razorblade | sebastian vettel ✓

chapter 8 | fools

Sure, it had started with them talking about racing. The next race after Silverstone was in Germany, Sebastian's home race. Those seemed to be a big deal. He'd told her all about it the week before the race and then the week of the race, Cassandra was entertained. They continued talking after Germany. But then it moved to other topics that had nothing to do with racing. Cassandra, surprisingly enough for Sebastian, talked more than she would admit when she felt comfortable. And there was underlying flirting along some of the messages, she couldn't deny it.

"He talks a lot." Cassandra justified.

Abigail snorted. "And so do you, apparently." She handed the phone back. "I feel a bit offended, most of your replies to me are ok and fine, but Sebastian Vettel gets a whole paragraph about Simone de Beauvoir's feminism." Cassandra glared. "Is it too bad if you admit you might like him too?"

She scoffed. "You don't need education about feminism, do you? And you know, sometimes it's just nice to talk with someone who doesn't ask for a pic of your tits after the first fifteen minutes of texting."

"I like him," Abigail mentioned casually.

"You like anyone who isn't Matteo." Her lips tugged into a mocking smile.

Her friend huffed. The mere mention of the name caused so much distaste in her. It was a bit funny for Cassandra. "No, even if we don't count Matteo, you know I think some of your guys are very questionable." Cassandra simply hummed a low aha. She thought some of her guys were very questionable too, but she didn't date to marry anyway. She didn't even date.

"That's why I don't date them, Abigail." Cassandra reminded her. Fingers tapping the keyboard. Her moments of 'brilliance' came from time to time.

"But Sebastian is alright." Abigail continued, giving her a side glance. Cassandra returned the gesture. "And he seems interesting. Not questionable." Her friend insisted.

"What are you doing?" She took the computer and bent to place it on the centre table so she could properly talk to her. "You don't even know him."

Abigail rolled her eyes. "Not personally." Cassandra snorted. "But can you at least admit you find him attractive? The Cassandra I know would've made a move, especially when he clearly wouldn't be upset if you did."

"That's the behaviour that got me fired in the first place." She even tried to sound serious about it.

"As if you cared about that," Abigail cackled. "Perhaps you're just losing your touch." Her expression changed to a challenging one. Cassandra gave her a death glare.

Her finger poked Abigail in the ribs. "Perhaps you should shut u—"

Their little moment got interrupted as Cassandra's phone began to loudly buzz. They both glanced at the little device and its shining screen, and then at each other. Abigail turned her face the other way, trying to hide the teasing sneer that was adorning her face. Cassandra pushed her with the shoulder and reached to answer the call.

She didn't even have to say hello because she already knew who the other person on the line was.

"Did you know a lot of streets in Hungary get their names from famous Hungarian writers?" Sebastian sounded so casual. Like that was everyday knowledge for someone.

Cassandra peeked at Abigail, she was so close to laughing at her. "I didn't know. I'm assuming you're in Hungary? And how do you know that?"

"Someone mentioned it, and I thought about you." It sounded doubtful that someone just started spilling those random facts, but she would take his word for it. "And yes, I'm in Hungary. Last race before the break." She knew. She had checked the calendar.