Page 37 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

“Nope. Valid indefinitely. Interest accrues, though. Wait too long, and you might end up owing me two or more hugs. I’m not going to share the interest rate, though.”

“That sounds like predatory hug-giving practices.”

“I prefer to think of it as incentivizing prompt redemption.”

We banter until last call, and then find ourselves standing outside in the cool night air. It’s obscenely late—or early, depending on your perspective. The responsible thing would be to find a hotel room, and sleep off the beer and exhaustion before the long drive back to London.

Instead, we walk to the parking lot where William’s car sits under a streetlight.

“This is probably ill-advised,” I say as he unlocks the car, and we climb in.

“What is?”

“Sitting in a parking lot at”—I check my watch—“3:17 in the morning.”

“We could drive back,” he suggests, though he makes no move to start the engine.

“After three beers? I think not.”

“Fair point. Hotel?”

I shake my head. “For a few hours? Seems excessive.”

We sit in companionable silence for a moment.

“Let’s talk about something that isn’t work-related,” William says suddenly. “Tell me… I don’t know. Your favorite movie. Most embarrassing childhood memory. Whether you think pineapple belongs on pizza.”

“It absolutely does not belong on pizza,” I answer immediately. “That’s non-negotiable.”

“Finally, someone who shares the same opinion!”

The conversation flows easily after that, jumping from topic to topic. William tells me about his hometown, about the karting trophies that still sit in his parents’ living room, about his best friend Felix, who’s apparently ‘the only person who puts up with my shit on a regular basis. ’

“Well, until now,” he adds, turning in his seat to face me more fully.

“It’s been a long time since I laughed this much with someone new.

” He softly gazes at me. “I meant what I said earlier. About the concerts. I want you to come with me. I’ll even buy you those cute little earplugs that look like cotton candy. ”

I smile, touched by his enthusiasm. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” His face brightens.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Because there’s this underground band playing next month that’s supposed to be amazing, and—”

A yawn interrupts me before I can respond, catching me by surprise.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “It’s not the company, I promise.”

“Get some sleep,” he says gently. “I’ll keep watch, so no creeps try to pry open the car doors and snatch you.”

“I’m not going to fall asleep in the car,” I protest, even as my eyelids grow heavy. “That would be unprofessional.”

“Because sitting in a parking lot with your driver at three in the morning is the pinnacle of professionalism?”

“Point taken,” I murmur, slowly drifting off. “Just for a minute…”

I wake with a jolt to sunlight streaming through the car windows. For a disoriented moment, I don’t know where I am. Then, I see William in the driver’s seat, and the memories of the night before come flooding back.

But something’s off; we’re not in the same parking lot. I recognize the building outside the window—it’s my apartment building in London.

“You drove us back?” I ask, voice rough with sleep. “Are you insane? Did you drive drunk and exhausted?” Concern floods me as I study his face for signs of fatigue.

He chuckles, looking far too alert for someone who should be running on fumes. “Relax. I caught a couple hours of sleep, too. But someone”—he pokes my arm gently—“snores like a chainsaw, so it wasn’t exactly restful.”

Heat rushes to my face. “I do not snore.”

“You absolutely do. It’s cute, though. Like an angry kitten.”

“Oh fuck. I’m mortified,” I groan, covering my face with my hands.

“Don’t be.” His voice softens. “It’s endearing. I wanted to cuddle you.”

I peek through my fingers at him. “You’re just being nice, or teasing me. ”

“I’m never just being nice. Brutal honesty is my specialty.” He tilts his head and smiles. "And I was not teasing. I mean it. You looked adorable."

My ears and the back of my neck are on fire. When did he start affecting me this much?

We exit the car, and William insists on walking me to the entrance of my building. The morning is cool and clear, the city just beginning to stir around us. We stop at the doors, neither of us quite ready to end things.

William’s eyes soften as he looks at me. “This was fun,” he says. “I haven’t had fun like this in… I can’t remember how long.”

His left hand twitches at his side, then slowly rises to touch my shoulder. He squeezes gently, the same comforting gesture from the pre-season testing in Barcelona.

“See you in Australia,” he says, “and please don’t turn into a hardass with a split personality when we go back to being driver and Team Principal.”

He moves his hand from my shoulder, catching a stray strand of hair that’s escaped my ponytail. With careful fingers, he tucks it behind my ear, the touch so light, I might have imagined it.

“Bye, Violet,” he says softly, before turning and walking back to his car.

I stand there watching until he drives away, then make my way up to my penthouse in a daze. Inside, I kick off my shoes and collapse onto my couch, mind reeling from the night’s events. I have an online meeting at 10 AM, but right now, my head is nowhere near wanting to focus on that .

Every moment plays back like a movie.

Friend.

He called me his friend. But…

Why does that simple word feel so significant, yet not enough? And why does the memory of his arm around me, his scent enveloping me, his warmth seeping into my skin, make my heart beat faster?

I press my hands to my cheeks, surprised to find them warm. This isn’t me. I don’t get flustered by men. I’m the picture of coolness. I especially don’t get flustered over my drivers; that’s a complication I can’t afford.

But as I close my eyes, exhaustion finally catching up to me, it’s William’s goofy smile I see. William’s warm laugh I hear. William’s touch I feel, lingering like a promise. William that I wan—

He's a friend , I remind myself firmly.

That’s all this is. That’s all it can be.