«I'd like for you and I to go romancing. Say the word, your wish is my command.»
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Salma, he was aware, wasn't a person of many words, but that didn't stop him from following her vague instructions and arriving at the address she'd sent earlier — only the address, time and a short 'be there'. His survival instincts did not work when she was involved, clearly. When he pulled up to the address, Salma was already there, waiting for him at the entrance but too distracted writing on her phone to notice him. Getting out of his car, he quietly headed in her direction. She jolted, the phone jiggling in from right to left when he tapped her on the shoulder letting her know of his presence.
"Don't do that," Salma complained, taking a step back to the side and adjusting her jacket. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."
Pierre tilted his head to the side, looking funnily at her and pointing a finger at her chest. "So you do have a heart." She dropped her expression and he smiled before checking the establishment behind her. "A karting track? I didn't know you were a big fan of racing."
"I am not," Did she know more than Irina? Absolutely. Did she ironically also know more than Sloane? Sure, but she wouldn't call herself a fan. "I was thinking...part of the appeal with this," Her hand gestured at him, from head to toe. "Must be the driving, no? So I want to see what you got. Besides, you've seen me on the runway, it's only fair."
He positioned himself so they were face to face and raised both eyebrows. "You've seen me racing." Salma pursed her lips, pretending not to recall ever watching him drive a car. "Come on, you were in Las Vegas last year. You saw me there."
"Did you end up on the podium?" She folded her arms across her chest.
"Well, no, but–"
"Then I didn't notice you," She cut him off. Quite honestly she had barely noticed anything because she'd been freezing and trying to take care of Irina who was flirting with every celebrity she bumped into. It'd been a hard day.
Instead of being annoyed by this, his eyes widened in mock realisation. "Wait, I know you weren't checking Max out because that's Sloane's job, and Charles is also a no-no for you, which means...Checo? Salma, really?" He clicked his tongue repeatedly and slowly shook his head. "He has a wife and kids. Although, between us two, that didn't seem to stop him other times."
"Oh my god, that's—shut up, ugh." She wrinkled her nose and reached to grab him by the jacket so she could drag him to the entrance.
It was impossible to make small talk with Pierre. He laughed and let himself be dragged wherever she wanted. Her grip loosened when they made it inside the place. Pierre told her that he could pay for the tickets and Salma rolled her eyes, swaying her phone in the air and letting him know she'd booked their spots online in anticipation. They stood side by side, following one of the staff members who didn't speak a word to them but pointed with his hand where they needed to go to get their helmets.
Everything looked cheap and she swore they probably didn't sanitise the equipment, for a moment she wished to have made a little effort to find a more decent karting place. For her own sake at least, not too much because he deserved a proper date. Pierre fit into his helmet first, and through the closed visor, observed while Salma tucked her hair between her ears and reluctantly sniffed at the inside of her helmet before putting it on, he smiled.
The universe wasn't on her side it seemed because there was a knot in one of the chin straps which stopped her from being able to clasp the safety thing. Her nails weren't allowing her to untie the knot either. After a minute or two of witnessing the struggle in front of him, Pierre chimed in.
