Page 40 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

Distraction

William

The contrast couldn’t be more stark. We're both in the back, but I'm smelling points. Nicholas, however, is… I don't know what he is doing.

I hand my helmet to one of the mechanics with a quick thanks, then unzip the top half of my race suit, tying the sleeves around my waist. The cool air hits my sweat-damp fireproof undershirt, bringing immediate relief.

I grab a towel from my side of the garage and wipe my face, watching Violet from the corner of my eye.

Her shoulders are tense, spine straight as always in that impeccable dark-gray suit, with subtle violet accents that plague my dreams. She does change around a bit the suits she wears, but this one…

This one is iconic. Like it was made for her.

She gives off that 'powerful woman' vibe that I love. But there’s a softness in her expression I rarely see in the paddock—a small, private smile playing at the corners of her lips as she reviews the times.

Pride, maybe. Or relief. Either way, it tugs at something in my chest.

Almost five months since I signed with Colton Racing.

One week since Birmingham, and that underground metal show that changed…

something between us. I wanted to kiss her when I drove back to her place.

But then again, she was a bit groggy and sleepy, and the last thing I wanted was to, by any chance, force myself on her, be an asshole, and make things awkward between us.

I think we both noticed. We're massive liars.

Initially, I wanted to become her friend just to save my ass.

But it didn't take long to crave her. To want to be around her.

I spent weeks going to the garage just to catch a glimpse of her.

Could I have done sim work at my place? Yes.

But I wanted to be near her, even if she barely interacted with me during the first months.

Then, at the show, we hung out, the corners of her luscious lips rising with each topic we talked about, the adorable small wrinkles on her forehead when she narrows her gaze if a topic is not to her liking, how bright her eyes shine when we talk about Formula 1, engineering, or music…

I should have kissed her that morning, and I'm regretting it big time right now. That was my chance.

Friend. She’s much more to me now. If she said she wanted me, I'd be with her in a heartbeat.

That's how whipped I am for her. She cares a lot about those around her, but I honestly don't see the same happening in reverse.

There's no one there to care for her—well, maybe that friend of theirs I saw in Abu Dhabi last year, and old man Blake—but other than that…

She's always working when we're at the headquarters.

She's always working on the road. I bet she's always working at home.

This woman says she loves her job, but her job is turning her into a slave.

She doesn't get any time for herself, any time to let someone in, any time for. .. me.

The longer I'm around, the more I want to take care of her, but also, a small part of me wants to have the luck and privilege of being the only one she lets in.

We're both liars, using 'friendship' to disguise what is now an attraction so irrational, I don't even remember when or how it started.

We're both liars, because we keep stealing glances at each other, trying to act professional around each other.

We're both liars, because this isn't a friendship for me.

This is so much more. She's the perfect distraction, but also the perfect reward.

She's my boss, but also the woman I crave.

Kinda ironic, isn't it? First time in years I want to be with someone.

And that someone understands me, because we're in the same sport.

That someone has the same tastes as me and—I think—she enjoys my company.

But, she's my boss, so I can only dream of anything happening.

However, I'm done keeping so much distance.

Overly professional is too cold. If she can side-hug Blake, I should be allowed to come close, seeing as we are. .. friends .

Dammit, this word is losing all meaning to me. Do I even know what a friend is?

I drape the towel around my neck and approach her, sliding into her line of sight with an exaggerated swagger, and that smile of mine that usually makes her immediately go soft.

“See something you like on those time sheets, boss?” I keep my voice low, just for her.

Violet looks up, her professional mask slipping back into place—but not completely—as she smiles at me. There’s warmth in her eyes that wasn’t there during our first meetings. This warmth tells me that it's not only me feeling this. We've both noticed. We're just not acting on it.

“P14 is hardly cause for celebration at most teams, Foster .” Her tone is dry, but the smile she’s fighting gives her away.

I've noticed when she wants to tease me, or be slightly sarcastic, she gives that jab by using my surname.

That's her way to both deflect and deploy her deadpan humor that many don't get, but I find thoroughly fascinating.

“Good thing we’re not most teams, then.” I lean against the workbench beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch, her warmth seeping through to me. “Admit it. You’re impressed. ”

She purses her lips, but the corners twitch upward. “The car performed adequately.”

“The car?” I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. “What about the incredibly talented, slightly hot-blooded, and devastatingly handsome driver behind the wheel?”

A soft snort escapes her. “The driver managed not to crash. I suppose that’s something.”

“High praise indeed from Violet Colton.” I grin, then lean closer, dropping my voice lower. “But seriously, the car feels good. Stable in the corners. We’re closer than I expected.”

She nods, a genuine smile finally breaking through. “Tom showed me your sector times. There’s still more we can extract, but…” She glances around, then admits, “It’s better than I dared hope.”

Something shifts in her expression then—a shadow passing over her features.

My gaze follows hers across the garage to Nicholas’ empty cockpit.

His side of the garage is quieter, mechanics working with less enthusiasm.

It's frustrating that the excitement we have with the team getting closer to a chance at points is not shared across the garage.

Those mechanics clearly lack the motivation to work with Nicholas.

He's consistently rude to them, and when he drives, his bravado doesn't reflect good driving…

It's hard to be happy on that end, even if, collectively, we're all moving forward.

I hesitate, then decide to risk it. “Speaking of hope… Everything okay with you? Earlier, with Nicholas—that looked intense. ”

Violet’s posture stiffens slightly. She glances around to ensure we’re relatively alone before responding.

“Just addressing some… unprofessional behavior.” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. “He’s been complaining about favoritism on social media.”

I let out a low whistle. “Seriously? That’s…”

“Childish? Unprofessional? A PR nightmare waiting to happen?” She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “All of the above.”

“I was going to say ‘bullshit,’ but yours works, too.” I study her face—the tiny stress lines between her brows that weren’t there this morning. “He’s got the same car I do. If anything, I should be the one complaining. I’m developing a car for him, and he’s making me look bad!”

“Try telling him that.” Frustration colors her voice. “Three years, William. Three years of excuses, and mediocre performances. And every time I try to hold him accountable, he waves his father’s sponsorship in my face.”

The pieces click together. Nicholas’ father. Gritt Tires. The lone sponsor logo on our car’s rear wing.

“So, he’s basically untouchable,” I murmur, understanding dawning.

A deep sigh escapes her lips, and she says, "For now, we're in this weird limbo that the worst driver on the team, contributing to nothing, is… ironically, keeping the team afloat." Violet’s eyes flash. “But no one is untouchable. Not if they’re dragging this team down. ”

She’s never sounded so fierce, so determined. It stirs something in me—admiration, yes, but something else, too. Something hotter, more immediate.

“You threatened to sack him.”

It’s not a question. I’d caught enough of their conversation across the garage to piece that together.

“I reminded him of the terms of his contract.” She looks down at the time sheets again. “P20. Six seconds off your pace in identical machinery.”

I consider my next words carefully. “His father’s sponsorship… How critical is it?”

Violet’s silence tells me everything. The team is hanging by a thread financially, and Nicholas’ family connection is one of the few things keeping us afloat.

Sure, I brought a partner or two for tools and catering, but that's not the same as bringing title sponsors to a team, and to the car or driver's suits.

“That’s messed up,” I say quietly. “Being held hostage like that.”

“Welcome to the glamorous world of Formula 1 team management.” Her attempt at humor falls flat, strain evident in her voice.

Without thinking, I extend my arm around her shoulders and pull her gently against my side. It’s a half-hug, friendly enough that anyone watching wouldn’t think twice, but intimate enough that she stiffens momentarily in surprise .

“For what it’s worth,” I murmur near her ear, “I think you’re doing an amazing job with what you’ve got. And I promise I’ll give you everything I’ve got on track.”

She relaxes slightly against me, her shoulder warm against mine. We stay like that for a moment—not quite embracing, but connected. I don't want this moment to end.

“Actually,” I say, deliberately lightening my tone, “I believe interest rates have gone up. Now I owe you two hugs that you can cash in whenever you want.”

Her laugh is quiet but genuine. “Is that how it works? You’re keeping a tally now?”

“Absolutely. I’m very serious about my debts.” I grin down at her.

She reaches up suddenly, taking the towel from around my neck. Before I can react, she’s wiping my face with it, her touch brisk but gentle.

“You missed a spot,” she says, but there’s a hint of color in her cheeks that wasn’t there before.

The towel shields her expression from the rest of the garage momentarily, and in that private moment, our eyes lock. My breath catches. There’s something vulnerable in her gaze, something that makes my heart rate spike, like I’m approaching a blind corner at full throttle. Just lean in, William.

NO. What the hell am I thinking?

“Thanks,” I manage, voice rougher than I intended.

She pulls the towel away, composing herself. “Can’t have our star driver looking a mess, can we? ”

“Star driver, huh? Now who’s playing favorites?” I tease, not ready to break this moment between us.

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “Don’t let it go to your head, Foster. Tomorrow’s qualifying is what counts.”

“Yes, boss.” I straighten, giving her a mock salute.

The activity in the garage is winding down around us. Engineers packing up their equipment, mechanics securing the cars for the night. The intimate bubble we’ve created is about to burst.

“You should get some rest,” Violet says, her professional tone returning as she hands my towel back. “Big day tomorrow.”

Our fingers brush during the exchange, causing a jolt—static from the dry Australian air, but it sends a current up my arm nonetheless.

“Yes, boss.” I linger for a moment longer than necessary. “You should rest, too. Can’t have our star Team Principal burning out before the season even starts.”

She smiles at that, small but genuine. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

I back away, reluctant to end our conversation, but aware of the eyes around us. “Enjoy the night, Violet.”

“You too, William.”

I turn to gather my things, sensing her eyes on my back. Whatever this is between us—friendship edged with something more dangerous—it’s growing stronger by the day since that night. And despite every complication it presents, I can’t bring myself to wish it away .

Friends don’t make your pulse race with a single look.

Friends don’t occupy your thoughts in quiet moments.

Friends don’t make you feel like you’re simultaneously falling and soaring.

Friends don’t make you want them. To be yours. Only yours. Or, to be theirs.

I glance back once before leaving the garage. She’s still watching me, that same unreadable expression on her face. I offer a small smile and a wave, and after a moment, she returns it.

For some inexplicable reason, you've captured my heart, Violet. And now, I want you.