’d ever met that he was gunning for my seat.
“Anthony,” I groaned. “I’d say it’s good to see you, but my mother didn’t raise a liar.”
“And apparently your father didn’t raise a race winner,” he snickered back.
I had that one coming.
“That’s rich coming from someone who’s doing their third stint in F2,” I retorted. Like most drivers in Formula 1, I’d won my first F2 season. Twenty-six racers competed in the junior league, but typically, only one seat was available each year in Formula 1 and the competition was fierce.
“Well, they do say third time’s the charm.” Edward gleefully collided his glass with mine, causing liquid to spill all over his shoes.
Anthony inched towards me, the scent of smoky Scotch wafting from his breath. “Laugh all you want, Rossi. By the end of this season, I’m taking your F1 seat. No doubt you have another screw-up in your future.”
My fingers tightened around my glass. I’d have loved nothing more than to rearrange his smirk. But Edward, ever the peacemaker, clapped a hand on my shoulder and steered me toward a booth in the back before I could do something I’d regret. Swallowing my pride, I opted to ignore Anthony. After this afternoon’s lecture from my father, the last thing I needed was a bar brawl with my teammate.
I slinked into the booth, chugging half my beer in frustration. Edward’s gaze was fixed on me with curiosity. From his wide eyes, I could tell he wanted to discuss something important.
“Yes?” I finally asked.
“Your mum texted me today…”
“My mum?” I scoffed. “What are we, ten?”
“Luca, she told me about the fight with your dad. She’s worried about you. You didn’t answer any of her calls.”
“Maybe because I didn’t have anything worth saying.”
“Come on, Luca. The party? That photo?” Edward shot me a frustrated look, one that told me to cut the crap.
Join the line of people disappointed in me.
“I know I shouldn’t have been there, Ed,” I muttered. “But it took the edge off all of this stress. Everyone wants me to be the second coming of Michael Rossi, and I—” I stopped, staring into my beer. “I’m not him. Just because he was a World Champion doesn’t mean I will be.”
“You know,” Edward’s voice was low, “you don’t have to race if you don’t want to.” Edward looked around the bar, as if he was afraid my father would appear from the shadows and scold us for his blasphemy.
Sighing, I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know what I want anymore.” My eyes drifted across the bar, locking on to Anthony who was currently charming a group of girls with stories probably stolen from my interviews. My blood boiled inside at the thought. “Scratch that. IknowI don’t want to give my seat to fucking Texas-Oil-Money Anthony over there.”
Edward raised his glass in agreement. “I hate that guy. How Georgia ever dated him is beyond me.”
“Georgia dated Anthony?” I asked, aiming for casual but landing somewhere much closer totoo interested.
His eyebrow lifted, but he appeased me. “They kept it quiet. His dad sponsored her team in Indy. She didn’t want anyone thinking she got her seat because of him. Henri told me it was serious—for a while. They broke up last year. I don’t know why. Must be hell for her seeing him around.”
“Well, well, well,” I smirked, “turns out Racing-Is-My-Entire-Personality Dubois and I have something in common: we both can’t stand to be around Anthony.” I leaned back in my seat as I feigned shock, my hands waving in the air. Edward rolled his eyes, shaking his shaggy head.
“You’re such a prick to Georgia,” he grumbled.
“She starts it—” I argued.
“More like she finishes it.” Edward smirked, clearly pleased with himself.
