Page 11 of Drive Me Crazy
Sam spends the entirety of breakfast asking me about what I’ve been up to. I know via Blake’s calendar that all he’s done is spend time at the McAllister team HQ in London, using the simulator to prepare for this weekend. I spent the week in London as well, but George went with Blake to talk to the team so I could explore my new home base. Josie doesn’t live too far away and was more than happy to show me around. I swear it’slike someone shoved a battery up her ass. The girl does not run out of energy.
Blake seems floored to learn I’ve been here since Monday considering he only flew in yesterday afternoon.
“I’ve been spending time with the pit wall engineers,” I explain coolly. “I figure that until you decide I’m not public enemy number one and actually let me do my job, I may as well get to know the rest of the team.”
Sam nearly chokes on the eggs he’s shoveling into his mouth. Blake doesn’t seem to appreciate me calling him out based on the way his nostrils flare.Whatever. If he takes the time to get to know me, he’ll quickly learn I don’t back down easily. I’ve interviewed some of the douchiest sports players and worked in a boy’s club culture for the past four years. His attitude is nothing I haven’t dealt with before.
“I don’t think you’re public enemy number one,” he huffs, his voice quiet and tense.
“Blake.” I raise my eyebrows. “If your looks could kill, I’d be dead already.”
I focus on cutting my crepe, not bothering to watch his reaction. I have a feeling it involves an icy glare.
“I just don’t like people digging into my life.”
“Well”—I sigh—“you probably shouldn’t have agreed to partake in the book then.”
His brown eyes narrow to slits while his lips form a hard, thin line. A brilliant idea suddenly hits me. I’m trying not to bounce in my seat with excitement, but I can’t help it. I’ve never been great at hiding my emotions. There’s a reason I’m not an actress.
“How do you feel about a little wager?”
His forehead puckers in thought. “Depends on what it is.”
“You place podium later today,” I offer before revising my idea. “No, scratch that. You place P1, and you can interviewme instead. If you place anything but P1, I get to ask you anything I want.”
The intrigued look in his eyes lets me know he’s in. He’s going to try to place podium regardless of this bet and we both know it, but I also knew he wouldn’t back down from a challenge. When’s he going to learn that neither will I?
SIX
Blake
THEO LOVES ELLA EVER since he learned that she said girls try to climb him like they’re koalas and he’s a eucalyptus tree. He’s mentioned this about three times in the past week even though I heard it myself when I listened to her podcast. Her comment doesn’t surprise me since I’ve seen firsthand how girls fall over Theo’s Australian accent and larger-than-life personality.
He’d love to have someone write his biography considering he’s the most open person in the world. He gives more details than anyone wouldeverwant or need. A reporter once asked what he eats before a race and he somehow managed to turn that into a debate over which mythical creature he could win a fight against. He landed on a unicorn, in case you were wondering. Needless to say, that reporter doesn’t ask him as many questions now.
He’s been hanging out in my suite before the race, badgering me with questions to try to get inside my head.Do you like Ella? Did she tell you about when she met Tom Brady? When she interviews you, does she write shit down or does she record you? Have youlied about anything to see if she’ll call you out on it?He peers at me, waiting for details, but I don’t offer anything.
“You need to relax.” He laughs at my scowl. “Ella’s a cool bird. You’ll like her if you stop being a moody asshole. Name one girl who knows what a bite point find is or can easily talk about the aerodynamics of downforce.”
“Ella’s a sportswriter. That’s her job.” I aggressively sip my water, drips splashing onto my chest. “And I’m sure lots of girls know that. Don’t be sexist.”
“Some may say Formula 1 is sexist,” he replies casually.
Excuse me? Formula 1 is sexist? I’m not saying he’s wrong, but this is the man who asked if the Chinese food we were ordering had any misogyny in it. He meant MSG and somehow confused the two. Lucas almost cracked a rib from laughing so hard.
“Did you know that out of almost one thousand Formula 1 drivers who have raced in a Grand Prix, only two of those have been women?” he continues. “How wild is that?”
Shock weaves its way through my body. I’m debating calling a doctor because a concussion is the only reasonable explanation for Theo’s sudden interest in this topic.
He looks at me before adding, “And out of all female journalists, only twenty-one percent write about sports.”
Theo’s talking as if this is the most normal conversation we’ve ever had. As if five minutes ago, he hadn’t asked me if he could pop a woman’s breast implant by grabbing it too hard. So, excuse my confusion.
“I’m glad she’s teaching you how to be a productive member of society, Theo.”
“I promise she’ll surprise you if you give her a chance.”
“Why are you so obsessed with her?” I snap in annoyance. I’m starting to not like how buddy-buddy the two of them have gotten after a few fucking race weekends. He even got coffee with her and Josie in London over the weekend. I know Ihaven’t exactly made it easy on her, but she’s supposed to be spending time withme, not Theo.
