They better not ask about me and Seb. They better not ask about me and Seb. They better not ask about me and Seb.
"Remember if they ask about you and Seb, just act coy," Nicola says like a goddamned mind reader as I sit next to her on this faux-leather couch wringing my hands and praying to avoid this exact topic. "You have been killing it with the social media impressions since yesterday and Ciao, Roma, which is the biggest gossip rag in Italy even picked up our little PDA session, so I think we've achieved what we wanted with that."
She sent me talking points for this interview last night and we've been going through it one more time this morning, but I still don't feel prepared. Maybe it's because I really can't wait to just get back to the track again. Or maybe because over the course of a few hours yesterday, my teammate and I had become friends with benefits without much of the actual benefits part.
So . . . like friends, then? Ugh. Why did things have to be this convoluted? I need to stop obsessing over one kiss.
I mean I've been kissed before. And while that moment with Seb was great—kind of incredible, really—it was also impulsive. Irresponsible, actually. A one-and-done deal, for sure.
With only two more races to go, the last thing I need is to be obsessing over my own teammate. And if he wants to save his season, Seb needs to follow my lead. So why am I constantly looking at him, sitting on the other side of the waiting room of this top-40 radio station? And why does he keep looking up from his phone back at me? He knows as well as I do that it would be an absolute shitastrophe if we continue to blur the line between us.
"All right. Let's just go through this one more time," Nicola addresses both of us, and Seb puts his cell away. "You'll only be on-air for fifteen minutes. Nothing is off the table, but most of the questions should be about the series and this weekend's race."
It's fairly straightforward, and we've heard it all before. We both nod and she continues. "Remember to keep your answers light. Listeners of this type of show aren't interested in anything too technical or serious. Feel free to mention the brand and sponsors, but only if you can work it in organically. This isn't a paid advert, so don't force it."
In a few minutes, a producer takes Seb and me into the studio. We make quick introductions with the thirty-something hosting duo of the morning show, take our seats across a large broadcasting table, and put on clunky headphones just as the commercial break ends.
"This morning we have one of our favorite guests, reigning 3Prix world champion and pride of Roma, Seb Bianchi from Cadmium Racing in the studio," says the DJ who calls himself Dano.
His co-host, Eddo, seamlessly takes over. "And as a special treat, Seb has brought along his teammate Lauren Dimas. So welcome to both of you," he says.
Apart from my answers, the show is completely in Italian. I have to wait for the delayed translation as the English equivalent of the conversation streams through my headphones, so Seb has already replied with a quick grazie while I'm still processing being called a 'treat.'
"In the previous segment we were talking about embarrassing moments, so how about we start off with that? Since we're gentlemen, we'll ask the lady to go first. Tell us Lauren, what's your most embarrassing moment?" Dano asks, turning to me with a grin.
"Oh, geez," I stammer, staring at the commercial microphone in front of me. I can talk day and night about racing, but Nicola didn't prepare me for this one. "Uhm, let's see. Well, last winter, I was getting ready to take my GEDs—that's a way in America to earn your high school diploma through a test instead of actually going to classes—so I had the test on a Saturday morning, and I completely overslept. I think I wanted to set my alarm for seven-thirty in the morning and ended up putting it on seven-thirty pm instead of am. So, anyway, I thought I was running super late even after I skipped showering, threw on some random clothes, and rushed over to the testing center. I get there when everyone else is already seated, ready for the exam and of course they're all staring at me like, who's this idiot? I'm making apologies while trying to find a pencil, when the supervising teacher walks up to me with this weird look on her face. Long story short, everyone who should have been there already was, and I wasn't even registered for that day. My test was the following weekend. To make everything worse, I'd gotten caught by a speed camera and the ticket for sixty bucks was sent to my house three weeks later."
I smirk as the others listen to the translation. It's a really stupid answer and had little to do with anything. Nicola is going to kill me.
"That's pretty embarrassing," Eddo says, nodding. "What about you, Seb? Any stories you can share that would top that?"
Seb straightens up in his chair and leans in to the microphone. "Why do you have to make everything into a competition, dude?" He laughs, and for some reason, I get déjà vu. "Anyway, I think you'll like this story since it happened at one of your favorite places."
The DJ points both index fingers at Seb. "Ibiza?"
"You know it, man." Seb nods as he shifts in his seat, but it's definitely not out of discomfort. More like 'I own this place.' "This was back in July when we had a longer break from the series right after I got second place in Brno. Max Rate had invited me to their Summer Beach House party in Ibiza, which you know as well as I do, is more than just a simple party. I think it was the second day in, and I was going on only about four hours of sleep, but I couldn't miss this EDM set from that new Jamaican DJ—"
"Yeah, yeah. Supero. DJ Supero," Eddo interrupts, making the connection.
"That's right," Seb confirms before continuing. "So I'm at the party and there are hundreds—no probably thousands—of people just totally losing it to the music. I'm doing my thing in the VIP section when I see an incredibly beautiful girl just standing there looking at me."
"Oh-ho-ho," Dano says. "I see where this is going."
Seb laughs and shakes his head. "Don't be so sure."
"Go on, then," Eddo prompts, leaning his elbows on the tabletop.
"So she's looking at me, and now I'm looking at her all the while thinking about what I should do. Should I wait for her to approach me? Should I just go up to her myself or what? Before I can decide, she starts walking toward me, and I'm like, okay this is great."
He's using his hands to gesticulate and add emphasis to the story, but I never wished so much that I could understand his native language. Watching Seb's lips move while hearing a stranger's voice translate his story feels intrusive. But maybe it's just because he's talking about another girl.
Good grief. Am I really jealous right now?
Seb continues. "I scoot over on the padded bench around our table and wave to the bouncer to let her through before she slips beside me. I'm all ready for introductions and my hand is even on a bottle to pour her a drink, when she points to the logo on my shirt." He pauses for effect. "It turns out, she had no idea who I was. She just saw Ducati and thought I might have some connections. She really wanted to meet Tommaso Del Luca from PrixMoto at the upcoming race in Barcelona and hoped I could give her some tips on how to get his attention in the paddock."
Mic drop.
I'm so impressed my jaw literally falls at the perfection in my teammate's answer. Effortlessly mentioning the series, the brand and a sponsor? Check. Telling a relatable story that not so subliminally reinforces his player status without sounding conceited? Check. Coming out of a 'most embarrassing' story without actually needing to feel embarrassed? Check.
The guy is a fucking pro. From behind a soundproof glass in the production booth, Nicola gives him a thumbs-up.
"All right. All right. That's an awesome story, but let's get to why you are really here, and that's motorcycles," Dano says, clapping his hands together. "Specifically, it's performance racing at a championship level. And this question I really want to ask Seb first because it must be on a lot of our listerners' minds. And that is, are you going to win another title this year?"
Seb takes a deep breath. "Nothing would make me happier than to get that second cup for my team, my country, and for all of my supporters. But you know what? Winning for me is less about standing at the top of the podium at the end of a race or even at the end of a season than reaching a personal milestone or overcoming a particular obstacle."
"Let's hope your team manager isn't listening to this right now." Dano laughs.
Seb shrugs. "When you have over thirty guys—and one girl, sorry," he says, turning to me as an afterthought. "When you have so many riders in every race, the simple odds of you being in the top three are just ten percent. Sure, everyone has his strengths, and sometimes you and the bike have a good day, or sometimes one of you lets the other down. I can only control what I do. That is why when I am out on the track, I do not feel like I am racing against Watts or Mura or Pichler. I am only racing against myself."
Again, the answer is brilliant. Knowing that Seb truly means it actually gives me goose bumps. But leaving out Diego Martin's name from his list of top rivals also doesn't escape my attention. Whether the grudge is still purely professional or if I've made it personal, he obviously doesn't want to recognize the Spaniard with a shout-out, and that makes me smile.
When Eddo looks at me, I blush. Shit. Hiding my feelings for Seb is going to be impossible if he keeps being so damn perfect.
"Your teammate almost made one of the blunders we still often make ever since you entered the world 3Prix series," says the DJ to me, turning serious for the first time in the interview. "We can't refer to the racers in the masculine collective any more because obviously that would leave you out of the conversation. But do you really think there's a place for girls in international road racing? You must admit that your performance so far has not been special."
I suppress the urge to bring up that reporters covering national championships in countries where female riders are prevalent have no problems with this. Instead, I force a smile and channel Nicola. "I think that just by being here, I'm breaking barriers. Women can succeed in this sport as well as any man if they're given the same support. And while you're right I've yet to earn points, I finished both races I started, and I hope to get better with each new opportunity."
Dano scratches his temple. "Sure, that sounds good on paper, but honestly, could a girl ever win a championship on the world stage?"
"I don't know if you've realized this, but the ability to ride a motorcycle doesn't depend on having a penis or a vagina. I mean, look outside your studio window. Rome is full of women on bikes. You're right thought that I'll probably never be as good as Austin or Tobei or even Seb. Especially Seb," I quickly correct the inadvertent dis. "He's a genius on the track when he actually has his head in the game. But you know what? You also will never be a world champion. At least I'm lined up on that grid every other week next to these guys because I work hard—"
"You think you are on the team because of your skills, not because your pretty face sells merchandise?" Eddo asks.
I clench my fist as my heart rate accelerates. No matter how many times this question comes up—and how many times I give a prepared answer—I still get mad for even having been asked. How many pairs of jeans or cases of soda has Seb's endorsement helped sell the first three months of this season even when he was having a hard time? Until Austin Harris dropped out, no one thought he had a chance of a comeback. So why doesn't anyone ever ask him shit like this?
"If there are seven billion people on earth, I am faster on any track than at least six billion nine hundred ninety-nine million nine hundred ninety-nine thousand of them. So yes, I do think Cadmium hired me for my riding. Having a pretty face is just a bonus." I say, crossing my arms and leaning back.
From the corner of my eye, I see Seb smiling. Lauren: 1. The Dano and Eddo Show: 0.
"My apologies on behalf of my colleague," Dano says, scratching his neck. "I don't think he wished to frame the question in the way you understood it. We mean no disrespect, Lauren. We just want to know more about you as a person. To find out the truth about the girl on the track everyone has their eyes on."
This is the part where in my head I'm screaming You can't handle the truth, but Nicola is giving me a death-stare from the production booth, so I stand down. Well, mostly.
"What is truth, my dude? Is it what's actually in a picture or what the person selling it wants you to believe?" I ask, coyness be damned. Thoughts of not only that hotel incident in Germany, but also that stupid Acceleration Denim ad that I can't seem to shake flash across my mind. "Because everyone knows those aren't necessarily the same thing."
Dano starts rocking back and forth even before I finish the sentence and jumps right in when I'm done. "So there isn't anything going on between the two of you?" he asks.
Next to me, Seb sits up straight, and I can sense he's holding in a breath. This is the first time we've both been in the same room for this question, and I've basically dared these guys to ask. It's all on me, and he's probably horrified I'll royally eff it up.
"Of course there is," I say into the otherwise deafening silence. They're all on the edge of their chairs, and I pause to enjoy the moment. This isn't quite sweet revenge, but it's close. When Eddo's eyes are ready to pop out of his head from straining so hard to hear the rest, I continue. "We train together, often travel together, and sometimes we spend our downtime together. He gives me pointers, and then I tell him when he's wrong. It's a pretty perfect relationship, I must say." None of this is a lie, and I have fond memories to go along with all of it. I guess I am pretty lucky.
Seb's shoulders relax, and the deejays both awkwardly laugh. Yeah, they so hate me right now. Instead of getting a confession, they got played.
"So what can we expect from you at Mugello? Will that be the race when you earn your first points?" Eddo asks while twirling a pen between his fingers, indiscreetly hitting me in my weak spot.
I need to end with a clincher, and I've got nothing.
"I am really excited about Mugello," I say, looking to Nicola for inspiration. Her face is pure terror at my babbling, which is no help at all. The last time she looked at me this way was when I suggested we have an oiled-up, shirtless umbrella guy on the grid with me. It came up after she researched WRRF rules to try to get me to stop unzipping my leathers in the pit box. The joke was on her because there's nothing preventing me from being in a sports bra. Hyped from the great news, I suggested taking the equality a step further at a race where Dad can't do his shade-providing duties. Nicola shot me down in under three seconds. But now . . .. Hold up!
"Obviously I want to have my best result for all of our wonderful Italian fans," I say, looking at Dano and Eddo. "But we have something extra special planned for right before the start so keep your eyes on the grid, boys."
I emphasize the last two words and this definitely gets the radio guys' attention. Dano headbutts his mic as he leans forward, and Eddo drops his pen. Nicola is also waving her hand in front of throat and giving me the stop-talking signal. Gladly. I've said what I wanted to. But when we wrap up and leave the studio a few minutes later, she's still kind of miffed.
"I don't know what you were thinking—" she says, but I cut her off.
"Relax. We'll figure it out," I say, touching her arm. She probably thinks I made the suggestion just to spite her, but it wasn't personal. It'll be fun to switch things up a bit. We'll be in all the papers for sure, and I won't even have to drag Seb into it. "No prior umbrella holding experience required, and I won't insist on the dude going topless. Just make sure he's hot."
Hell must freeze over at the exact second because Nicola laughs. "We're in Italy, love. That is definitely not a challenge," she says. Grabbing my elbow, she pulls me down the hallway. "Well, we better get a move on though or we'll miss our train to Florence."
"Nicola, wait. I wanted to ask Lauren if she would like to ride with me," Seb says as he catches up. He was either politely waiting for our convo to end or he was held back in the studio.
"You're driving?" Nicola asks, skidding to a stop.
He nods. "Yes. And there are maybe things we need to talk about?" He directs the question to me.
Nicola's eyes dart between us as she tries to read into 'things.' Shit.
"Oh, sure. Yeah. You promised to talk me through the track layout and stuff," I say, totally making it all up. We have two extra days in Mugello before the official practices start so this is a really weak lie, even for me. But even if I weren't so foolishly attracted to Seb, I'd choose spending time with him over Nicola any day.
"And you also asked me to tell you about how I do my online merchandise shop?" he prompts with a much more believable reason.
"Right. That, too," I mumble, tucking my hair behind my ear.
"Well, you two work this out, but I have a train to catch," Nicola says. "Unless of course you have space for one more."
"I drive a coupe, remember?" Seb shrugs, and that brief moment of anxiety I just had at the prospect of spending the next three hours with the British Chihuahua immediately disappears.
I can tell she's a little angry by the way her eye twitches, but she's totally trying to play it cool. Pulling out her phone, she casually checks the screen. "No matter. My Uber is almost here, anyway." She grabs her bag from behind the reception counter and stomps off to the elevators.
Seb smiles at me. "I liked your answers in there," he says, quickly forgetting about dodging that five-foot-two sized brunette bullet.
Aww. He thinks I aced the interview and shares my disdain for our press officer. Could he get any more perfect? I smile back. "I liked yours, too."