Page 103 of Downforce

“You’re one to talk,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t know that you’re trying to spin this on me. You still haven’t told me what happened last night. But I know I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

“There’s nothing to get out of me.” I continue to follow her into the bedroom as she removes her T-shirt. I inwardly cringe when she tosses it carelessly onto the unmade bed. It’s always best to ignore the mess my sister leaves in her wake.

“Really? Then what’s that hickey about?” She points at my neck.

I gasp and cover that part of my neck with my hand before running to the vanity at the far end of the room. A million thoughts race through my mind. Max and I had made out last night, of course, but did he really leave behind a hickey? Was it on purpose? Oh God, had my mother seen it?

I start to go over which one of my concealers to use to cover it up. The recent weather change plus being outdoors for the recent Grand Prix’s have led to a darkening of my normally light caramel complexion. I always love when the weather changes my skin to a darker creamier caramel as it makes me glow and highlights my freckles.

Yet, now I have to find the right color match to cover this up.

“What?” I blurt when I lift my hand to find no hickey. Nothing, not even a little red mark anywhere on my neck. “You little liar.”

Chloe barely hears my words over her loud cackling. “So, it was a boy.” She claps her hands as if giving herself an applause for her trickery. “What’s his name?”

“Get in the shower!”

I stomp toward the bedroom door.

“You know I’ll find out eventually.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Stasi too much.” Stasi is our cousin who’s around the same age as Chloe. My Uncle Aaron and Aunt Patience’s youngest daughter. Stasi could get a nun into trouble.

“Oh, don’t think I’m not going to tell her about this,” Chloe says, laughter still in her voice. “And Victoria,” she mentions our other cousin. “We were just saying how you don’t have enough fun in your life.”

“Get in the shower,” I demand.

Chloe holds up her hands, laughter shining in her eyes. “I’m going. I’m going.” She’s half-naked now and turns toward the bathroom but pauses. “Hey, just tell me it’s not the guy who called you a bitch.”

I jut my head back. “What are you talking ab⁠—”

“Dad said some guy called you a bitch, but you wouldn’t tell him who,” she cuts me off.

“Chloe Vanessa Townsend, I may be your boring older sister, but I would think you know me well enough not to associate with anyone who would call me a bitch to my face.”

She nods, looking satisfied with my response. “That’s what I told Dad but he’s on a rampage about it.”

I roll my eyes. “Would that man get off it?” I mumble as I exit to go take my own shower.

“Hope you find the right shade to cover that hickey,” Chloe says to my retreating back.

To think, I was the one most excited when our parents told us we were getting a little sister.

A few hours later, I find myself enraptured with what’s happening on the big screen posted in the paddock. The cheers and tension that fill the garage matches the duel happening between Travis and Max on the track.

Each time one passes the other there’s a collective gasp, none of which I hear above my heartbeat. At this point, I can’t say which one I’m rooting for.

It’s impossible for both of them to win, yet my heart wishes that were the case. If it were, I’d feel let off the hook. I can’t root against my own brother yet, in the second to final lap when Max makes a hairline slip through a hole Travis left open, my chest swells with pride.

Max uses the final lap of the race to open the lead up just enough that he crosses the finish line almost a full second before Travis.

Everyone in Amato’s garage cheers with joy at the one-two finish. They’ve both just pulled themselves ahead of the rest of the crowd, further amplifying hopes of Amato bringing home this year’s Constructor’s Championship.

“When I win today, just know that it’s for you.”

Max’s whispered words from this morning come rushing back to me, stealing my breath. I place my hand against my chest, eyes glued to the screen as an image of Max in his racing suit appears next to his lifetime racing stats.

“This is the first time ever for Max Ferreira here at the Monaco Grand Prix,” one of the announcers says.