Page 33 of Formula Dreams
And I realize I’m in trouble.
“Okay, darlings,” Timmy coos, looking at us as if we’ve hung the moon.“I could not have asked for better.Simply spectacular.I think that might be a wrap.”
“Wait a minute,” I exclaim, and everyone turns to face me.“Let’s get a few more groups.”
“Did you have specific ideas in mind?”Timmy asks with interest, and I hear Ronan, Lex and Nash all groan.
I step out of frame, wiping a sheen of sweat from my upper lip with the back of my glove.The photographer glances toward Timmy for the next setup, but I beat him to it.
“Lex, Ronan—you two in the middle,” I call out, gesturing toward the mark with a tilt of my chin.“Me and Nash on the ends.”
Lex raises a brow in amused curiosity, already halfway into motion.Ronan, predictably, doesn’t move.He turns his head slowly, fixing me with a look that could curdle milk.
I lift a shoulder.“What?It’s a fake brand unity shoot.So fake it.”
He doesn’t respond, but the muscle in his jaw jumps once.For a second, I think he’s going to refuse outright, but then Lex moves first, giving Ronan a pointed look as he walks past him toward center mark.“Let’s do this, Barnes,” he says.
Ronan blinks in surprise at being addressed by Lex and follows, slow and stiff like he’s walking toward a firing squad.He doesn’t look at me as he takes his spot beside his teammate, but the tension radiates off him like heat from an engine left running too long.
Nash and I assume our positions on the outer flanks, forming a neat, balanced row in front of the massive Drivex banner—Titans bookending the Crown drivers.Timmy squeals in delight somewhere behind the camera.
We pose.Arms crossed.Backs straight.The four of us staring down the lens like a squad of sleek, marketable assassins.
The first few shots are awkward.Ronan keeps glancing fractionally to the left, as if trying not to acknowledge Lex standing inches from him.I hold my breath every time their shoulders accidentally brush.
Then Nash cracks the silence and I could kiss him because it’s perfect.
“Hey, Lex,” he says dryly.“Are you using more conditioner lately, or is that just the glint of mediocrity in your hair?”
Lex barks out a laugh, turning his head enough to shoot Nash a mock glare.“At least I have hair, grandpa.”
“Oh, it’s like that?”Nash fires back, eyes wide in mock offense.“I’ll have you know, this receding hairline is a sign of wisdom.And testosterone.”
“I’m sure that’s what Bex tells you,” Lex replies smoothly.
That gets a full snort out of me, and even the camera guy chuckles.The pose softens enough for the shot to come alive, although only three of the four drivers are grinning.
While Ronan didn’t laugh, I notice his posture eases slightly.His arms are still crossed, but he’s no longer clenching like he’s chewing glass.
We shift positions for another shot—this time staggered, slightly angled like we’re walking forward toward the camera in formation.The photographer calls out adjustments, Timmy chirps praise, and for a second, we’re all mannequins in million-dollar suits.
Then, under his breath, Lex says quietly enough for only Ronan to hear, “Still got that death grip on your jaw, Barnes.Better lighten up or you might crack a molar.”
Ronan’s head turns fractionally, only enough to shoot him a sharp side-eye.“Didn’t realize you were monitoring my dental health.”
Lex shrugs one shoulder.“Old habits.Hard to break.”
A beat of silence stretches between them.I keep my eyes forward but angle my ears toward the exchange, not even pretending I’m not listening.
“Are you trying to be annoying?”Ronan mutters, low and guarded.
Lex doesn’t look at him.“Maybe.Or maybe I’m tired of everyone else tiptoeing around like we’re gonna throw punches again.”
Ronan exhales through his nose, clearly not expecting that.“And you figured what—banter would help?”
Lex finally glances at him.“Certainly didn’t think it would hurt, but I forgot your funny bone must have been surgically excised.”
Something flashes across Ronan’s face—uncertainty, maybe.Or confusion.But not anger.
