Page 10

Cherry

Japan.

I’ve been here for three days and I think I’ve found my new forever home. It’s a country that seems designed to suit me. It’s organised and thoughtful. The people are polite and soft-spoken in public. And don’t get me started on the food.

I’m in foodie heaven.

“Cherry.”

Ah, it’s the only thing missing from my time here in Japan so far: Nicky. Although we’ve been texting each other—delightful texts that I have absolutely no t been reading and re-reading hourly—I’ve yet to have a quality conversation with him since the Shanghai race.

I’d travelled from China to Tokyo with the Vortex Motors team.

Taking the same flight as Serena made the journey a lot easier, as she wouldn’t stop talking long enough for me to focus on my fear of flying.

And I’d also tried some of the tips in the article Nicky sent me.

Using the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 technique had really helped during the periods of turbulence we faced; focusing on what I can see, touch, hear, smell and taste calmed me in a way I’d never experienced before. And I have Nicky to thank for that.

Once we arrived at Haneda Airport, there was no need for James to fetch me.

Instead, I’d happily hopped onboard the team bus and spent the five-hour drive to the team hotel on the outskirts of Suzuka watching movies and playing card games.

It kinda felt like a school trip to camp.

And after we arrived and checked in—I had my own room this time and tried not to feel disappointed about it—Serena and I had a day to ourselves to explore.

It sometimes feels like I’m getting paid to be a part-time photographer and part-time tourist, and I’m not complaining about any of it.

“Hi.” I take a moment to drink Nicky in, having not seen him up close and personal in forever. Or a handful of days. You know. Potato/Potahto.

It’s the Thursday of race weekend, which is the easiest day of them all.

It’s when the drivers do a walk-around of the circuit with the team principal or their race engineer, followed by a few fan appearances.

I’d gotten here extra early this morning to capture some photos of the track in this post-dawn light and am a little thrown to find Nicky lounging in the hospitality suite, like he’s got no better place to be.

He stands up and my eyes wander over him.

This morning he’s in his casual clothes, light denim jeans and an over-sized red, blue and white hoodie, but that will have to change later today when he greets the fans.

Then he’ll have to wear some sort of casual team uniform, but for now he looks like he’s just stepped off a runway.

A Tommy Hilfiger runway, to be specific.

“You look nice,” I blurt out before my brain can catch up with my mouth .

I flush from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes as he smirks at me, and I wonder if he’s picturing me looking at that photo of him in the People magazine article.

The photo where he’d been naked from the waist up, glistening with sweat, his muscles just about popping off the page.

I can’t believe I’d texted him that I’d memorised the photo; it feels a lot easier to banter with him over text message.

You know, without those brown eyes peering into my soul.

“So do you.” His softly spoken compliment jolts me to the present and, as I look at him, I swear I detect a slight reddening of his cheeks as well.

He can blush.

“Uh, um.” Feeling flustered now, I glance down at my outfit and frown. I’m wearing a white t-shirt tucked in a black skirt with ruffles that ends above my knees, white sneakers and an oversized black Vortex Motors jacket with Nicky’s name and number on the back.

Compared to the supermodel standing in front of me, I’m a slob. Troy always complained about the way I dressed, saying I should pay more attention to what’s in fashion. To what other women are wearing.

“What are you doing here so early?” Nicky says, changing the subject.

I wave at the large window beside us. “This light. I couldn’t pass up the chance to get some shots while it looks like this.”

The morning sun in Suzuka has burnt off the fog from the night before, leaving in its wake a pinkish hue coating the pale blue sky.

With the racetrack silhouetted by charcoal mountains in the distance, surrounded by blooming cherry blossom trees and almost dwarfed by the whimsical giant Ferris wheel nearby, my camera-fingers itch to get out there and capture it all .

“Here.” I turn from the view outside to an even better one inside. Nicky smiling at me, holding out a coffee cup.

A girl could get used to this.

“Thanks.” I sip from the cup, savouring the coffee, made just how I like it. This must be part of the magic of Nicolai Dimitrios. Things like the perfect coffee just appear in front of him.

“Do you want to go for a ride?”

Again, an innocent question from those lips in that voice has my knees knocking. So loudly, I fear he may hear them.

“A ride?”

His head tilts, gazing at me like he’s trying to read my thoughts. I clear my mind in a hurry; there’s no way I want him knowing these thoughts.

“Around the track?”

“No-no thanks,” I stammer. Even just the thought of getting in an F1 car leaves me feeling pukey. If I can’t handle an aeroplane, there’s no way I’m getting in one of those rocket ships on four wheels.

He takes my hand and pulls me to the door. I ignore the tingles radiating from my palm to my brain and dig my heels in, refusing to go anywhere.

“Cherry.” He turns and looks at me, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Do you think I’d ever put you in harm's way?”

“No.” I shake my head. “But…”

He walks out, leaving me behind and I can’t help it. I follow.

“We’ll go on this.” He points to his motorised scooter, a boyish grin tipping his lips.

“Oh.” It’s not a Formula 1 car, but it doesn’t seem that safe. Or big enough for two people. “Do you have another one for me hiding in your jacket? ”

His laugh is deep and hits me in the chest. I wish more people got to hear it; it’s the sort of sound that could bring about world peace.

“I’d forgotten how funny you are.”

I preen at this because I’m not actually funny at all, and he uses this distraction to grab my hand in his again. With a gentle tug, he pulls me towards an opening to the track while he wheels his scooter behind us.

“Come on.”

He steps up to the front of the scooter, balancing on one leg while he fiddles with the handles, and I glance at the spot behind him.

“Up there?” I point and he nods, his eyes locked on mine with a touch of something held in there. Something that looks a lot like a dare.

“Fine,” I grumble. I stand semi-sideways on the floorboard of the scooter and immediately wobble.

“Hold onto me,” he commands and my hands find his waist. I was right about the size of the scooter. There’s barely enough room for the two of us on here.

“Shouldn’t we have helmets on or something?” I nibble on my bottom lip and wrap my arms around his waist, holding on tighter. In this position my entire front is plastered to his back, and if I wasn’t so nervous about the ride, I’d be revelling in being this close to him.

“Do you trust me?” He presses my hands into his stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the back of my hand, and I rest my forehead between his shoulder blades and say, “Yes.”

If I’m going to die; this isn’t the worst way to go.

“Hold on. ”

Nicky presses a button and the scooter whirls to life. We lurch forward and I swallow a squeal, screwing my eyes shut and sending up a brief prayer.

“Are you okay back there?”

I peel one eyelid open and see we’re barely moving. In my spatially challenged estimation, we can’t be going over fifteen kilometres an hour. With the wind gently rushing past us and his hard body anchoring me in place, I lift my head for a moment. This is quite pleasant.

Okay, fine. Holding onto him like this is a lot more than pleasant.

“Yes,” I answer. I rest my cheek against his back and soak in this unique experience.

I’m getting to scoot around the Suzuka F1 racetrack—a track that is a favourite for many of the drivers on the grid, including the man I’m hugging like a koala bear hugs a tree.

This is the stuff dreams are made of. “This is incredible.”

I feel rather than hear his quiet chuckle and we ride in silence for the next few minutes, his heart thumping in his chest under my cheek.

The circuit, I know from my quick study ahead of the weekend, is one of the oldest tracks on the calendar, is three-point-six-zero miles long and has eighteen turns, including the hairpin we’d just gone round.

It’s thrilling.

After several more minutes of silently soaking it all in, Nicky takes on the role of tour guide.

He points out things, like the speed traps and the low-speed corners, as well as landmarks beyond the grandstands.

His knowledge not only of the road we’re scooting along but also of the city and the history of the place highlights just how long he’s been doing this.

How many years he’s had the privilege of racing here.

“Does the Ferris wheel go round while you race?” I try to picture sitting in one of the glass boxes, going round and round the giant wheel, while the race cars go round and round the track. It makes me smile.

He laughs. “It does. And when the race is boring, I watch them go round while I’m going round.”

“That’s amazing.”

He peers over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he takes me in. Pressed as flat as a pancake against his body.

“You comfortable back there?”

I giggle, using my forefinger to turn his head back forwards. “Eyes on the road, big man.”

We round the last corner and as we come down the home straight, I picture what it would feel like to have the grandstands filled with cheering crowds and the checkered flag waving up ahead. It’s exhilarating to experience it on this little scooter for two.

He fastens my arms more tightly around his body, and I sigh.

Okay, I think it may be more exhilarating being on this little scooter just for two.

“How was that?”

We pull to a stop on the starting grid and I unclench my hands from their spot, holding onto him. It had been a blissful twenty minutes.

“Amazing.” I shake my hands out and step off the scooter, away from the warmth of his body. “Thank you.”

“Did you have fun?” His eyebrows are raised like he really wants to hear the answer. Like he’s invested in my enjoyment.

I beam a smile up at him. “I had so much fun! Do you think we can do it again? I mean, at another track?”

His eyes trace my face, dissecting my features one by one. “Yes.” He puts the tip of his forefinger into the divot in my cheek—and poof —my ability to breathe is gone. “I think, Cherry, that dimple could get me to do just about anything for you.”

I gasp as he winks at me, turning back to his scooter and zooming away into the distance.

“Well, well, well. Wasn’t that adorable?”

Serena strolls up beside me as I stare after Nicky’s disappearing back, my dimple tingling from the attention he’d just given it.

“What?” I ask. I’m distracted and not able to deal with her brand of subtle sarcasm.

“This.” She shoves her phone in my face and I blink from where Nicky is now long gone, focusing on the screen in front of me.

“Oh.”

There, in HD clarity, is a photo she must have just taken.

The sky has lost its pinkish colour and is a bright blue in the background, framing the two people lost in their own world as they scoot along the Suzuka Circuit.

In the photo, Nicky is standing up tall and in control, one of his hands on the handlebars, the other holding on to mine.

And me? I am pressed against him so tightly there’s not a sliver of daylight between our bodies.

If I didn’t know the two people in this picture—that it was me and Nicky —I’d swear I was witnessing a moment between two lovers.

“It was fun,” I tell her, my voice wobbly and filled with lies.

That was more than just fun. That was… something .

“Fun, hey?” Her raised eyebrow is doing all the talking, and I choose to ignore it. Sometimes a picture tells a thousand stories. This time, it’s not telling the whole story. That it was just a scoot between two old friends.

Right?

“Yes, fun. Nicky offered to take me around the track so I could get some photos, and I accepted.”

She sticks out her hand and gestures to my phone with a gimme motion. “Let me see.”

My cheeks burn as I realise, I’d been so lost in the ride, in being with Nicky, I’d forgotten to take a photo. Any photos. Which is literally my job. My entire reason for being here.

“Just like I thought.” Serena smirks at me and I give her a gentle shove in response.

“I’m off to take some photos,” I tell her, marching with purpose in no particular direction.

Her laughter follows me. “You do that.”

I wave her away and head towards the best light just beyond the pitlane. So far today I’d wasted the pink skies and the early morning dewiness all in favour of the world’s greatest twenty-minute scoot. Now it’s time to focus on what I’m getting paid for.

And that’s not falling in love with Nicolai Dimitrios. No matter how easy it would be.