Page 77 of Overtake
Emergency team meeting at 07:00. Don’t check social media.
Too late for that.
Nico stands. “I have to get to the track.”
“I know. But listen.” Nia drops her phone into her purse and fixes him with a stare she learned from Papá. “Graham will try to make this about team loyalty and professional boundaries and all that junk. Don’t let him or anyone else.”
“It’s not that simple?—”
“It is exactly that simple, Nico.” She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “You kissed the woman you love. The internet thinks it’s beautiful. The only people with a problem are the ones who profit from keeping you off balance and alone.”
She heads for the door, then pauses. “And Conejo? When you inevitably win today and kiss her again in parc fermé? Make sure you do it properly. Four million people are watching now.”
“Shut up, Tortuga.”
She laughs as the door clicks shut behind her.
Nico shakes his head and puts on his trainers. His private moment with Petra has become public entertainment, and now he faces choices he hadn’t anticipated.
He can let this throw him off his race, he can pretend nothing ever happened, or he can lie and say it was meaningless fun.
He stands and reaches for his watch, phone, and wallet.
Or he can stay focused on his racing and on building a relationship with Petra.
He nods, pockets the phone and wallet, and puts on the watch.
Maybe Petra, the teams, and the fans think he’s heading for the biggest shunt of his life, but Nico Belmonte didn’t become a champion by letting fear and doubt stop him from taking risks.
CHAPTER TWENTY
For someonewho’s about to ride a rocket, I always sleep well the night before a race. So I’m deep in dreamland when my phone erupts with four texts from Cin, Claudia, Dad, and Kelley in that order:
Well. Someone had an interesting evening run.
DON’T react. DON’T comment. DON’T even blink. Heading to your room now.
You OK? Also RM’s handling KHM. Focus on the race.
Oh, my baby has such GREAT taste in men!
Oh no.
A fourth message pops up, this one from Bowie:
Technical briefing @ 09:30. Also ignore the internet.
Shit. No.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I don’t need to check social media to know what’s happened. Don’t need to see whatever photos someone managed to capture of what we thought was a private moment.
My phone buzzes again.
It’s Reece:
FWIW, you’ve got better taste than my mom.
