A few weeks later
Max
"How are the tires, Max?"
"They're ok." I say, glancing at the front tires.
The check-up visit with my condition was a dang long time ago, and it turned out that I'm fine now. Charles has already stopped being overly protective since then, and today we have the race in Monaco, which is damn important for the boy. He cried yesterday after qualifying in my embrace, as he only took P5. I consoled him as much as I could, but I'm the one with the P1, not him, so he took a bit of a weak person to console. Even though it's been a long time since his birthday, I still feel guilty about how it ended, so there's been a perfect plan in my head since this morning. Currently, there are a few laps to go. Charles is a few seconds behind me because he managed to catch up. Even once when I went down to the box, he was first, but I easily made up for it, and he went down to change tires, and then he dropped from first place again.
"Something is wrong." I say suddenly, feeling that I should fry in hell for it.
"We're checking it, Max." I hear the engineer's voice.
Lando finally talked to Carlos and now it's been two weeks since they've officially been together. I knew it would end like this, but I still stressed about their conversation. They don't tell anyone but their friends for now. Or rather, we found out ourselves when Lando invited us to a house party, and we all arrived later than Carlos and found them half-naked, kissing in the living room. Well, memories guaranteed.
"We continue to look." I hear on the radio.
I started to slow down, and after only two turns, Charles easily overtakes me. I glance in the mirrors, and when I see another bolt, I accelerate slightly. No one will suspect that there is something wrong, that I let him pass and that I wanted him to win, because the whole race I was trying to be first and I was saying on the radio all the time some complaint and that I wanted to win. The perfect actor.
"I think it's okay." I say into the radio, returning to the race.
Not for long, because after two laps the race is over. I ended up in P2, and Charles ended up in P1. I watch as he gets out of the car and runs toward his team. He throws himself in their direction, and they hug him and shout with happiness. When the boy takes off his helmet, he has tears in his eyes and smiles broadly as he is congratulated by Carlos, who is in P3.
I get out of the car and take off my helmet, walking up to the Red Bull mechanics. I talk to them about the incident until they ask me for an interview. As I turn to go to give him a hand, suddenly Charles runs toward me and hugs me. Confused, I embrace him, not knowing what is just happening.
"Thank you." He whispers near my ear. "I know what you did." He adds quietly and moves away with a wide smile, returning to Carlos.
The interviews pass fairly quickly. Nothing strange happens on the podium either, except for a tear in Charles' eyes as he hears his anthem in the home race and receives the cup, holding back tears. Of course, Carlos and I douse him with champagne, and he laughs, trying to defend himself and run away, which he does moderately well. Eventually he waits until we're done and suddenly splashes champagne in my face and the next one in Carlos', leaving us without time to react.
Laughing, we walk off the podium, and Charles and Carlos go to the Ferrari, celebrating the victory. I, on the other hand, spend almost two hours listening to various theories about the car until I suddenly come up with something that should work. I slowly slide my hand down and slip one shoelace out of my shoe more.
"Maybe the shoelace got stuck and the gas pedal didn't reach the end." I say, and they suddenly fall silent. After a moment of silence, each in turn admits I'm right, and I'm finally able to go home.
I sigh loudly, wiping my face with my hands as I walk to the car. I was really getting tired of the interviews, this looking for problems in the car and other nonsense. I could say I did it on purpose, but then it would be worse for everyone. As I get into the car, suddenly the passenger side door opens and Charles gets in there, smiling broadly.
"Will you take me somewhere?" he asks as I look at him confused.
"Me?"
"And do you see anyone else here?" he laughs, looking at me with a smile.
"Oh, well... Yes, I can take you somewhere." I say, starting the engine. "To my bed, of course." I add, making him stop smiling. "We'll go with the rest of you to the club, we wrote on the group earlier." I say, pulling out of the parking lot.
Charles leans out the window, waving to the fans, and I grin as I drive behind the other cars, glancing at him every now and then. There will probably be a lot of pictures of us on the Internet now, but I'm slowly getting used to it after Charlie decided to kiss me on the yacht, which hadn't yet sailed away from land. Then there were plenty of photos and videos of the event, but neither of us cared much.
After a while we arrive at the place. We get out of the car, and I give the keys to the man who is supposed to repack them. I follow Charles to the front door, where a security guard stands with a list.
"Verstappen." I say, and the man, without even selling the list, lets us inside. Charles glances at me with raised eyebrows, and I send him a smile, greeting the people we pass along the way.
"Celebrity." Charles says.
"Who?"
"You. You know everyone, they let you in without ID." he begins to list.
"Honey, because it's my party." I laugh, and the boy looks at me in complete shock. "I organized it a few days ago, it was supposed to be for me when I won, but I changed my mind and it's for you. There are people from Ferrari, our friends, your family and..." Before I can finish, the brunet hugs me happily. "But we pretend that I didn't let you win at all?" I whisper to irritate him, which works perfectly.
"Because of you, I won't feel victory in a while." He crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't recognize it much anyway. Means I acknowledge with a wink." And suddenly our friends come up to us, followed by his and my mother. The boy completely forgets about our conversation, greeting everyone.
Everyone enjoys his happiness, which makes him even happier. I've never seen him more happy than at this moment. He is energetic, cheerful, always smiling and talking to everyone. I watch him with a smile, sitting at the bar and drinking whiskey.
"Hey." All of a sudden Lando joins me, I glance at him.
"Hey." I reply, once again returning my gaze to Charles, who, at Pierre and Daniel's urging, takes sip after sip from the bottle of vodka. He finally gulps down half the contents and gives them back the bottle, and they start shouting and applauding. "How are you?"
"It's good. Different, but better. I think so. Did you let him win?" he asks curiously.
"No." I glance at him with a smile and he nods, also smiling, because he understands that my words are not quite true. "Do you want one?" I ask, pointing to the glass.
"I'm leading, so..."
Lando doesn't have time to answer when suddenly Charles stumbles and almost falls, but catches himself on my shoulder. He climbs into my lap and leans with his back against my body. I look at him as he takes the glass from me with a wide smile and drinks its contents.
"The party has just started, and you can barely walk already?" asks an amused Carlos, standing next to Lando.
"Pierre and Daniel..." He starts, and I roll my eyes.
"If they jump into the fire, will you too?" I ask, like a typical mother.
"And are you going to jump too?" he turns toward me, almost falling off my lap, but I catch him quickly around the waist.
"No."
"Then I don't either." He mumbles, pressing his lips to mine, but I pull away, at which he croaks displeased.
"I won't touch you drunk." I remind him of my words, to which he annoyedly entangles his fingers in my hair and rests his cheek against my chest, almost lying on my body.
We sit in this position for the next half hour. I talk to Lando, Carlos, Pierre and Daniel, or rather, only the first two, since the latter is in a similar but slightly better condition to my boyfriend. Charles has managed to remove and wake up seven times. He's asleep now, and I'm laughing at Daniel, who found that he stood up on one leg, but fell and knocked out half a tooth in front, making him look funny.
"Charles!!!" suddenly shouts Pierre and grabs the boy by the shirt, pulling him away from me. The brunet wakes up disoriented and before I can catch him, Pierre takes him in his arms and walks toward the dance floor. "Let's go dancing!" he shouts to us.
"If it's not forever." Carlos points at me and Charles. "Then I don't believe in love." He adds, at which I take a sip of vodka with a smile. I don't know who will drive my car home, but I don't give a damn. At most, he'll stay here until tomorrow.
"Hold him so you don't get away with this bunny." mumbles Daniel, who is lying on the floor. The three of us look at him, and he suddenly gets up and shakily runs to the bathroom to throw up.
After a few songs, Charles comes back to me and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the dance floor. His strands of hair stick to his sweat-wet forehead, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes bloodshot from the alcohol. He smiles broadly, waiting for me to get up.
"I don't know how to dance." I say immediately. I dance only when I know I won't remember it for the next day, which is definitely not yet.
"I'll teach you, come on." He mumbles.
"Charlie..."
"Please! I won and want to have fun. With you." he says, to which I finally nod reluctantly and we walk out to the middle of the dance floor. There are a lot of people around us. Some popular song is flying now, which is definitely better than some slow, romantic songs. Always in movies, when the main characters get out on the dance floor, the song just magically changes. That's not the case here, which slightly improves my mood.
"No..." I don't even manage to start a sentence. The boy clings to me with his whole body and puts his hands on the back of my neck, smiling broadly.
"It will come out naturally." He says as I place my hands uncontrollably on his hips. "You don't have to know how to dance to dance." He adds, taking a step toward me, and I move my leg back so he doesn't step on it. "All you have to do is look at the person you're dancing with, and you can do it." he adds. His face is too close to mine.
"And can we kiss in the dance?" I say quietly, smiling as I glance at his lips.
"And do you want to?"
"Mhm... We haven't kissed in a damn long time." I return with my gaze to his eyes. Does the whole rule of I won't touch you when you're drunk still apply? Well... It can be considered part of the dance," he says.
"So since this morning?" he laughs, but moves closer. "Yes, we can." answers my earlier question, and when I already want to kiss him, suddenly Pierre pushes me away from the brunet.
"Daniel took some woman's purse!" he shouts.
"So what? He's drunk." I roll my eyes. He has just interrupted me in an important situation.
"And he threw up in it, because he thought it was a vomit bag!" I add with a shout, and my face thins. Charles croaks at the thought, and I glance brokenly at Daniel, who is being held by Lando and Carlos.
"Okay, I'll pay her, and you guys go to the car."
"And you and Charles? Who are you going back with?" he asks me worriedly.
I glance at the Ferrari driver, who, hearing his friend's words, hugs my arm so that I don't tell him to go with them. He looks at Pierre menacingly, and I feel like laughing at his attitude.
"Honey, you stay with me, take it easy." I say, but Charles doesn't respond to these words. "We will return by cab, riding with this idiot." I add.
I pay the woman for a new purse and some compensation, and then Charles and I have a good time in the company of our families, except for my dad. I don't know how much time passes, but definitely a lot. In the end, there are few people left, and Charles is completely drunk and sleeping on some couch. I call a cab and take my boyfriend in my arms, who doesn't even wake up, but hugs me in his sleep, unconsciously making it easier for me to carry him to the car.
Of course, it can't be too colorful. Halfway from the cab home, the boy decided, without telling me, to throw up. On me, he's fucking drunk. I barely made it home and also didn't throw up when I took off my clothes and went to wash up. Tough day.