Page 90 of Overtake
Nico approaches through the hotel entrance, and my insides go as loose as my car did in turn 13. He’s changed into a fresh team kit, hair still damp from a shower. The man looksevery inch the world champion despite the chaos of the last twenty-four hours—controlled, confident, moving through the courtyard like he owns the space without needing to prove it.
“Looks like your favorite driver’s arrived,” I tell the crowd, all of whom immediately swivel toward Nico with collective excitement.
He catches my eye across the courtyard and tips his chin. The gesture’s casual, almost professional, but there’s heat underneath. The fans nearest me notice everything—the way he looks at me, how I can’t quite keep the smile off my face, the fact that we’re comfortable in the same space despite the global speculation about our relationship.
I haven’t forgotten the feel of kissing him on that podium this afternoon. Or the strength in his hands and body. And judging by the way his gaze lingers just a fraction too long, he remembers things too.
“Aww, are you leaving?” One of the Honey Bunnies looks genuinely disappointed.
“Time to let El Conejo have his turn with you.” I move toward Nico, and we meet at the transition point where the crowd can see us both.
“How’d they treat you?” He pitches his voice low enough that only I can hear.
“Better than we probably deserve. They’re still running our defense online.”
“I saw.”
He steps closer and leans in for the traditional Spanish greeting, one kiss to each cheek. It’s casual enough to seem natural to the watching fans, but his hand lingers on my arm and he takes a fraction longer than necessary, his breath warm against my skin. The familiar gesture feels anything but casual. There’s an intimacy in the way his fingers curve around my elbow. His gaze lingers on me and he doesn’t immediately stepback. My pulse quickens despite every rational thought telling me to keep this professional.
Then Nico smiles and lets go. “Thank you for handling this.”
“Thank you for showing up.”
Fort Rigo steps to my side. “Ready, Ms. Hayter?”
The crowd calls out as I step back:
“Thank you, Petra!”
“Love you!”
“Bring Nico to Mexico!”
I laugh at that last one, especially when Nico shakes his head and smirks.
“Totally legit that they want some privacy,” I hear one fan say to another as Rodrigo guides me toward the hotel entrance.
“Yeah, can you imagine having every moment analyzed?”
We reach the entrance, but I glance back to see Nico settling into the crowd. He’s so at ease with them, signing shirts and posing for photos. It’s always surprised me how good he is with the fans when he’s so hyper-focused on the racing. But whatever complications exist between us, this part we both handle well. We’ve spent our whole lives wearing a public face, maintaining professional interactions, and giving the fans what they want without promising more than we can deliver.
The hotel’s automatic doors close behind me, muffling the crowd’s excitement.
Rodrigo and I burn rubber crossing the lobby to catch an arriving lift. I’ve been on exhibit all damned day and I just need to escape all the prying eyes. Time to shower, eat, sleep. Not think about Spanish drivers or talented hands or... I sigh and look at the time on my fitness tracker.
The fan event took more from me than I expected, but I can’t begrudge their enthusiasm. Even if their questions about Nico veered too close to personal.
What are we doing? What is this thing between us?
Rodrigo escorts me to my room, still scanning the hall as I unlock the door.
“Thanks for having my back, Rigo.”
“That’s my job.”
I nod and stare at the floor.
“Anything else, Ms. Hayter?”
