Page 7 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

The buzz of the entire paddock hit me the moment I stepped out of the car.

The air was thick with anticipation, the energy almost tangible as team personnel darted betweenmotorhomesand camera crews set up their shots.

The first race of the season was always like this—loud, chaotic, and as fucking electric as a live wire.

I wondered whatAuréliethought of all the commotion. If she'd like it, if she was accustomed to it between her racing career and her brother's, or if she found it bothersome.

I hadn't seen her in over two weeks. Not since theafter-partyin Bahrain, when she'd walked away with that parting shot I'd been replaying more times than I cared to admit.

It wasn't just what she'd said, or how her hand had brushed my shoulder.

It was also how she regarded me with little more than bored curiosity, the fucking fire in her eyes that hinted at just how dangerous she could be—both on and off the track.

And then there was the follow request last week.

When I saw her name pop up on my private account, I couldn't accept it fast enough. The idea that she'd searched for me, scrolled through my feed, tapped like—it did something to me that I didn't have words for.

And yes, I followed her personal account back, loving the private view into her life a little too much.

Her public socials had always been a little provocative with shots of her in various bikinis and in various party locales, but her private account?

It would be downright scandalous to the world ofF1.

I may or may not have jerked myself off to a few of those photos... Okay, I definitely did.

But now, as I moved through the paddock, I wasn't sure what I'd say to her when I saw her again. Not that it mattered—I was a professional, and had been my entire life. And she… well, she was my colleague now. Nothing more.

“Fraser!” Marco's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He jogged over, his grin as cocky as ever. “Media pen in ten. Ready to face the circus as the Vanguard dream team?”

“Always,” I said, smirking, feeling the Australian heat beat down on us. “Though I think they're more interested inDuboisthis week.”

He raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, my attention snagged on none other than the woman herself.

Auréliestood a few meters away, her straightened hair catching the sunlight as she listened to one of the PR reps.

Dressed in herLuministeam gear, her expression was calm and composed.

In broad daylight, she was glowing. Tan, poised, light makeup adorning her features. Fucking gorgeous.

God, I needed to pull it together.

“I think she'll be the focus all season,” Marco said, pulling me back.

We chatted about grip levels and tire choices, pretending we weren’t both painfully aware of the tension crackling between us. But when I glanced at her again, unable to resist the urge any longer, I realized something was off.

She was now standing in a loose circle of drivers, most of whom were engaged in easy banter, but a couple of them—MaxSchreiberand TomasKowalski—stood stiffly, their faces sharp and unfriendly as they glanced her way.

The tension in their posture was unmistakable, and when they leaned toward each other to exchange words, their expressions morphed into scowls .

It wasn't the first time I'd seen that look—the one that said she didn't belong. It pissed me off more than it should have.

Without thinking, I made my way over.

“Dubois,” I greeted casually, stepping into the circle and nodding at the other drivers. Aurélie's head turned, gaze catching mine for just a second too long.

“Fraser,” she replied, her tone polite but distant, but I caught the way her fingers curled subtly against her bicep.

Oh, how I wanted to force her to look at me. Then I could see the eyes I'd been imagining in truly sinful ways since I first saw her step foot on the grid.

“Settling in?” I asked, keeping my voice light as I slid my hands into my pockets. I didn't trust them, or myself. I was used to getting what I wanted: women, podiums, championships, you name it. But she was one thing I couldn't have, and it bothered me.

She nodded. “It's been… an adjustment.”

This wasn't like her. TheAurélieI'd met in Bahrain had been sharp, confident,unapologeticallydirect, and a little flirtatious. This version of her was guarded, almost nervous.

“You'll get used to it,” I told her, leaning in with my voice low enough so only she could hear. “They'll come around. They always do.”

She exhaled through her nose, barely perceptible, but I saw it. The slightest tension in her shoulders, the way her lips parted like she was about to say something then changed her mind.

Her fingers flexed, the same way mine did when I was trying not to react to something that got under my skin.

For a moment, I thought she might brush me off entirely.

But then the group began to break apart, the drivers heading toward their respective obligations, leaving the two of us standing alone.

An awkward silence settled between us, the air charged with something I couldn't quite name but could feel crawling over my skin.

“You didn't have to do that,” she said finally.

“Do what?” I asked, leaning casually against the nearest barrier.

“Step in,” she said, waving a hand at the backs of the other drivers. “I can handle it. Them. ”

“I know you can. But that doesn't mean you should have to.”

Auréliehummed disapprovingly, then scoffed. “Why do you care?”

The question caught me off guard. Why did I care? She wasn't my responsibility. Fucking hell, we barely knew each other. But the idea of her standing there, surrounded by assholes, didn't sit right with me.

“Because I've been where you are,” I admitted. “New to the grid, trying to prove myself. It's not easy, and it's harder when people expect you to fail. I have thick skin now, but I didn't always.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as though she was trying to decide whether or not to believe me. “I appreciate the sentiment, Fraser,”Auréliesaid, her tone softer now, less guarded. “But you don't need to worry about me.”

I chuckled. “Worrying isn't really my style,Dubois. More like looking out for my competition.”

She bit her lip, covering a small smile as she shook her head. Christ, I should not be looking at her mouth right now. Look away, Fraser.

“Is that what this is? A truce in the name of fair play?”

“Something like that.” I grinned. “Can't have you losing your edge because a couple of blokes can't handle a woman on the grid.”

She let out a genuine laugh at that, and I felt a surge of pride at having caused it. We stood there, sharing a brief moment of camaraderieamidstthe chaos of the paddock.

“Well, then, thank you,” she responded.

“Don't mention it,” I said, straightening. “But for the record, they'll stop glaring once you beat them enough times.”

She tilted her head. “Is that what worked for you?”

“Like a fucking charm.”

“Four titles later, and I suppose you know a thing or two. But you better watch your back on the track,” she threatened with a wolfish grin that had my heart sputtering like I'd released the clutch on my car too soon. “I'm coming for that title.”

I had no doubt.

Feeling cheeky, I leaned in until my lips brushed the shell of her ear. There were a million reasons why I shouldn't do this, but the way she shifted toward me—barely perceptible, almost instinctual—sent logic out the window .

Her breath hitched. Not in a dramatic way. Not something anyone else would've caught. But I did.

“Not the only way you'll be coming for me before the end of the season,” I murmured.

I pulled back just in time to catch her lashes fluttering, the her mouth opening in silent protest.

And then that fuckingblush. Slow. Creeping up her neck. Spreading high on her cheekbones.

Jesus. That blush was worth everything.

She was not as nonchalant as she'd like people to believe. She was just good at masking her emotions and pretending she was unaffected, but I could get underneath all that with enough will and determination. Those exact attributes are what got me to where I was.

“And here I thought you were the golden boy.”

I chuckled huskily, noting her eyes dip to my mouth momentarily. “Hardly.” With a wink, I turned to leave before the moment stretched too long.

As I walked away, I couldn't help glancing back over my shoulder.Auréliewas still standing there, her arms crossed, as she tracked me. There was still a faint blush on her cheeks.

It shouldn't have made my pulse quicken or my thoughts wander to places they had no business going. But it did. The image of her standing there, pink-cheeked and flustered, burned itself into my mind.

I wondered, against my better judgment, if that blush spread everywhere.

For fuck's sake, Fraser. Get a grip.

I turned back toward the paddock, shaking off the thoughts that were already threatening to distract me. I had bigger things to focus on—like winning another championship.

But as I walked away, one thought lingered.

AurélieDuboiswas going to turn this grid upside down. And, God help me, she might turn me upside down, too. I couldn't fucking wait to see it happen.

I paused in front of Marco, who was waiting for me by the media pen with an amused look .

“What was that all about?” he muttered in a hushed tone.

I shrugged and squeezed his shoulder so we could enter the pen together. “Nothing, mate, just talking about predictions of the season.”

The media pen was a circus. It always was, cameras flashing and microphones shoved in your face as reporters clamored to get their soundbite of the day.

I'd been through this drill enough times to know the script: keep it charming and don't give them anything too real to run with. That was asking for a PR nightmare.

And PR was something I'd been trained very well on, because nothing was worth rocking the boat for.

Today, though, the energy felt different. The eyes weren't all on me this time. They were on her.AurélieDubois. The newcomer. The woman. The wildcard. And the press was eating it up.

I leaned casually against a table as my turn approached, listening to snippets of other interviews. I caughtAurélie'scalm and measured voice as she battled the onslaught of questions.

“Do you think your brother's legacy made this opportunity easier for you?”

“I think my own results speak for themselves.”

“Is there added pressure being the only woman on the grid?”

“I don't see gender when I race. I see the track.”

She handled it like a pro, but I noticed the way her shoulders tensed each time a reporter pushed too far.

“Callum!” one of the reporters called, breaking me out of my thoughts. “How does it feel to be back at the start of another title defense?”

I flashed my usual grin. “Feels great. I'm ready to get back on track.”

“What do you think of the new rookie,AurélieDubois?” someone else asked, predictably. “Do you see her as a threat?”

I glanced to the side, whereAuréliestood giving another interview. Her golden hair was swept back in a neat ponytail now, swinging as she spoke. Even surrounded by chaos, she appeared composed.

A threat? Maybe.

“She's talented,” I said, my tone even. “I've seen her drive inF2. She won last year's championship. She's earned her seat, and anyone who thinks otherwise isn't paying attention.”

That got a few surprised murmurs, and in my periphery, I saw her turn slightly as though she'd heard me. She'd caught that. Good.

“Do you think she can keep up with drivers of your caliber in a midfield car?” the reporter pressed.

I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head. “Ask me again after qualifying when we see where she starts on the grid.”