helmet love // 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬

II

"Marci, get up!"

I flinch awake as I hear someone banging my hotel room door. I grimace and rub my eyes, forcing myself to get up out of bed. I look a state; I couldn't be bothered to take off my make up from last night, I've got a mix of bed hair and helmet hair which must look so sexy (not) and I generally feel gross.

I open the door to see Ally, the big boss of McLaren's social media. Ally didn't go out last night, she's not much of a party person. Unlike me, she looks perfect, wearing cream plaid trousers that cut off at her ankles and a plain white tank top tucked into it. She wears a belt to add a little feature to the outfit, and a pair of cute sandals. Her hair is done up in a perfect bun, and she has minimal make up on. The only thing that confuses me is her suitcase and matching hand luggage behind her.

"Marci, we're leaving in an hour!" She hisses, forcefully pushing into my room and pulling her stuff inside. "What time did you get in?"

"Like, 4?" I groan, my eyes feeling drier than sand because of last nights mascara. "Wait, an hour!"

"Yes! Come on!" She orders, firmly turning me by my shoulders and guiding me to my bathroom. "Look at the state of you woman!"

Ally is 5 years older than me, so she acts like my older sister. I've never called her my older sister, nor would I say we're close enough to call each other sisters! But she does like to keep me in shape, so I won't bother arguing with her. I dive into the shower, instantly soaking my hair before the water has warmed up. I hope it removes most of the make up from last night, because the thought of Ally seeing me hung over with mascara all down my face is embarrassing enough.

As I reach for my soap, I knock my wrist against the glass shower door. The most hysterical gasp escapes my body as shockwaves fire up the veins in my arm. That hurt far more than it should have? I grind my teeth together, clutching my arm half way between my elbow and wrist. I peek down to the throbbing area, spotting the ink sack covering the permanent doodle engraved on my skin. I wonder if Lando has this, or if it's even in the same place?

After the speediest- and most careful shower of my life after whacking my wrist- I dry myself off and got changed faster than lightning. I grabbed a pair of taupe-coloured, high waisted dress pants and a white tank-top body suit. Trust me, I'm aware this outfit is vanilla, but I don't have time to be fartassing about with trendiness! I also throw on an oversized, cropped cardigan to cover up the clingfilm wrapped around my wrist, as that's the last thing I need Ally seeing. I blast dry my hair as straight as I can, then pull it into a half-up-half-down look before putting sunglasses on to disguise my no-makeup look. Ally packed my suitcase and got everything ready for me in the mean time, cramming my make up bag into a small, cream tote bag which I use for hand-luggage.

"Get your shoes on and get out!" Ally tuts at me, launching a pair of white high top converse at my feet. "That car is pulling away in five minutes, if you're not sat next to me then you're dead!"

I silently mimic her as she walks out my apartment, pulling childish faces as the door is slammed shut. Gosh, so dramatic! She could have called me and woke me up earlier, she didn't have to come storming to my door! I pull my trainers on, snatch up my hand luggage and suitcase, and make a dash for the door. I don't bother locking the room behind me, my plan is to just launch the keys at the reception and pray that I don't get fined for taking someone's eye out!

I fly out the front doors of the Whittlebury Hotel, the wheels of my suitcase clanging against the stone steps. An extensive live of cars have congregated on the pebble driveway, the car brands matching the team they're picking up. My eyes latch onto the Mercedes crew lurking at the front of the line, and I have never ducked for cover faster in my life. It's awkward for me to see them, can you imagine how much worse it would be if one of them spotted me back? Gross. I exhale deeply as I brush a loose strand of hair off my face, glancing at my watch as I do. Fuck, I've got a minute to find my escort! Ally didn't even tell me what car we're getting into!

Oh! McLaren SUV! I didn't even know they did these, but it was pot luck that my eyes found the papaya-coloured logo on the back of it. I scramble over to the SUV, digging my suitcase into what's left of the space in the boot. I jab the button to close the door, then yank the back door open to get inside. Thank God for that, Ally can't have a go at me for making everyone wait now!

"Thanks Ally, you saved my life packing my bags back there." I huff, slightly out of breath as I organise myself. "Last night was chaos, I'd still be blacked out if you hadn't-"

Wow! Ok, let's actually take a chance to breathe and process the moment in front of us! I freeze as I take a look around, realising I have jumped in the complete wrong car. Yes, this is a McLaren, but I'm not with the social media team. Instead, I'm with Lando and Daniel! Our cars have already pulled away, so I can't get out and find my car. Fuck, am I stuck in here until I get to the airport?

"Morning, I'm in the wrong car!" May as well declare my dumbass move! "My bad, sorry to rain on your parade."

"I'd say you've brought the parade." Daniel says from the front, looking between me and Lando in the back. "He's hungover, he's hardly talking to me."

"Shut up." Lando giggles, leaning his head back. "She is too, she's got sunglasses on."

Oh yeah, sunglasses are a traditional go-to to disguise a hangover. To be fair, I haven't even realised I'm hung over until now, Ally didn't give me a chance to stop and think. I'm expecting an furious phone call from her soon, unless she waits until we get to the airport to see if I made it or not. I groan and lean my head back, letting myself completely relax and pray I can get a nap in somewhere along the way.

"Oh, shit." Lando suddenly curses under his breath, putting a hand on his head.

"Forgotten something?" I ask quietly.

"No, I just saw your tattoo and remembered we got matching ones." Lando admits, holding out his right hand.

Lando's tattoo is on his hand, on the squishy part where your thumb and index finger are. Of course, they both look the exact same underneath the cling film, except his doesn't have as much ink oozing out as mine does. Lando's tattoo is in a much more obvious place, you use your hands for everything. As soon as he has to hold something, or if he puts his hand near his head, the press will see it. Then it'll be a waiting game to see how long it will take them to see my tattoo. Marci Wiles, the girl who supposedly got herself too involved in Lewis Hamilton's love life, now has a matching tattoo with one of his competitors. Fantastic. What a brilliant reputation to hold.

"So, how's this going to work now?" I ask, looking to them both. "I can't get out the car with you guys, it'll ruin my career again."

"Why?" Daniel asks, turning around to face us again.

"You don't know?" The racer shakes his head. "Good, don't find out."