somewhere || George Russell

fifty-five

June 14, 2020
Montreal, Canada

Laurel squeezed George's hand tightly. It was her second time going with him to a Grand Prix, with the slight difference that now she was his girlfriend, officially, and the one even bigger: he was wearing the Mercedes uniform.

Since the world champion wasn't recovered yet, George had to replace him again. And he won last race in the Mercedes, so, justifiably, all eyes were on him and the fuss he was making by being able to get into a car, coming from being on the back on the grid, and getting a win on his first try.

George let go of Laurel's hand and they scanned their ID passes on the entrance of the circuit, getting in and he took her hand again.

"Is this normal to you?" Laurel whispered and looked up at George, while a gigantic bunch of photographers were pointing the cameras at them, flashes going out as they walked together and holding hands.

"Not all the time," he chuckled. "I thought you liked people to look at you."

"Yes, but on a stage," Laurel slightly laughed. "I think my face was not made for the camera, just to see from afar."

"But you are beautiful," George looked at her.

"I know," she cheekily said. "But my cheeks are too plump, so, on a camera, I look like Winnie the Pooh." George let out a loud laugh and shook her head. "Why is that funny?"

"Oh, you weren't making a joke?"

"No, I was talking serious," Laurel replied, with outrage, and let go of George's hand to give a little bump on his arm.

"Sorry then," George laughed again. Laurel rolled her eyes and he decided to put his arm around his shoulders.

Laurel slightly pushed him. "This is very unprofessional of you."

"What? To hug you?"

"Yes, in front of all these people following us," Laurel muttered, keeping a smile on her face, trying to hide that she didn't love being followed by photographers.

Sooner, another driver arrived, so Laurel and George were left alone to walk in peace.

The sun was shining brightly on the Canadian sky. It was warm, and how not? If it was almost summer. Laurel's least favorite season.

Both arrived at Mercedes hospitality and well, it was time to prepare for the race. George of course was routing for another podium. He could get used to it, but alas, by next race he'll have to go back to Williams.

But he doesn't suffer it. He knows his chance will come someday. It is good to be proving himself, so that people know what he can do, for people to talk about how he is the future world champion.

Laurel just watched him getting ready for the next couple of hours, with proud sparkling eyes. And he was as excited as her, so he took her everywhere he was going, from warm up to get ready with the race suit.

"What?" George said to Laurel when he noticed that she was staring, while sitting on a small couch on his provisional room.

"Nothing," she repeatedly shook her head. "I am just so proud to say I love you."

George smiled and leaned down to give a small kiss on her lips. "Michael Jackson," he teasingly said. Laurel parted her lips. She got busted. "I know it's hard for you to say cheesy things, I don't expect you to say them," he shrugged. "But when you associate the songs you sing with me, believe me, I feel loved."

"Good," Laurel nodded and stood up. She put her fingers on the metal zipper of the suit and pulled it up to finish zipping George up in the white Mercedes suit. "Now you are ready."

He met his eyes with hers and wrapped one of his arms around Laurel's waist, pulling her closer and catching her lips in a deep kiss. "I definitely could get used to kissing you all day, every day," he cheekily smiled.

"Wait one month and your wish will be granted," Laurel smirked.

"One month?" George asked, a little surprised.

"Yes, one month," she nodded. "That is why I already have the script. Rehearsals start on July."

"And you haven't even told your producer..."

"Believe me, I have way more to do than tell my producer," Laurel chuckled. This week, as her dad stopped by New York, Laurel learned that she has to name a legal representative for the hotels during her absence. She has to deal with the breaking of contract from West Side Story, tell all her castmates that she is leaving, look for a new apartment in London...yeah, it'll be a hectic month. "But this weekend is about you, let's go."

●●●

The seventy laps were over. It was definitely not the outcome Laurel wanted for the race. After a sloppy mistake in the pits, George finished the race in P8 in the Mercedes.

Laurel didn't even know what to do, so she just walked back to George driver's room and waited, sitting like a child. She was trying to make something up in her mind to say. George was definitely routing for another podium at least, but it was not possible, and it was not his fault.

"Okay, it was not your fault..." Laurel mumbled to herself and the door suddenly opened.

George raised an eyebrow and stared at her. "Were you rehearsing it?"

"Sorry," Laurel chuckled. "You were so amazing out there."

"Yeah, some mechanics already told me you were so pissed at everyone," he teasingly said and entered the room, closing the door behind him. "You were shooting at them with these green, big eyes of yours," he ran his hand through his hair. "I am sad because I wanted you to see me on the podium live..."

"I already saw you live," Laurel frowned. As far as she knows, she saw last week's race live.

"I mean in person," he teasingly rolled his eyes and dropped his body on the small couch. "You must be tired; you arrived this morning and you are leaving in an hour...I wanted to make it worth it."

"It is worth it," Laurel shrugged and walked to him. "And you don't really get tired when using my dad's private jet," she cheekily said.

"I should try that private jet then," Georg laughed.

"Whenever you want it," she amusingly nodded. "Now, this was out of your control. You did everything you could, and yes, everyone saw me getting mad and yelling because I also wanted you to get on the podium again because it's your dream, but what happened, happened, and you can't change it. It's done, and I am still proud of you, and I still love you. Nothing could ever make me love you less."

George smiled. That was definitely not rehearsed. "I love you more..."

"Oh, no, don't even start, you already know I always win..."