We're both flushed when it's over.

The room smells like sex – warm, heavy and wildly unprofessional – something I'll absolutely deny if anyone ever asks. My skin is still buzzing, my mind fills with nothing particular as I lie there staring at Oscar's bare chest, trying to remember how to function as a Formula 1 driver again.

Oscar shifts beside me, our legs are still tangled, his hand warm at my waist like he's forgotten to remove it and decided not to bother.

"You know", he sats, voice maddingly calm for someone who looks just as wrecked as I feel, "you could've just asked."

I squint at him, "Ask what exactly?"

He leans in and presses an unapologetic kiss to my lips then pulls back so I can see the satisfaction written all over his face. "If you want me to fuck you senselessly, you don't need to outsource it to the internet. Asking directly is faster". He comments about my wildest desires like talking about weather, doesn't even flinch a bit.

I scoff, full of defensive and still not fully recovered. I shove his shoulder but Oscar completely ignores that, that infuriating smile still in place.

Eventually we peel ourselves apart with great reluctance and very little grace. I sit up, run a hand through my hair and regret it instantly because now I can feel my face is still burning and my thoughts process is half a second behind reality.

"We are late. God, the whole team might be around looking for us."

"I just need to grab lunch and probably join the debrief later. No strict schedule for today. You might be late though". He grins at me, already composed in that infuriating way that makes it looks like he hasn't just completely derailed my body.

By the time we step into the hallway, we appear normal again. Or at least that's what I hope. Just two drivers heading back to work, nothing to see here.

I lower my voice enough to only Oscar to hear, warning "You have better be quiet and don't say a word. I have a job to do."

"Relax, I'll behave."

Tell me how can I relax when he's already smiling brighter than ever and saying hello to literally everyone we bump into on the way? He disappears after a closed door, both of us back to our separate corners of the same world, doing our things.

I realize I haven't eaten sometime between the third run of practice and the moment my stomach makes a loud noise enough to embarrass me. I'm still half in race mood, my mind tired but wired and that must be reason why the hunger blurs for as long as my body can cope with.

I shoot a text to Oscar.

Lando:
Just remember food exists but I forgot how it tastes like. Dinner?
Oscar Piastri:
Was wondering when you'd notice. Italian place next to our hotel?

I smile at how fast Oscar's reply comes through, heading inside to get change and ready to leave. We just take a few steps out of the paddock entrance when we run straight into George and Alex, their voice unmistaken no matter where they are. George is loudly arguing with Alex about what pair of sunglasses they should buy.

I don't even get the chance to say hello or sneak away from them. George's face lights up the second he sees me, like Christmas has arrived early full of Rolex watches and Chanel purses in Santa Clause's pocket.

"There he is", George announces cheerfully, loud enough that he should be arrested for creating noise pollution, "The greatest literacy critic and the muse of Formula One. How does it feel being the internet starlet?"

Alex looks at us with a horror expression, probably assuming we are on drugs because that's the only reasonable explanation for whatever just came out of George's mouth. But my friend doesn't get annoyed, his grins wider as he talks to both Oscar and Alex. "Some people pretend they are not into fanfiction and the next thing you know, he reads all of it and asks for more."

"I did not ask for more. And the story you sent me was not even that good."

Alex perks up, definitely not helpful at all, "Which one which one which one? Send me. I've never read one about Lando."

"I hate all of you. Please keep your distance or I'm filing a restraining order." – I groan painfully, wonder why Oscar is right there and no one teases him or makes his life miserable.

Speaking of the devil. George isn't done with his stand-up comedy. "But they are right though. You two do look at each other with that yearning pinning desperate eyes. After retiring from F1 you could consider being an actor, surely the pay will be decent."

I choke on my own saliva at those casual recommendations my friends just made. Oscar doesn't even pretend to be surprised. He just smiles like this is the least shocking thing anyone has said all day.

"People are writing essay about our heart eyes contact. I can't wait to find every single one of them to laugh at that made-up story."

George replies to me, "Just keep it in, don't traumatize the paddock alright? And let me know what you want as wedding present."

Alex couldn't contain his laugh anymore, he stands there and laughs hysterically for five minutes straight, couldn't stand upright. I grab Oscar's wrist and push him away from those two idiots, drag him with me before anyone can elaborate further.

"We are going to get dinner and neither of you are welcomed. That's the price of bullying me."

"Have a nice dinner Romeo and Juliet. Tell the internet we say hi!"

I don't look back but their laughs echo behind us, fuel the embarrassment in me. Dinner is mercifully normal, quiet enough to breathe again, warm enough to let all my guards down. The day finally drains out of me when Oscar tries to steal a fried off my plate like he's entitled to it.

Back at the hotel, we kick our shoes off by the door and collapse onto the bed, limbs tangled. Not even a full minute passes by before Oscar reaches for my iPad and pleas me to show him the story I'm reading. I hesitate for a second then opens it for him.

We read it together this time, shoulders to shoulders, laughing at ridiculous parts. Oscar makes commentary like he's reviewing film.

"I would never ever say that", he insists.

"You would never. You would just show the judgment on your face."

Oscar rolls his eyes as a silent acceptance, which proves I understand him as much as he knows me. That's sweet in the most unexpected way.