RACING HEARTS ---- | O.P |

4. morning aftermath

The paddock hummed with activity as I stepped into the team garage. The morning sun slanted through the open doors, casting long shadows on the polished concrete floor. Mechanics scurried around, their voices a symphony of clanging tools and muttered instructions.

I'd woken up with a headache, fragments of last night's tequila-fueled revelry swirling in my mind. Oscar Piastri's face, his whiskey confession—I'd replayed it all as I brushed my teeth, wondering if I'd imagined the warmth in his eyes.

And now, here he was, leaning against the car, his expression equally bewildered. We'd shared secrets, danced, and laughed. But in the harsh light of day, it felt like a dream—a beautiful, blurry dream.

The morning meeting was a blur. Zac Brown, our team manager, stood at the front, his gaze flickering between Oscar and me. "I thought last night's event would help you two understand each other," he said, his voice stern. "Clearly, it didn't work."

Oscar shifted beside me, his jaw clenched. I knew he was thinking the same thing—I'd seen the vulnerability in his eyes last night, the unguarded moments that tequila had coaxed out of him.

Zac continued, "You're both too damn talented to let personal differences jeopardize your positions. If you can't find a way to work together, there won't be a seat for either of you next season."

The room fell silent. I swallowed, my throat dry. We'd danced around each other, laughed, and shared secrets, but when it came to the job, we were still rivals.

As the meeting ended, I slipped out, needing air. The paddock was a different world—sunlight, engine fumes, and the distant roar of cars on the track. And there, leaning against a barrier, was Lando Norris, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

"Amelia," he called, "how's the head?"

I groaned. "Tequila is the devil's potion."

He chuckled. "Last night was fun, though. You and Oscar—"

I blushed. "We were just—"

"Drunk?" Lando finished. "Yeah, I saw. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

I leaned against the barrier, watching the cars streak by. "What do I do now, Lando? I can't lose this job."

He nudged my shoulder. "You're smart. So is Oscar. Figure it out. And hey, maybe you'll surprise each other."

I sighed. "Surprises aren't my forte."

He winked. "Then learn. Life's too short for what your both doing now."

As I walked back toward the garage, I glanced at Oscar. He was deep in conversation with a mechanic, his brow furrowed. Maybe Lando was right. Maybe we could surprise each other.

But as I approached, Oscar looked up, his eyes locking with mine. 

                              ----- OSCAR -----

The morning sun slanted through the paddock, casting long shadows on the asphalt. Amelia approached, her steps hesitant. We'd danced around each other last night, tequila-fueled and unguarded. But now, in the harsh light of day, it was different—awkward even.

"Oscar," she said, her voice soft, "about last night—"

I cut her off. "We were drunk. It doesn't matter."

But it did. Her eyes held something—curiosity, maybe even a hint of regret. We'd shared secrets, laughed, and danced. But now, in the cold morning air, it felt like a dream—a beautiful, blurry dream.

As we walked through the paddock, mechanics nodded in our direction. They'd seen us last night, the engineer and the racing prodigy, tangled in a dance of tequila.

"Qualifying this afternoon," Amelia said, her voice businesslike. "We need to perform."

I nodded. "We will."

But it was awkward, like a car stalled on the grid. We'd danced, but now we were back to rival mode—two minds, the same glory.

We reached my driver's room, the door looming like an exit sign. Amelia shifted from foot to foot, her gaze flickering to mine.

"Good luck," she said, her voice softer now.

"You too," I replied, my heart pounding. "And Amelia—"

She looked up, her eyes wide.

"Maybe we can surprise each other," I said, the words slipping out.

She smiled, and for a moment, the awkwardness eased. "Maybe we can."