Swerve | 𝑷.𝑮.

Part 43

"Two double vodka and lemonades!" Francesca half-shouts to the bartender.

She lent forwards on the bar, purposefully, trying to hold back a smirk as the man's eyes flickered down to her exposed cleavage. She'd been using the same tricks all night to ween her way into getting free drinks and she could tell by the fact Charles' gaze had been glaring into her side ever since she'd turned away from him that he did not approve of her tactics.

"On the house for someone as pretty as you." The bartender smiles.

Francesca grins, taking the two drinks from his hand before he moves off to another customer.

She turns her body to the side, resting one elbow on the bar and taking a swig from her drink with the other, her eyes watched Charles whose gaze had moved back to the dance floor.

"He's told me that about ten times already." She shudders. "I'd rather retire than get with that."

She didn't know why she was even bothering with trying to get Charles to talk to her. In all honesty, she was still very much pissed off at him for what had happened in the race and it was obvious that the feeling was mutual considering the ten second penalty he'd gotten for causing the incident had knocked him from P2 to P3 and had brought Fernando up to P2.

After minutes of silence, Francesca couldn't help but scoff.

"Now I understand why your stood here alone, fucking hell." She mutters.

"Go back to dancing, Francesca." Charles sighs. "Maybe you'll finally be able to bag it with Pierre considering how much your flaunting yourself."

"Fuck you." Francesca snaps.

She didn't care that she was holding a double vodka and lemonade, she shot it back like it was nothing before slamming the glass down onto the bar and moving into the crowd with Max's drink in her other hand. She passed the Dutchman on the way and handed the drink off to him before beelining for a certain Frenchman who'd become the rock for all of her anger.

Francesca didn't even have to say anything to catch Pierre's attention because he'd been watching the entire interaction between her and Charles with a careful eye. Seeing Francesca heading towards him, he downed the rest of his own drink before bringing her into his arms.

"What happened, princesse?" Pierre questions.

"Charles is being a fucking cunt." She mutters.

"What's he said this time?"

"What hasn't he said at this point." Francesca sighs. "I'm so fucking done with him, Pierre."

Both of them were under the influence and not putting any thought whatsoever into their actions. Whilst Francesca explained her latest interaction with Charles, Pierre felt anger bubbling up in his own stomach, his grip on the brunettes smaller frame tightening as he placed a kiss on the side of her head resulting in Francesca burying her face further into the crook of his neck seeking more of the sense of safety that Pierre always seemed to provide her with.

Pierre sighs, looking up towards the bar where Charles' mood had completely changed as he conversed with Max.

"Wait here," Pierre sighs, pulling away from Francesca. "I'll be back."

Leaving Francesca at the table, Pierre ducks through the crowd walking towards the bar.

He had absolutely no shame as he snatched the half filled glass from Charles' hand.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you!?" Pierre questions, slamming the glass onto the counter. "Seriously Charles, why are you being such a fucking bitch all of a sudden?"