Page 30 of Formula Dreams
Timmy, already buzzing with caffeine and sparkle, is in full creative mode.“All right, darlings, let’s make some magic.Singles first, then pairings, then group stills.No one leaves until I say we’re done or dead.”
We start with solo shots.Helmets, hands on hips, smoldering glances.The usual.
I tug at the sleeve of my racing suit, the familiar Titans purple trimmed in steel gray and crisp white.The tailoring is sleek and made to move as well as protect.Timmy had strong opinions this morning and insisted my long hair be worn loose—not in the braid I always use for race days.He wouldn’t even consider a practical ponytail like I wear for media events.He wanted it unbound because, as he put it, “This isn’t just racing, darling, it’s history.Let them see it.”
As if the suit didn’t already hug my curves.As if my chest plate didn’t give it away.No one needs to see my hair to know I’m a woman.
Still, I let him have that win.But when he came at me with a full face of makeup, I pushed back.Hard.
He pouted—actually pouted—when I refused the bronzer and blush.We settled on a touch of lip gloss and some powder to kill the shine.
Nash looks sharp in the same Titans colors beside me—his suit identical in design.He’s holding his signature helmet under one arm, matte purple with white lightning streaks crossing the top.Each driver has a unique helmet, and I enjoyed helping to design mine.It’s glossy black, detailed with hand-painted constellations arcing across the top and sides, a quiet tribute to the stars my parents always told me to chase.
Across the way, Lex and Ronan are a study in contrast.Crown Velocity’s uniforms are darker—racing green sliced with black and charcoal gray.Lex’s suit is pristine and fitted like a tailored tuxedo, his silver-and-black helmet gleaming even without the sun’s rays.Ronan’s helmet is almost fully green and covered with renditions of all the formula tracks we race.
Timmy directs us efficiently, which I appreciate, and I end up having a bit of fun.When Ronan’s in front of the camera, he’s like a statue—flawless but frozen.Lex, by contrast, oozes charm.Nash and I shoot our pairing with mock serious faces and exaggerated poses that have everyone snickering.
The vibe is generally good, but it’s impossible to ignore the wall between Lex and Ronan.They don’t speak.They don’t make eye contact.They rotate through the shoot like ships passing in the night.
After an hour, we end up taking a break.Crew members drift toward craft services, makeup artists huddle around monitors, and Timmy is off gesturing wildly at a camera rig that’s apparently not dramatic enough for his taste.
Nash is a few meters away, pacing and laughing softly into his phone—clearly talking to Bex, based on the way his face lights up.I glance around for Ronan, but he’s vanished again.No surprise there since he’s not exactly the social butterfly type.If there’s a corner to brood in, I’m sure he’s found it.
Then I spot Lex, sitting alone on a bench outside the hospitality tent.He’s stretching his long legs, one ankle lazily resting over the other, his green-and-black Crown Velocity suit unzipped at the collar.
I grab a water bottle from the cooler near craft and walk toward him.“Hey,” I say, holding it out.
“Thanks.”He accepts it with a grateful nod and that easy Lex smile—the kind that always looks genuine no matter who you are.He unscrews the cap and takes a long drink.“Having fun?”
“This is definitely part of the sport I’m not used to,” I reply, easing onto the bench beside him.
The wind nips at my loose hair as I tuck a few strands behind my ear and I curse Timmy for insisting I leave it down.It’s constantly in my face, tickling my neck.I miss my braid.
Lex frowns at my efforts to contain the mass.“Why don’t you just tie it back?”
I snort, pushing another lock behind my ear.“Timmy’s orders.Apparently, I needed to look more female.As if the boobs didn’t give it away.”
Lex barks out a laugh, sharp and genuine, his shoulders shaking.“Timmy’s a menace.”
“Yeah, well, he tried to get me in full makeup too.I drew the line at lip gloss.”
Lex’s smile lingers as he shakes his head.“Good for you.”His tone is warm, approving, and I appreciate the acceptance into his inner circle for the day.
We sit in companionable silence for a beat, watching as a lighting crew repositions a soft box reflector along the pit wall.A bird cries overhead, the sound sharp and distant against the mechanical thrum of generators in the background.
“We missed you at dinner last night,” Lex says casually.
“I was having a drink with Ronan,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, though the memory of the bar still lingers on my skin.
Lex blinks, bottle poised halfway to his mouth.“Ronan?”he repeats, frowning.
I nod.“Yeah… saw him going into a pub after the shoot and followed him in.I invited him to come to dinner, but he declined.”
His expression doesn’t shift into judgment, exactly, but it does close a little.He leans back against the bench, eyes flicking toward the track.
If I thought that might coax him into telling me more about what happened between them, I’m sadly disappointed.“He told me a little about it,” I offer.
Lex’s gaze returns to mine, cool but not hostile.“Then you understand why we’re not friends and why I’m not particularly sad he didn’t show up last night.”
