Oscar POV
I pull different shirts out of the open wardrobe and hold them against my body. It's not as though I'm going anywhere special, but I've heard I'll be spending the evening in close quarters with Lando Norris, so I have to come ready for battle. I settle on a white button-up shirt with tiny blue swallows flying across it, along with faded black jeans and white trainers. I fix a necklace around my neck, Australian wooden beads, and spray myself with cologne. Top that, Lando.
As I drive towards the venue I try to psyche myself up for the evening. Somebody once told me golf was Lando's favourite hobby so I'm probably in for a humiliating evening, having never swung a golf club in my life. At least they say there's a good restaurant and bar. Forced fun isn't much fun at all when you're exhausted from months of travelling and training.
I arrive on late and one of my engineers thrusts a bag of golf balls into my hand. Connor, I think his name is. It's heavier than it looks, but I drag it to our private booth where the whole pit crew and stupid Lando Norris are waiting.
"This is my new nine iron," the little brat says, holding up a golf club. Some of his team mates look interested, but I bury my nose in the menu and order some jerk chicken wings.
The place is pretty modern, with comfortable leather sofas for when you're waiting your turn and big interactive screens where you can check the scores and order food. And the menu is long. I order a cocktail to help get myself through this ordeal.
The game starts and it's as boring as I could have expected it to be. We take it in turns hitting special electric golf balls off our tall platform, trying to shoot them into differently numbered holes in the ground. Generally, the further the hole the higher the score.
I don't really care about the game, mostly because Lando is winning and looking pretty unstoppable. He's in his element and any attempt to beat him would be futile and embarrassing for me. I really don't care, and I can tell my indifference annoys my rival, so when my chicken wings arrive I wave away the others and decide to skip my turn.
"Are you sure?" Connor asks. "You're getting better!"
I smirk and shake my head. "I'll just stick to racing, thanks. Have you tried these wings?"
Lando scowls and I smirk into my napkin. He's so easy to wind up.
The night is going well, or as well as it could be. Of course we'd all rather be at home but corporate forced fun has to come first sometimes. As the night goes on, however, I notice myself getting more and more bored. The same thing over and over and over again, hit your ball and wait fifteen minutes for everyone else to have their turn. It's bowling but less intuitive. It's darts but less fun.
Each of us has a bucket of golf balls which are programmed to track our individual scores, so I decide to have some fun. I pad across the booth and sneak some of my own balls into Lando's bucket while he's not watching. The others are so engrossed in his cocky showmanship that only Grace notices, and she gives me a sly wink for my trouble.
I smirk as Lando picks up my ball to take his second shot. Now this is satisfaction, not some stupid golf gimmick.
Unluckily for me, the shot goes completely wide. Lando curses and checks his club as if that inanimate stick of metal could be the problem.
Unusually for Lando he's drinking alcohol tonight, and a lot of it. I wonder if I could slip him some extra drinks to increase the fun, but it doesn't look like I need to. The result it that he doesn't notice me stealing more and more of his balls and swapping them with my own, and as my name climbs the leader board and Jon catches Lando up, I see him getting more and more frustrated.
"Woah, what a shot!" someone shouts as I hit my ball.
"Really?" I ask.
"I was being sarcastic," Connor laughs. "It dropped straight to the ground."
I shrug. "No big deal, right? We're just here to have fun."
"Woah, Oscar. That doesn't sound like you!" Zak Brown laughs. "Where's your signature competitive spirit gone?"
"I thought this was supposed to be a night off?" I joke and Zak Brown roars with laughter. Clearly he's been taking it a bit heavy on the cocktails too.
At the end of the night I'm a firm upper middle of the leaderboard, and Jon has won. My work here is done, and as the others discuss taking the party further into a local club for the night, I call my taxi and say my goodbyes. I guess corporate forced fun could be worse. At least I got to irritate Lando.
Lando POV
When Zak Brown announces that our next team social is going to be Top Golf, I practically hit the roof with joy. After the welcome party turned into a disaster I'd been worrying about walking home at three o'clock in the morning with no keys this weekend. But it isn't like that at all. I'm in my element.
I show off my new set of golf clubs to the others, brag a little about how they fit perfectly in the boot of my McLaren and swipe my loyalty card as I buy everyone a round of drinks.
Everyone, that is, except Oscar Piastri. He sulks in a corner ordering food on the app, which is fine by me.
"So do you think you're going to beat me this time?" Jon smirks as he lines up his first shot. I watch it sail into the distance, but it doesn't land in any of the holes.
"Oh no," I give him a sarcastic clap. "I think you've got this one in the bag."
The entire crew is here, from engineers to pit crew to Grace. She's terrible at golf, hitting as if she's never played before in her life. She stays away from both me and Oscar all night. In fact, I don't know who she speaks to at all, or why she's even here.
"Your drink," a waiter says as he places a cocktail in front of me.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't order this," I reply, eyeing the yellow concoction suspiciously.
"It's a gift from one of your party."
I look around the group but nobody owns up to it. They chuckle and nudge each other but I can hardly turn down the gift so I take a gulp through the straw. It's bitter and sour and disgusting. I force a smile and say a general thank you.
The night presses on with me topping the scoreboards. Grace comes last with most of her balls rolling off the side of the platform, and Oscar hovers around the middle although it's obvious he isn't trying and doesn't care about the result. That irritates me. How can I get any satisfaction from beating him when he isn't even trying?
As the night wears on I'm ordered more and more mystery drinks. They're all strong and they're all disgusting, and still nobody has owned up. As a result of the alcohol my shots get worse and worse too, and soon Jon has hit his stride and is catching up to me.
"Watch me get it in the far hole," he says, pointing theatrically. He hits the ball and it soars out of eyesight. Sure enough, fifty points appear on his score sheet.
I stand up to protest but the world slurs to the right and I stumble. Orange liquid sloshes out of my glass as I lean on the wooden barrier for stability. Oscar looks up from his phone and smirks.
"Woah, Lando," Grace chuckles. "I think you've had enough to drink for one night."
She takes the glass from my hand and I look around helplessly. How did this happen? What on earth have I been drinking?
"Come and sit down," Jon says, patting the sofa beside Oscar. His infernal grin slides over me as I drop into the seat and to make matters worse he offers me a chicken wing. I refuse.
"Did you order me those drinks?" I slur after Grace goes to get me some water.
Oscar sits easily on the sofa, one ankle pulled up towards himself and a pink daiquiri in his hand. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're trying to get me drunk."
"Doesn't look like you need my help with that."
I try to keep my face neutral as anger flares in my chest. "You're such a piece of work..."
"Honestly, Lando, I have no idea what you're talking about," Oscar laughs. "And even if someone was ordering you drinks, it's not their fault you drank them. Maybe you should learn to pace yourself."
I'm about to speak again when Zak Brown inserts himself between us.
"Oscar, I think it's your turn," he drawls sternly. Oscar glances behind himself, gives me one last smirk and heads off to swing his club with the grace and precision of an avalanche.
Zak Brown crouches to me and hisses in my ear. "What are you doing, Lando?"
"What do you mean?"
"Getting drunk in front of everyone! It's one thing at a private party, but in public where people can record you and take photos?"
"I didn't mean to! Someone bought me these drinks."
"What, and your tongue is numb to alcohol? Come on, do better."
My heart sinks as my boss stands up and walks away, leaving me an embarrassed lump on the red sofa. Oscar is chatting jovially with my engineers while I can barely see straight. Grace sits down beside me and I gulp the glass of water greedily.
"Thank you," I say.
"No problem. What happened?"
"I think Oscar was buying me drinks," I say. Grace looks over at him, a hint of sadness on her face.
"I wish you weren't such bad enemies," she sighs.
"You wish? Think how I feel. It's only a matter of time before the guy runs me off the road."
Grace holds my gaze and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Don't think about him," she says. "Focus on yourself. You know you have everything you need to be champion."
"Thanks," I say as she stands up to take her next shot off the platform. Will takes her place on the sofa but he doesn't try to speak to me which I'm thankful for. How has another team social turned into me getting wasted and taking a taxi home? I glare at Oscar, celebrating his first decent shot with people who should be my closest friends.
It's all because of him.