Page 56 of Overtake
“The sprint’s in three hours,” Bowie reminds me. “Whatever this is, sort it fast.”
Sort it fast.Right. Because everything about Nico Belmonte leads to simple answers and quick resolutions.
“If he let me take pole, I’m going to kill him.”
“Please don’t,” Dad calls after me. “Too much paperwork for me.”
The paddock buzzes with pre-sprint energy, but I barely notice as I stride toward WolfBett’s garage before I can overanalyze why this matters so much.
“Looking for someone?” Reece is heading my way from Nitro’s team building.
“Don’t start.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” But the smirk on his face disagrees. “Though if you’re headed that way, you might want to wait. Graham’s currently killing what’s left of my brother’s spirit with a pre-racepep talk.”
“How long?”
“Could be a while.” He pauses. “I saw Nico head for the fitness center about ten minutes ago.”
I’m moving before I fully register the decision. Behind me, I swear I hear Reece laughing.
Wanker.
COTA’s F1 fitness center is quieter than yesterday now that most of my fellow drivers are focused on final sprint preparations. I scan the main area, but there’s no sign of Nico.
Muffled words come from one of the private rooms. Spanish, clipped with frustration. They’re followed by the distinctive sound of someone taking out their feelings on a heavy bag.
Right, then.
I push open the door without knocking. Nico’s alone. He doesn’t stop his combination, though his slight hesitation tells me he’s noted my arrival. He wears trackies. No shirt. There’s a lot of smooth skin and lean rippling muscle on display as hehammers the bag again. A sheen of sweat emphasizes the hills and valleys of his lats, the lines of his ribs and spine.
My mouth goes dry and damn him for being such a thirst trap.
“Here to practice your right jab?” He speaks between measured breaths. “Or just checking the competition’s preparation techniques?”
Ignore the sex appeal, Petra.“Why did you back off in sector 3?”
He stops, steadying the bag as he turns. “Excuse me?” He actually looks annoyed.
“You heard me.” I step further into the room, letting the door swing shut behind me. “That final lap. You had more to give. P1 was yours but you didn’t take it. Why?”
His expression shifts to something carefully neutral. “I took the clean line.”
A bead of sweat rolls down his chest and I track its progress toward some impressively cut abs before jerking my gaze back to his face and hoping like hell he’s too stroppy to notice.
Focus, you horny twat.“You took the safe line. The diplomatic line. The ‘look how principled I am’ line.”
“Thefastline. The one that worked.” He steps back from the heavy bag.
“Did it?” I move closer because I’m getting more pissed off. “Or did you decide to make sure everyone saw just how capable of winning a woman can be?”
“What?”He matches my advance, all controlled power and barely contained frustration. For the love of all that’s holy, why does he have to be half-naked? “I took the better line formysetup. It was the safer and cleaner line, Petra. If that choice gave you an advantage, that’s not your problem. It’s mine.”
“You did! Damn it, Nico! You absolute prick!”Christ, what is it with these fucking male drivers?“I don’t need you to show theworld how good I am or protect my reputation or whatever the fuck!”
“Protect you?” Now real anger colors his voice. “That’s what you think I’m doing?”
“Obviously.”I’m close enough now to see the tension in his jaw as he clenches his teeth. “Poor Petra needs El Conejo to show everyone how racing should be. She needs a male driver to validate her place on the grid!”
