Kendall's story. Description to come.
Tropes: strangers to friends to lovers, new adult, good girl/bad boy, ballerina, street racer, Formula One, diabetes awareness, she saves him
The Las Vegas Grand Prix will take place on the actual Strip. When I learned this information, I looked like an imbecile in front of twenty-two members of Arsenault Racing's pit crew. We won't even be able to drive back to the Aria tonight, as the track will be under construction. Instead, each hotel has hired shuttles to take guests to and from their respective destinations.
Except Dominique, of course. He'll be transferred via helicopter. The flagrant, overly sexual man offered me the only remaining seat beside him, to which I declined.
Usually, racers train on the actual track, but seeing as this one is still being built, we drove fifty miles into the desert to watch Dom practice on a duplicate.
It's a thrilling environment. Twenty competitors have been given separate time slots, spread across the day and into the night. They have thirty minutes each to learn every curve, turn, and straightaway. There are also things called DRS Zones, which River tried to explain. He lost me at drag reduction system, lights on steering wheel, and within one second of passing.
I'm to understand the men don't simply hop in their vehicles and go in a circle, hoping for the best. There's a method to winning, and it involves two hours of intense concentration. Drivers must utilize strategy, avoid penalties, and rely heavily on their pit crews.
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"You told Dom we were friends, right?"
River's deep voice drifts straight into my ears, through the headset I'm wearing. Protective gear is required this close to the track, but I look like I'm attempting intergalactic communication. They're just so clunky. When I gaze across the open-faced garage, I find River leaning against a pile of stacked tires, watching me.
"Is this channel private, or can everyone hear?" I ask, glancing to the men and women wearing fire-resistant jumpsuits. They're helmets are equipped with intercoms, so they can speak at all times. Without the noise cancellation, it's impossible to hear anything over the engines.
River smirks, biting his lip. "It's just you and me, doll."
It makes sense that River would be banned from giving input, or even listening to side talk. From what I've gathered, Dominique tries very hard to keep his older brother away from his racing career. He probably sees him as a threat.
River and Dominique share similarities, but only in appearance. They have the same features, though Dom's jawline is bulkier. They're eyes are the same shade, but River has the quirky brown blob. If River didn't dye his hair silver, I assume it'd be black, as his roots indicate. And the siblings have similar builds, though River is slimmer. Dominique is a man that has been adequately nourished, pampered, and doted on his whole life.
"Yes, I told Dom we were friends," I answer, spinning in my mechanic seat. "Should I have said something different?"
"No, that's good." River nods. There's a burst of activity as a red Renault pulls into the pit stop. The crew runs to change the tires. I hold River's gaze, despite the shiny helmets bobbing between us. "If he thought you were my girlfriend, he'd want you more than he does now."
