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Mason keeps ahead of Xavier and barely beats him across the finish line.
He did it! He won the Dutch Grand Prix!
Isla and I both cheer, and the garage erupts in celebration, heading down to parc fermé—the closed area by the track—to celebrate.
I remove my headphones, and Isla does the same. Mason is on TV now, standing on top of his car, pumping his fist in triumph. I can’t help but smile as I watch him. He’s having an incredible season, and it’s been brilliant watching Mason and Caleb make so many podium appearances.
Mason deserved this win. He earned it with great driving and strategy to keep the lead. He goes over to shake hands with Xavier. Then he congratulates the third-place finisher, gets weighed, and goes over to where his baseball cap, a towel, his watch, and a bottle of water are waiting for him.
He removes his helmet, setting it on the stand, and slowly pulls the black fireproof balaclava over his head.
This is a sight I never get tired of. Mason’s hair is sweaty but messed up so sexily, and he quickly runs a hand through it, trying to push it back into place. There’s a lot of facial scruff shading his jawline, and the whole look is hot.
I turn and find Isla studying me. My cheeks grow warm. Damn it! Once I know I’m blushing, there’s no shoving that genie back in the bottle. My entire face begins to burn as it spreads.
“There’s a reason why TikToks and Connectivity Story Shares are made about drivers,” Isla says knowingly.
ACK! I’m a Collings. I work for this team. Isla can’t think I’m drooling over any driver, let alone one who works for my grandfather!
“I don’t look at Mason like that,” I say, the words tumbling out in a nervous rush.
Isla doesn’t reply, but the look in her eyes tells me she doesn’t believe a word I said.
“I’m going to head to parc fermé now,” I say quickly, changing the subject. “I’ll see you for the team celebration.”
The questioning look doesn’t leave her eyes. Ugh, this is the one time I wish Isla weren’t a reporter. She’s trained to observe people. Notice everything.
Like unrequited crushes and me lusting over Mason.
I make a note to be more careful in the future. Because nobody can ever know about this. Not Caleb. Not Isla.
Most of all, not Mason. He can never ever find out about my stupid feelings for him.
“Okay, see you,” Isla says.
She will meet Caleb, and I will watch the podium celebration for Mason as a member of the team and the family. Normally, teammates don’t attend a podium celebration for the other driver, unless it’s something spectacular, so Caleb will be heading back to his room right now.
As I walk towards parc fermé, I can hear the other top-three finishers give interviews through the track loudspeakers. Then I hear the introduction for Mason, and I can’t help but smile.
“Mason, that was an exciting start to the race,” the host for The Downforce Network says. “Can you walk us through the start from your perspective?”
“I knew I might have an opportunity if Caleb and Xavier were fighting for the lead. It came faster than I anticipated, but I was ready for it.”
“The safety cars came at the right time for you, didn’t they?” the host asks next.
Mason goes on to discuss the pit stops and finally, the race to the chequered flag. He chuckles, and I can picture his big smile lighting up the screen. “Oh, that got a bit stressful,” he confesses. “It always is when you see Xavier in your rearview mirror. You can never count him out. But luckily, this car had the pace to do it.”
He concludes his interview, and a loud cheer goes up from the crowd.
I reach parc fermé and gather with the Collings Motors team. The mood is jubilant after that exciting start—and finish—to Mason’s race. The TV monitors now show the cool-down room, where the top-three drivers are shown highlights, and mics pick up their conversation. It’s an interesting insight into what the drivers think when they are watching things they might not have seen during the race, like a crash or spectacular overtake.
Mason puts his helmet up in the space allotted for first place, then takes a seat. Xavier follows, pausing to unzip his race suit, peel off his fireproof shirt—revealing all his sleek muscles and spectacular ink—and throw it aside before zipping his suit back up.
I smirk. I swear he does this because he knows his fans love it. At least that’s what Caleb says. Xavier, however, claims it’s because he’s hot.
I’m willing to bet my brother is right.
Romeo Vittorio, the third-place finisher, takes his seat. They watch the race, making comments and joking, and finally, it’s time for the podium celebration.
