Page 6 of Drive Me Crazy
“Ella! It’s so nice to meet you! I was worried I wasn’t going to be able to introduce myself before the race. I’ve been running around like a bloody chicken with its head cut off. I’m glad I found you, though. There are so many people, but it was easy to spot you since there aren’t too many women around here. Not sure if you noticed that or not. You’ve worked in sports before, so you’re probably used to the testosterone over-load. How’s your first day here? Or have you been here for a few days? I can’t remember.”
She’s talking so quickly it’s hard to keep up. She could’ve just asked me to join her pyramid scheme and I would’vedumbly nodded. Her dark blond hair blurs as she suddenly steps a few feet away, stopping a pair of guys walking past us.What is happening?Blondie poses the two guys for a photo, snapping pictures of them on her camera. I take a moment to study her. She looks like she should be in front of the camera instead of behind it with her heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and perfectly pouty lips.
“Sorry about that!” She bounces back over to me. Her British accent is unbelievably posh. “They’ve been impossible to find, so I had to get a photo while I could. I’m Josie Bancroft, by the way. I do content creation and brand management for McAllister.”
I stick out my hand for her to shake. “I’m Ella Gold, but you seem to know that already.”
“Everybody knows who you are, babes.” She shoots me a dazzling smile. As if proving her point, a few mechanics walk past us, waving at Josie and giving me a knowing head nod. “You’re the writer-slash-journalist-slash-saint working with Blake this season. The one who said someone should take the stick out of his ass and hit him over the head with it.”
Yep, that’s me.
Josie takes over as my handler/fairy godmother and makes all the necessary introductions. I’ve known her for all of an hour and I can already tell she’s a force to be reckoned with.
She walks me through the team’s motorhome in the afternoon. Formula 1 motorhomes are million-dollar structures that get built, broken down, and rebuilt at every single race. It’s the team’s base for race weekends and is an equally productive and entertaining environment. There are rooms for meetings, a cafeteria, multiple bars, a barista. Plus, each driver has their own hospitality suite. It’s a five-star hotel condensed into two floors and a rooftop.
We’re sitting on said rooftop, away from the noise andcrowds, when Josie asks how meeting Blake was. I fill her in on our conversation.
“He’s every bit as charming as he is caustic,” she says, not at all surprised by my recap. “You get used to it. He keeps his inner circle really tight, so it takes him a while to warm up, but once you get to know him, he’s actually a decent guy.”
“Is he as man-whorish as he seems?”
She starts singing Elvis’s “Hound Dog,” much to my amusement.
“He sleeps with more groupies than John Mayer,” Josie says nonchalantly. “Taylor Swift could write nine albums from one night with Blake. I wouldn’t know firsthand, but that’s what I’ve heard.”
It’s official. Josie is my new favorite person.
“They’re all like that, though,” she adds. “Theo—he’s Blake’s driving partner—says the only things they need in life are points, podium wins, and pussy.”
The water I’ve just taken a sip of comes spraying out of my mouth. I’m the last one to be offended by a dirty mouth, but yikes. I tell Josie she can easily get that trending on Twitter. #PointsPodiumPussy.Go, team, go!
“My boyfriend wants me to wear a chastity belt around these guys and I don’t blame him.” She winks at me. “I can tell we’re going to get on quite well this season, Ella.”
I already miss Poppy and Jack, so the idea of having a new partner in crime, especially one who’s feisty, brings a smile to my face. I have a feeling I’m going to need someone like Josie to make it through this year unscathed.
FOUR
Blake
THE MOMENT I arrive at the sponsor event, I feel it—the excitement pulsing through the air, the energy flowing through the room. Man, I love it. Everyone is hopeful about their chance at victory. With no points distributed and rivalries from the previous year ignored, we all focus on the current season rather than the last. I smile as I survey the room. After a disastrous season last year, I’m ready to be back. New season, new mindset. I’m going to protect the throne that’s rightfully mine and add another World Championship to my roster. Fuck anyone who tries to take it from me.
The first event of the season is always overly extravagant. Limousines and expensive cars queue up outside the hotel as guests wearing expensive diamonds and luxury watches sip champagne inside the ballroom. It’s the usual crowd of snobby, rich white men looking like penguins in their too-tight tuxedos. They’re trying to relive their youth by living vicariously through us—which means giving us money. Not that I’m complaining. Their money allows me to drive the best car for the best team. It also buys absurdly large ice sculptures.
“Hey,hotshot,” Theo calls out from the bar. “Fancy a bevvy?”
I snake my way through waiters quietly sharing hors d’oeuvres and sidle up next to my driving partner. He’s sipping a Cosmo with no shame, his navy-blue eyes dancing with mischief.
“If it isn’t my favorite Formula 1 fuckboy.” I slap him on the back in greeting. People find it odd that Theo and I are so close. Formula 1 is one of the only sports where your teammate also happens to be your biggest competitor. But the two of us have known each other since we were kids. He’s one persistent motherfucker and wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to be his friend. We’ve grown up racing together and rather than turn the competition into a bitter rivalry, we use it to push ourselves to become better drivers.
He rubs a hand over his beard-stubbled chin. “I prefer Formula 1 ‘fuckman’ rather than ‘fuckboy.’”
“I’ll consider it once your balls drop,” I tease.
Lucas, an AlphaVite driver, appears on Theo’s other side. His usually shaggy dirty-blond hair is slicked back, the silver rings on his fingers glinting from the crystal chandelier dangling overhead. “Speaking of balls, how was your winter break, Theo?”
Theo had been spotted getting lovey-dovey with a famous model in Cannes, only to be seen making out with an up-and-coming movie star in Paris a few days later. An ugly social media war had started between the girls, rivaling an episode of reality TV. He found the entire situation amusing.
After the end of last season, I’d forced myself into hibernation, meaning I hadn’t joined the off-season party circuit with my friends. I’d needed time to reset and refocus.
