Page 32 of Formula Dreams
Lex rolls his eyes.“Really?”
Nash grins.“C’mon, we’re method actors now.Embrace it.”
“Try not to injure yourself with prop food,” Lex mutters, a smile tugging at his mouth.
They pose like they’ve just had a shouting match over who finished the last Drivex bottle, faces in exaggerated scowls, which turn to exaggerated grins as Timmy shouts for “friendly rivalry with a hint of domestic tension!”The crew eats it up, cameras clicking in a flurry as the two of them volley one-liners between flashes.
“Honestly,” Lex says as Nash pretends to chug the prop bottle, “this is more dangerous than any corner at Monaco.”
Nash bumps him with his shoulder.“And yet you still love me.”
“I tolerate you.There’s a difference.”
More laughter.The photographer calls, “Perfect.That’s a wrap on the roommates.”
Then Timmy’s voice cuts across the track.“Now for the big finish!Francesca, darling.Ronan.Center stage.Channel that delicious, combustible energy from the grocery shoot.You know what I want—rivals on the verge of something… inappropriate.”
I roll my eyes, but my stomach tightens anyway.I step toward the mark while Ronan appears from the shadows, tense, expression unreadable.We haven’t said a word to each other all day.He walks as if he’s coiled to strike.
We take our positions in front of a wall splashed with neon Drivex logos and an LED-lit finish line arch overhead.Timmy provides direction.“Reach for the same bottle, center stage.Glance at each other like you’re sizing up the enemy.”
That shouldn’t be too difficult because I’m sure that’s what Ronan considers me.
“You going to behave?”I murmur under my breath as we face forward.
I’m surprised he answers.“That depends on your definition.”
His hand brushes mine when we both reach for the prop bottle.Just a graze, but it zings up my arm like static electricity.
Timmy flutters behind the camera.“Yes, yes!That!Do it again, but this time, Ronan, look at her like she just took the last bottle and you’re this close to demanding it back.Francesca, darling, be smug.Coy.You know how to toy with the enemy.”
We reset, but the heat between us doesn’t.
“You always this good at taking direction?”I whisper as the camera guy adjusts his frame.
“Don’t confuse cooperation with compliance.”He says it without looking at me and when the shutter clicks, I smirk like Timmy wanted and it’s not entirely fake.I lean in, a hair closer than needed, and Ronan doesn’t pull back.If anything, he shifts subtly forward.There’s barely space between us now, our shoulders brushing, our bodies angled too intimately for enemies.
Another take.This time, we’re told to square off, shoulder to shoulder, forearms raised like we’re about to wrestle the bottle away from each other.His fingers wrap over mine—strong, steady, and too warm for someone who pretends to be cold.
I try to keep my voice even.“You left the pub fast last night.”
He lifts his gaze to mine.“You left an opening.I took it.”
“Running doesn’t suit you.”
“Neither does overthinking,” he murmurs.
The next pose requires us to face each other, close enough that I can feel the whisper of his breath when we exhale at the same time.His eyes drop to my mouth for half a second—just long enough to make me forget the next pose.
Timmy calls, “Brilliant!One more, now with the bottle between you—hands touching.Close.Like you’re about to fight or kiss.I don’t care which.”
I move without thinking, but Ronan hesitates before stepping in.He adjusts the bottle between us, deliberately brushing his fingers over mine again.
“You sure you’re up for this?”I ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer right away.Then responds quitely so low only I can hear it.“You’re not the only one who didn’t sleep last night.”
The camera snaps.The wind picks up.My heart trips over itself.
