and away we go

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/65650366.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte (TV)
Relationship: Osha Aniseya/Qimir | The Stranger
Characters: Sol the Jedi (Star Wars), Yord Fandar, Jecki Lon
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Formula One, Racing, Formula 1, Slow Burn, Secret
Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Power Imbalance, Eventual Smut, Verbal
Degradation, Penis In Vagina Sex
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2025-05-17 Updated: 2025-07-29 Words: 56,462 Chapters: 14/?
 and away we go
by witwithfolly

Summary

Osha Aniseya is a Formula One driver, struggling to break into the top ten. She worked hard to get
here, from karting, to Formula Three, then Two... But now, for some reason, she's cursed. Maybe
it's Saber Racing, maybe it's Race Manager Sol. Or maybe she just needs a new Race Engineer,
guiding her on her radio, encouraging her to take risks where she otherwise wouldn't

Enter: Qimir De La Cruz, previously a promising Formula Two racer, who's career was cut short
due to a serious accident. Qimir's got some unique ideas on how Osha could get to the podium, but
it requires a complete upheaval of everything she knows.

Notes

This fic has been on my mind for months, and I finally did the research needed to start writing it.
HUGE thanks to Kiri (KnightsOfKyber) who made the moodboard you'll see below which inspired
me to write this. It's incredible.

Hope you enjoy the ride!

 Don't be scared

“Another beautiful day in Miami, perfect weather for the qualifiers, don’t you agree, Jay?”

“A beautiful day indeed, Clark, but I’m a bit nervous for some folks on the track today.”

“Oh, I think I know what you mean. Miss Aniseya’s got off to a rocky start this season, having
everything from engine troubles, to bad pit calls, even some unsportsmanlike conduct between her
and her teammate, Yord Fandar.”
“Six Grand Prixs and not one podium this season for the rookie team, Saber Racing, which is
sponsored by none other than Saber Automotive, one of the top car manufacturers in the world.”

“That’s right, Clark, and although Aniseya has had a formidable career in Formula Three and Two,
winning many podiums in those races, she’s not yet broken into the top ten in Formula One, which
is unfortunate.”

“Well nothing's standing in her way today, Jay. I just hope it’s not some kind of curse.”

The commentators laugh behind a live feed of Osha Aniseya climbing inside her car, her braids
falling out from her helmet in the back. Her deep red jumpsuit and glittery red helmet look bulky
on her small frame, and Qimir shakes his head as he watches from the bar near the track, sipping on
a gin and tonic.

It’s too early for it, but he needed something strong to wash down the anger boiling inside him.

Being around a Formula One race brings too many things to the surface, and yet, he lingers here,
working on the fringes, taking whatever odd jobs he can so he can stay near the smell of gasoline
and burnt rubber. The roar of the engines, almost as loud as the roar of the crowd, makes his back
itch. He reaches behind him, absently scratching at a phantom pain, before downing the rest of his
drink.

“Not a very good start for Osha Aniseya who’s had a rough time coming round that third turn.”

“She’s gonna struggle to come back from that, Jay.”

“Meanwhile, Fandar just finished his personal best, and it seems he will take P14—position 14—on
the grid. Out of twenty, it’s not bad for the rookie team.”

“I don’t think Aniseya is going to be able to get out of P17. It’s a long ways off from the
superhuman kart racer she was so many years ago, isn’t it, Jay?”

“Well, you know, Clark, some drivers lose their confidence when they reach a certain level. They
become too careful, and that has massive consequences in this— Oh and she’s slipped into P18
with that final turn.”

Qimir winces at the mistake and gestures to the bartender to pour him another.

“The curse strikes again,” the commentator continues. “And it seems as though Osha Aniseya will
be starting tomorrow’s race in the back of the grid.”

~~~

“It’s bullshit,” Osha says, ripping off her helmet. Her heart’s beating fast and her hands are shaking,
still feeling as though they’re latched to the wheel. “I couldn’t get a grip on any of those turns!”

Saber’s race manager, Sol, bites his lip, hesitantly patting her on the shoulder. “Small adjustments
to the car. It’s expected that it will take some time for you to adapt.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m faster than this. Something’s wrong.”

A few of the engineers nearby shoot her accusatory looks, causing her gut to sour.
“You got something to say to me?” she says to them.

“Osha, come on,” Sol says, gesturing to the Mission Control room, away from the garage. She
follows him reluctantly, through the glass doors, until they’re alone. A long table sits inside with
computers and headsets. It’s empty now, but will be filled with the heads of each department before
and after the race, to brief and debrief the team.

“I’m faster than that, Sol. I’ve seen my stats. In Formula Two I was doing double those numbers.”

“I know.”

“Even with a new car—I’ve dealt with that before. I grew up with this. I know what I’m doing.”

“I know.”

“And if one more person gives me some smug look as if it’s my fault, then I’m gonna—” She stops
herself before she crosses a line. Maybe that’s not fair. They all want her to succeed. They all want
her to get on that podium, bring home a trophy which is good for all of Saber Racing.

“Osha,” Sol says, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I know.”

Her heart clenches, and she bites her tongue to keep from crying. “If you know, then what are you
gonna do about it, Sol?”

He breathes out sharply. “I have something up my sleeve. Something you’re not gonna like.”

~~~

“A new race engineer,” Osha says, ripping open packets of ketchup and mustard and squeezing
them out on her basket of fries. “He thinks Robert was too easy on me, says I need more
‘aggressive support.’”

“Aggressive?” Mae says, followed by a snort. “Does he know you at all?” Osha’s twin sister might
wear her face, but she doesn’t have her temperament, or her hairstyle, which she still wears in tight
locs just as they did as kids.

Osha shakes her head and stabs her fork into the fries. “He’s known me since I was in karting,
Mae.”

“And for some reason, he hasn’t required you to attend therapy.”

Osha takes a bite of her fries, not wanting to have this conversation again . Mae claims to have
“done the work” after their mom’s death a few years ago. But Osha refused to go, finding solace on
the track.

Sol seemed to agree with her coping methods. She wasn’t drinking or getting into trouble between
races, and in the short month she had off in January, she practiced on the simulator every day, for
hours at a time.

In his eyes, she’s doing well. She just needs a little push.

“He’s gonna be there tomorrow, at the race,” she says after swallowing down a mouthful of fries
with some soda.
“The new race engineer? Is he gonna be on comms?”

“No, he’s just… observing.”

Mae quirks a brow. “So he’s not sold on you yet.”

Osha snorts, then looks up to the television screen over the bar which is replaying the highlights
from the qualifier early that day. She watches as she barely makes a turn, wobbling a little, her tyres
doing all the work to keep her from going off-track.

Mae’s right. Whoever this new engineer is, he’s not yet convinced that she’s worth his time. He’ll
be watching and assessing whether or not he wants to take on this… project.

And Osha is a project—a real piece of work, if she says so herself. The only one she has fooled is
Sol. It’s a thought that plagues her at night when the self-loathing creeps in, when she’s away from
Mae, alone in a cold hotel room. Sol’s support has always kept her afloat, preventing her from
doing something she’ll regret.

But she knows she’s a disaster waiting to happen.

“Osha,” Mae says, catching her sister’s attention. “Impress him. Whoever he is. He just might be
the missing ingredient.”

Osha nods. “Are you staying for the race?”

“Can’t. Gotta be back in London in the morning.” She checks her phone absently, then looks back
up at Osha..

Mae’s fancy fashion job in London allows her to travel, but Osha will never understand her
schedule.

She reaches out a hand, taking Mae’s and grasping it tight. “Can I visit you in July?”

“Of course. And I’ll come to you, to the British Grand Prix.”

Osha can’t help but grimace a little. All these short meetings at the races every few months makes
her feel like she’s floating, without a place to really call home.

“No, I’ll visit you. Maybe I can stay at your place the week after?”

Mae tilts her head at that, squinting. “That would be a nice change of pace.”

“I’m so sick of living out of hotels.”

“Can’t Saber get you a motorhome for the European Prixs? I’ve seen other teams do that for their
drivers.”

Osha tuts a laugh. “Not a rookie team, and not for a driver who’s never gotten podium.” She takes
another bite of her fries.

Mae leans over the table, locs swinging in her face. “I smell change in air, Oshie. This new
engineer… could be a good thing.”
Osha smiles shyly, chewing on her fries. She’s right. This could be what she needs to push ahead, to
get out of the back of the pack, and to get to that podium.

~~~

Osha does her race day routine. A workout session with her trainer, Neal. They do the typical
circuit, focusing on her neck, shoulders, and her back. Then a cold shower, which she curses
through. Then checking over the car with the crew. She rarely pays attention to this part as it’s more
for them than it is for her.

Then she eats a carb-packed meal to account for all the calories she’ll burn during the race.
Incidentally, they brought her a rice dish today, even though she keeps requesting pasta. She swears
someone has it out for her here, sabotaging her in little ways to get her to break.

But she’s not going to. Not today, at least. Because today she needs to impress him, whoever he is.

Sol didn’t give her a name, only said he was retired from racing and looking for a more permanent
position in the Formula One world. That’s fine by her, as long as he helps her get to a podium: the
top three. She’s got a long way to go.

Osha walks inside the garage, looking around at all the familiar faces. Many she avoids,
specifically those who prefer interacting with Yord over her. Others she tolerates, knowing they
mean well. They do their job well and treat her with respect.

It’s all she requires.

“Hey, Jecki,” she says to the petite brunette sitting at the pit wall. Being Yord’s race engineer, Jecki
appears to be going over his latest stats.

“Ah, I knew I smelled estrogen in the air,” she says without giving her a glance.

Osha scrunches her nose at that. She doesn’t really need a reminder that women in this sport are
rare. “Have you seen my new race engineer?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah, he’s…” She leans back and points over to a group standing near the door to Mission
Control.

Osha catches a glimpse of dark hair tied in a small ponytail, bright teeth under a light patch of
facial hair, sharp cheekbones and smooth skin… He laughs, patting someone on the shoulder,
charming, almost disarming.

She pales, and then, of all things, she hides . Ducking behind the pit wall, she looks around for Sol,
who she spots nearby, assessing the cars.

She pulls the sleeve of Sol’s jacket and yanks him behind a tower of tyres so Qimir can’t see them.

“You used the word ‘retired,’ Sol. Do you know what the word ‘retired’ usually signifies?”

Sol huffs, expression unchanged. “He’s a decade older than you, Osha. He’s had his time on the
track.”

“I raced him three years ago.” She peeks around the rubber tower, getting a glimpse of Qimir
chatting casually with the pit crew.
“And you shoved him off the track.” Osha looks back to Sol, who raises his brows at her. “We all
remember, Osha.”

“He hates me.” She recalls the smoke, the fear, the safety car which kept them away from the wreck
as they cleaned up the debris. She remembers thinking the worst had happened.

“It’s in the past.”

She shakes her head. “He’s a driver, not an engineer.”

Sol smiles. “Qimir got his Master’s degree in Motorsports Engineering. He was pit crew before he
was a driver.”

“Oh.” She had no idea.

She can’t shake this feeling, as though her feet are about to be lifted out from under her. “He’s here
to get revenge, surely,” she says quietly.

“He’s here to see if you’re worth it.” Sol leans into her ear and adds, “Don’t fuck it up.” He walks
away.

Osha rolls her neck, trying to ground herself. Of course he’s not here for revenge. This isn’t a
daytime soap where the old rival comes back to sabotage her car. Still, she might check for any
strange hooks or wires when she climbs into the cockpit.

She looks over to him, trying to picture him in a different light than before.

She barely ever interacted with him as she was only in Formula Two for a year before moving up to
Formula One. Qimir was in Formula Two for all of his short career, and before that, he was a
stranger to racing. No one knew where he came from, not really. He hadn’t grown up in it like she
and Yord had, racing since they were kids, first with karting, then ascending through 3 and 2 as
they got older.

She recalls that Qimir was a beast behind the wheel, a natural front-runner, always starting at pole
position—the first position on the grid. He nearly always made podium. And rumor was that he
was being scouted by several teams in Formula One that year.

The year she single-handedly ended his career.

It wasn’t my fault, she repeats to herself as she approaches him.

Qimir looks up at Osha as she awkwardly steps into the circle of engineers, opposite of where he
stands. She’s not yet dressed for the race, just wearing athletic shorts and a Saber-branded jacket
with all the sponsors’ names on it.

“You’re racing in less than an hour,” he says, breaking the natural conversation and causing the pit
crew to look to Osha.

She frowns, not knowing what to say to that. “Yeah, I know.”

“So why aren’t you dressed?” His eyes wander down her petite frame, taking note of her
proportions, which are much curvier than the cars are made for. And he supposes Saber never
accounted for her breasts when designing the car. They’re not exactly small.
Osha feels like she’s being assessed like she herself is the car, and it doesn’t feel good. She crosses
her arms over her chest, brow furrowing. The pit crew dissipates, sensing a shift in mood.

“I always get dressed forty minutes prior to race time.”

“I want to see you in your race suit,” he says plainly. Then, when she doesn’t immediately move, he
adds, more demanding, but quietly, “Go get dressed.”

Osha swallows hard, then turns on her heels. She moves her jaw, wanting so badly to bite back, but
she can’t. Not until they get him to sign a contract, then he’s stuck with her for at least a year.

She changes into her race suit, but it’s too hot in Miami to wear this for over an hour before she has
to, so she zips it up halfway and ties the sleeves around her waist. Her white undershirt is a tad
more comfortable than the fireproof long-sleeved jumper in his heat.

When she comes back to the garage, Qimir smiles. “Cheeky.”

“What? I put it on.”

“All the way, please.” He rubs his hand through his hair, looking like he’s got more important
things to do.

Osha unties the sleeves around her waist and yanks up the race suit, pressing her arms into it and
zipping it up the rest of the way. “There,” she says. “Happy?”

His brows pinch together as he looks her over, then his eyes squint as he starts to circle her,
reaching out now and then to pinch at places where the fabric is loose.

“What are you looking for?” she asks, feeling like a mouse caught in his paws, and he’s playing
with his food.

But Qimir simply scratches his neck, looking as though something is wrong with the suit—or her. It
makes Osha feel naked.

“Alright. As you were.”

Osha pulls down the suit, able to breathe again. “Freak,” she says under her breath. She thinks she
was quiet enough in this already boisterous garage, but Qimir must have excellent hearing, because
he tilts his head at her and smiles.

“Why do you think I’m here, Osha?”

She shrugs, slightly embarrassed. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. Damn her and her stupidly loud
mouth.

Qimir steps closer to her, eyes burning into her. “I’m on your team, Aniseya. All I ask is that you
don’t run me off the road this time.”

She breathes in sharply through her nose. “That wasn’t my fault.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, and it startles her. “Right. Of course it wasn’t.”
She would argue with him more if she had the energy, but it’s getting closer to that time, and she
can’t waste what she currently has in her reserves on this . Then, as if reading her mind, Qimir’s
expression changes, snapping into something more focused as he walks away, over to the pit wall,
as if he’s done with her. As if he doesn’t have time for her.

Osha sighs through her teeth before heading to Mission Control. She always listens to music before
a race in there, pacing and stretching as she imagines which corners she needs to make tighter and
more consistent.

Yord waves to her as he too enters Mission Control, his race suit zipped up nice and tight, helmet in
his hand. He’s taller than her, with smooth, caramel skin and hair in short dreads that he keeps
pulled back in a small ponytail when he races.

Yord Fandar: teammate, childhood friend, rival, ex-boyfriend. As individuals, they remained
mostly unchanged, Osha intense, headstrong, and passionate, Yord likable, adaptable, and sweet as
candy.

But their relationship flip-flopped from this to that as though some god up in heaven was never
satisfied with how they were paired. Osha’s sure she got the short end of the stick though, because
even though they kept their little fling a secret a year ago, someone leaked to the press that they
were dating. And then when they decided to stop seeing each other, the fans made up fantastic
scenarios about the two of them and their supposed “whirlwind romance off-track,” and, of course,
misogyny reared its ugly head and all of Yord’s fans blamed Osha for his supposed “heartbreak,”
which he “handled so well.”

He mouths something to her, and Osha has to pull her headphones down around her neck.

“What was that?” she asks.

“I said good luck today.” His toothy grin as white as frosting.

“Oh. Thanks…” Osha’s about had it with these men and their natural charm. Her personal manager
has been working with her on this for months, but Osha doesn’t see how forcing objective appeal
makes her a better racer.

“A more popular racer is a better racer,” Tina would say. Which is bullshit. Osha’s the only
woman currently in Formula One. She has plenty of fans that only follow her because of her looks.
And none of that makes her take her turns better.

Shit , she thinks, realizing her mistake. “Good luck to you too, Yord,” she says loudly across the
room. He gives her a friendly nod before putting his headphones on.

It’s not just charm that she's lacking. Osha wipes her eyes roughly, then quietly freaks out when she
accidentally moves one of her contacts. She has to blink rapidly to get it back into place.

She would blame someone else for the minor inconvenience, but that one was all on her.

Osha doesn’t see Qimir again until they line up on the grid. She slips her helmet on and gives him a
look, letting him assess her again. After a moment, he simply nods, and she takes that as permission
to jump in the car.
Sol leans over her, slapping the side of the hull. “I’ll be on comms today. Just do what you
normally do.”

“What I normally do doesn’t work,” she chimes with a bit of snark. She catches a flash of a smile
from Qimir, who quickly covers his mouth. It makes her uneasy, like he knows something she
doesn’t.

“We want a clean race today, Osha. Don’t try anything out of the ordinary.”

She huffs, frustrated. “Fine.” Sol pats the top of her helmet, just as he did when she was child, and
walks off. But Qimir lingers.

He squats down next to the car, just staring at her, eyes dark and narrow.

“What?” she asks. They’re gonna call for the grid to be cleared soon. He can’t just hangout here
forever.

“Word of advice?” he shouts over the roars of the engines.

She looks at him, the viser in her helmet still raised as she meets his eyes. “Shoot.”

“Don’t be scared.”

She scoffs. “I’m not scared.”

But Qimir’s expression remains resolved. “Yeah you are.” His eyes are sincere, no hint of teasing.
He’s not trying to get a rise out of her, or get payback from what happened years ago.

Osha nods once, then closes her viser, just as the horn signals for the grid to clear. Qimir doesn’t
tap her helmet as everyone else always does. He just walks away, back to the pit.

So she turns her attention ahead. Sixteen cars in front of her. Fifty-seven laps. Three-hundred
kilometers. Nineteen turns—fifty-seven times.

One thousand eighty three turns.

“I’m not scared,” she says to herself.

The bottom row of red lights start to blink on, one at a time, and Osha repeats to herself again, “I’m
not scared.”

She can hear her blood pumping in her ears, despite the roar of the crowds and the engines. All five
lights are lit.

“I’m not… scared.”

It’s lights out.

And away we go.

 They don’t give a shit about you
Chapter Notes

Playlist for the vibes: and away we go playlist

Osha slams on the gas, her reaction time slightly quicker than her neighbors on the grid. It feels
good to go fast and she pushes past four of her rivals immediately, pulling behind the other red car
on the track—Yord.

They’re a team, or, at least, they’re supposed to be a team. But after their break up and that one
time he ran her off the track, she decided she couldn’t trust him. Her gut hurts now, thinking about
how she did the same to Qimir years ago.

Accidents happen all the time in F1. And most of the time they are indeed accidents. But
sometimes, it’s intentional. Penalties are given to the obvious ones. But in so many instances, only
the driver would know if it was truly a mistake.

Osha starts to sweat, nerves firing off in her body which is under an immense amount of G-forces
at every turn. The adrenaline keeps her focused, the roar so familiar, she could tell you which track
they were on by the sound alone.

But an annoying thought pokes and prods at her: Would Qimir ever trust her after what she did?

“Stay behind Fandar, Osha. Behind Fandar,” Sol says in her ears.

“Behind Fandar,” she responds, confirming she got the message. They probably want to see Yord
overtake a few positions before they help her move ahead.

That’s fine. It’s only lap one.

She holds position, gloved hands gripping the wheel, getting comfortable with guarding Yord’s
place in the middle of the pack. The cars behind her try to pass, but she keeps herself on the outside
as Yord takes the inside, and vice versa, blocking them from passing.

“That’s good, Osha. Keep it up.”

She doesn't just want to “keep it up.” She wants to push it. She wants to pass Yord.

“I can pass him,” she says. “I can find an opening.”

“Patience, Osha. Defend.”

Osha swallows down her pride and keeps her pace behind Yord, not allowing anyone to pass as he
catches up to the next position.

“Lap twenty, lap twenty,” Sol says in Osha’s ears.

They haven’t made much progress, still holding position in the middle.

“Let me overtake him,” Osha says. “He has plenty of room ahead.”

“We’re five seconds behind the front, Osha. Hold position.”

She growls in frustration, slamming on the brakes as they take a sharp turn. Then she sees a cluster
ahead.

“Traffic ahead,” Osha says. “Is he going to overtake?”

“He's going to try.”

Osha needs a chance. Just one chance to impress Qimir, to convince him to stay.

Yord presses ahead, and suddenly Osha’s left in his dust.

“Shit,” she says, gunning it around a corner harder than she should. Her tyres skid, and the car
wobbles, but she keeps herself steady on the track and straightens out.

“Gasly behind, Gasly in range.”

She’s exposed now, and she has a flat spot on her tyres.

“I need to box,” Osha says through her teeth.

“Box, box. We’ll get you new tyres.”

Osha pulls off in the pit lane, stopping between the Saber crew that’s ready with new tyres. It only
takes two seconds, then she’s off again. Luckily, she doesn’t lose anything from it, as the other
drivers have to stop for their own changes soon after, and Osha’s back in the middle, still between
Fandar and Gasly.

She refocuses, back in the zone, repeating in her head, I’m not afraid , because now, without
drafting Yord, she’s on her own. Just one wrong move, one tiny mistake, and she could spin off the
track, run into the wall. Or worse, she could spin out in the track and get hit by another car.

Osha bites her lip hard. That’s not gonna happen , she thinks. But then she takes the next corner,
and her instincts fail her, fear gives in, and she nurtures the breaks all the way through it.

She straightens back out and curses, “Fuck!” Gasly passes her, and she knows the others aren’t far
behind now.

Sol says nothing. Osha can feel tears in the corners of her eyes. She clenches her ass in the seat, a
little trick she learned to keep from crying. Gasly is completely out of sight now.

No one’s chatting in her ears. She’s alone. Sol probably switched over to Yord’s radio, coaching
him to push ahead to the top ten.

Of course Saber would want Yord as their first pick for the podium. He's attractive, charming, good
with his fans. He always has some wise crack or joke when he's interviewed. Whereas Osha tends
to freeze.
She's seen the comments online.

People say her smile seems fake, that she doesn't want to be there, or that she expects to have a win
handed to her because she's a woman. When really, she has little to smile about, she doesn't belong
anywhere else, and she needs to prove that she can do this.

She needs to prove it to everyone, and herself. But she can’t seem to get over this—whatever it is.

This curse .

A new voice speaks over the radio suddenly, saying calmly and clearly, “They don’t give a shit
about you, you know.”

“What?” Fucking Qimir.

“They don’t give a shit where you are on the track. Behind them, in front, it doesn’t matter.”

Time seems to slow as he speaks to her. Osha braces the wheel, contemplating his words, what he’s
implying. Slowing down just a hair, she takes the next turn at a faster speed, then all of a sudden,
she’s behind Gasly.

“That’s good, Osha. You’re in range to overtake. Now do it.”

Osha flips the switch that makes the rear spoiler lay flat, allowing her a burst of speed as she flies
around the driver. But there’s a turn ahead, and she panics for a split second. If Gasly tries to
overtake her on this turn while they’re still so close, they could collide.

“Push it,” Qimir says in her ears. “Push, push, push.” Gasly doesn’t matter. No one matters.

It’s just her and the track and his voice. Some would call it tunnel vision. Others would say she’s in
the zone. But this is something entirely new for Osha.

She makes the turn around the track, and she can sense Gasly on her back tyre long before she sees
him in the corner of her eye.

Fuck .

“Push it, Osh.”

Osha breathes in through her nose, then out through her mouth as she pushes down the throttle, fear
dissipating as she creates more space between them.

“Good girl. Now we go for Fandar.”

“What?!” Sol wouldn’t approve of her intentionally racing her teammate.

“Keep it up, Osha. He’s not far.”

“Shit,” she says aloud.

“Not ‘shit.’ You got this.” She can practically hear his smug expression.
She takes a deep breath, that familiar fear teasing her just a little, threatening to yank the wheel
enough to throw her off—

“You with me, Osha?”

Again, it dissipates, and Osha’s back in the game.

“I’m with you.” She’s coming up on her rivals quickly, Yord included in the traffic ahead. The
sound of her engine slowing makes her antsy. “What do I do?” she asks, seeing multiple cars in
front of her. “There isn’t an opening.”

“One at a time. Focus on Fandar first. You really wanna beat him, don’t you?”

“We’re a team,” she responds.

“So what? He’s in your way. Find an opening, and take it.” He’s chatting with her as if she isn’t
hurtling through the air at two hundred fifty miles per hour.

Osha hesitates, now following close behind Yord, seeing opportunities but not acting on them.

“Come on, Osh. He’s passed you dozens of times. He pushed you off the track once. Remember
that?”

The adrenaline pumps in her veins, yanking the car forward just a little faster.

“That’s it, Osh. Push it. Harder .”

Something about his voice combined with the sound of the engine just feels right, like he’s a part of
the car itself, urging her to take what’s hers.

Osha leans into it, finding her opening and whipping around Yord so quickly that she’s certain it’ll
take him at least ten seconds to realize who passed him.

“Oh my god,” she says.

“God’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

Laughter bubbles up inside her, even though she’s still clocking over two hundred miles per hour.
But suddenly, she’s a kid again, taking the corners wickedly fast, leaving Yord in her dust.

“Coming up on P11.”

Osha doesn’t even remember passing so many to get up this far. “Who is P11?”

“Hulkenberg.”

Osha can take him. He’s older than most drivers at nearly forty. Probably around Qimir’s age, now
that she thinks about it.

“Your gen,” she says.

“Excuse me?”

“Your generation,” she says loud over the engine. “Hulkenberg.”

He chuckles. “Are you calling me old?”

“Maybe.”

She pulls up behind the green and black car.

“You’re in range,” he says. “Hug the inside of this next turn.”

Osha does as he says, careful not to clip Hulkenberg with her front left tyre. “Fuck,” she curses, not
liking how close they are.

“Push it.”

Despite her worry, Osha pushes on the throttle, and passes Hulkenberg as they come out of the turn.

“P11, Osh. P11.”

She can’t stop now. Only the top 10 actually receive points at Grand Prixs, and she currently has
zero. If she can get to P10, she’ll at least prove that she’s meant to be here.

“How far ahead is P10?” she asks, hesitant. They’re on lap forty-five, leaving her with only twelve
more laps to go. Then it’s over.

Has she even done enough to impress him?

“Five seconds ahead,” he says.

I can do this . “I can do this.”

“I know you can.”

His words ignite something inside her, a tingling sensation in her abdomen, an arousal vibrating in
sync with the engine. She pushes down the sensation, not needing a distraction.

Not right now.

It happens sometimes, when she reaches high speeds, when the vibration of the car hits her in just
the right way. And now, she adds to the list, when someone believes in her.

Not just someone. Not just anyone.

“Fuck,” she curses, mucking up the next turn.

“You’re fine,” he says. “Keep pushing.”

On lap fifty-three, she finally catches up to him—Tsunoda. His matte black car looking
intimidating, almost impassable.

“Outside,” Qimir says. “He likes to hug the turn.”

Osha pulls around him, almost too easily, then passes him around the turn, speeding up out of it to
secure her spot in P10.

It doesn’t hit her immediately, her sights now focused on the next position.
“P10, Osh. Nice work.”

Osha’s smiling like an idiot as she crosses the finish line, comfortably in position ten. She would’ve
tried to get up to P9, but her wheels were starting to give her some trouble, and she wasn’t about to
risk a pit stop so late in the race.

But she did it. She made one point. Just one, but it’s one more point that she didn’t have when she
started this race.

Osha pulls into the pit lane and is greeted by the team with applause. Many of them seem shocked,
some even disappointed, as though they were expecting, and wanting, Yord to break into the top
ten, not her.

It makes her feel guilty for passing him. But then Qimir approaches her, helping her out of the car
by offering her a hand as she climbs out.

Her feet hit the pavement and she pulls off her helmet, still breathing heavy, coming down from the
adrenaline high.

He gives her a half smile, then says, “Go get weighed, then we’ll talk.”

She nods, making her way to the closed area where drivers have to weigh themselves before and
after the race, for health reasons and to assess the car to make certain it’s within the specified
weight range.

Osha usually loses about three kilograms per race. This time she’s lost four.

When she gets to the Briefing Room, Yord shoves past her from behind, heading to his seat at the
far end of the table. Sol’s starting the briefing with Yord’s performance, and before she can sit,
Qimir gets her attention and gestures for her to follow him into Sol’s office.

The door closes behind her, and Osha tightens her race suit sleeves around her waist, waiting for
him to say something—anything. The silence is deafening, and all she wants to do is celebrate.

Qimir-fucking-De La Cruz leans against the white desk, looking smug. The clean, modern white
office is just a temporary setup, no trinkets or personal items in sight. It’s cold, literally and
figuratively. Osha’s soaked with sweat and the air conditioning causes her to shiver.

“So… we got some work to do,” he says, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“That means you’re staying.” She relaxes, smiling.

“On one condition,” he says.

She shrugs. “Okay?”

“I’m in charge now, of all of it.”

“Sure… Yeah,” she answers, not completely processing.

He licks his lips. “Where you go, what you wear, what you put in your body—”

“Excuse me?”
“Your race day routine, what you do in your off-time, who you hangout with.” Osha can’t quite
believe this is happening. When he said everything, he meant everything . “Your interviews, your
workout routines, your diet.”

She snorts. “I thought that was covered by ‘what I put in my body.’”

He tilts his head. “Not entirely.”

Heat rises to her cheeks, because now she knows he meant whatever she puts in her body. “And
Sol’s okay with this?”

“Sol? Sol’s on his last straw with you.” His brow furrows, looking her up and down again. “You’re
lucky he has a particular affinity towards you, I guess ‘cause he’s known you since you were a
child.”

Osha chews on her lip, not wanting to argue with him, but not appreciating this level of scrutiny.
“I’m not a child anymore,” she says. “And I have a team of people who help me with these things.”

“You’ll still have them, but they answer to me now.” He leans in a little, waiting for her answer. It’s
risky, even for him. But if she’ll let him drive, let him guide, he can get her to the podium by the
end of the season.

“Fine,” she says. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

He shrugs. “You can continue to perform at a mediocre level, until you get sick of it.”

Now she’s getting frustrated. “How long is your contract?”

“I haven’t signed it yet.”

Osha taps her foot, unsure who is supposed to speak now, unsure if she can leave.

He finally adds, “Let’s just get through this year first. Then we can decide if we want to continue
working together.”

Osha nods slowly. “Can I go now? I think they’re doing my debrief soon.”

“They won’t start without me.”

“Of course they won’t,” she whispers, exasperated.

Qimir smiles, amused. “Go get something to eat. I saw your weigh-in. You must be starving.”

“Fuck yes,” she says quietly, starting to reach for the door, then remembers, “Then we debrief?”

“Then we debrief.”

~~~

Osha’s debrief is, well, brief. Qimir keeps things simple, allowing the engineers to report what’s
important on their end. But when Sol would normally insert some words of encouragement, Qimir
skips right to Osha’s perspective. And she has nothing to say, not like usual.
Usually, the engineers give her reason to complain, throwing accusations at her before she even
gets to speak. But it seems Qimir’s presence has changed things significantly. They don’t dare say a
word against her. So she simply shrugs, taking another bite of her protein bar.

“Great, let’s pack it up,” Qimir says, standing.

“So…” Osha stands slowly, not knowing what to say or do, given that he’s “in control,”
supposedly.

“Two weeks,” he says. The room is starting to clear. “Emilia-Romagna. You ready for it?”

“Yeah, I love Italy,” Osha responds before mentally kicking herself in the ass. Dumb thing to say. “I
mean… I like the track.” No I don’t . Overtaking is nearly impossible there, which means—

“You’ll have to nail the qualifying round. I expect P14 at least.”

She scoffs. “And how do you imagine I do that?”

He shrugs, his casual smugness causing her to frown. “Practice on the sim.” He starts to walk out of
the room and she follows close behind.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.” The simulators are great, but they’re nothing compared to
the real thing. They walk outside into the hot, humid evening. “What about my workout routine…
My diet?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll email you.”

“Email? Are you that old?”

Qimir gives her a look, feeling a bit thrown. Osha’s predictably unpredictable. He likes it.

“I didn’t feel it appropriate to ask for your number.”

It’s a good thing the deep orange sunlight beams on her now, because Osha’s certainly blushing and
the warm light should hide it. “You’re kind of my head coach. I think you should probably have my
number.”

Qimir pulls his phone out of his pocket, tongue in his cheek to keep from smiling. But Osha catches
a glimpse of it.

“Here,” he says. “Send yourself a text.”

Osha takes his phone, which he specifically opened to the messaging app. She moves her thumb
across the screen quickly, looking over the names—Ruth, Seb, Winnie, Kiki, Ellie… Mostly girl’s
names. Nicknames, like he couldn’t be bothered to add a full name, much less a surname.

She clicks the plus button, creating a new message and sending herself a text that says, “ Qimir’s
phone .”

“So two weeks,” she says, handing him back the phone.

“Enjoy the time at home.” Then he walks away, leaving Osha to stare at his perfectly-sculpted ass
as he literally walks into the sunset.
She huffs, knowing it’s not fair to hold this against him—it’s not like he knows that she doesn’t
really have a home. Or does he? Was it a slight against her? Is he poking fun at her because he
knows she’s living in a mostly empty condo in Monaco that she despises? That she has few friends
that are usually busy with nine-to-five jobs, who don’t understand why she can’t stay out late and
party on the weekends?

Of course he doesn’t know. And he probably doesn’t care.

~~~

Qimir draws up Osha's diet plan, her workout plan, both for race days and between days. He makes
calls to Saber regarding her racing suit, and finds the engineer in charge of the cockpit.

By the end of the week, he's got everything organized, and her entire team is informed. He just
needs to fill her in.

Which is, for some reason, hard to do.

He types out several messages, then deletes them.

“ Osha, it's Qimir. I have your —”

No … She knows it's me.

“ Osha, here's the link to your plans. I also arranged for—”

Too wordy.

He thinks a moment, biting his lip. She's not an idiot. She's probably been expecting it.

He settles on just sending the link to the shared drive. Everything is labeled in there. She'll figure it
out.

His couch in his apartment in Monaco is too comfortable to leave just yet, so he waits, spreading
his legs. It's Saturday morning. She's probably sleeping in.

His phone buzzes almost immediately.

“Shouldn't we have a meeting?” she asks.

“About?”

She types, then stops, a few times.

“This is double the amount of protein. And twice daily neck exercises?”

Qimir smiles to himself. Of course she'd push back. If he's honest, he has to admit he was looking
forward to this.

“There’s a never list in there too.”

He waits, knowing she's looking at the list of things she's banned from eating or drinking, activities
she can't participate in, organized by which day it is leading up to race day.
“You're joking,” she responds.

“Now why would I do that?” Another long pause as she types and then stops, again and again. So
before she can respond, he clarifies, “I'm on your side.”

She stops typing. And a long few minutes pass as he stares at his phone.

He thinks that's that, getting up from the couch and moving to his kitchen to find something to eat.
But then his phone vibrates.

“This section is unnecessary,” she sends along with a screenshot of the section titled, “ Birth
Control ,” which lists preferred methods such as a hormonal IUD or oral contraceptive pills.

“Unnecessary?” he says to himself. Then, he realizes what she means.

“Well, that depends on what you currently use.” He wishes he could see her face now.

“I don't need to be on anything.”

“I beg to differ.” It's not just about getting pregnant. The stress on the body from the adrenaline, the
physical exertion, and the traveling causes hormonal fluctuations which can result in irregular
periods. Being on birth control can help keep her periods regular so she's better prepared.

All of this is, of course, in the plan notes he sent her.

“I don't even have time to meet anyone. What makes you think I'm having sex?”

He raises a brow at that.

“Did anyone ever teach you to read the entire page before reacting?”

Osha types, then stops. He waits for a minute… two minutes… three minutes… Eight minutes go
by, and now Qimir's eating leftover veggie stir fry, cold, right from the container.

“I'll make an appointment for the pills,” she finally responds.

“Good,” he sends, then tosses his phone on the counter. He laughs a little at the
miscommunication, knowing what she thought he was implying. He of all people knows how
difficult it is to maintain a relationship while racing, especially when you're under such intense
scrutiny. Not only from coaches, but the fans, the press, the team—all the other teams.

He had read about Osha and Yord’s little fling. A relationship of convenience, surely. Osha’s too…
exciting… for someone like Yord. But he frowns thinking about it.

He reaches for his phone again and Googles Osha’s name. Pictures come up of her posing with her
helmet on her hip, post-race interviews where she’s sweaty and flushed, paparazzi snaps of her
leaving Yord’s apartment in the same clothes she was in the night before. The girl’s been through a
lot in the press—as expected, given the nature of the sport.

But no one should have to go through that. Calling her a bitch because she didn’t smile at the
camera that was shoved in her face. Saying she only got her spot on the Saber team because she
was sleeping with Yord, or because Sol coached her when she karted—because powerful women
never actually own their power. It must be explained, it must have come from a man.
And then there were the stalkers, men who had a twisted way of showing their “love” for her.

Not that the guys in the sport didn’t face such adversity, scrutiny, or conflict. But what Osha’s been
through is significantly more troubling, more difficult to navigate.

And yet, he can’t coddle her. That’s not what she needs. If there’s something Osha and Qimir have
in common, it’s that they won’t respond well to people trying to take care of them. No, what Osha
needs is someone to prove to her that she already knows what to do, to get rid of all the stuff that
doesn’t matter and remember why she’s here and why she’s doing this.

But they have a long way to go.

 Our little secret
Chapter Notes

Playlist for the vibes: and away we go playlist

Also, I know some people aren't very familiar with F1, so here's a short clip of a pit stop so
you can see how quickly they change the tyres: https://youtu.be/wsCriICZ-nA?
si=nBxlrrPZQr3t5veD

The head of Osha’s medical team, Bridget, checks in a few days before her short flight to Imola,
which is on the northeast coast of Italy. Apparently, Qimir’s spoken with all of her team, all
individually, one-on-one. Bridget is the last one who confirms this, asking Osha how she’s adapting
to her new birth control pills and letting it slip that Qimir wanted to be certain she wasn’t
experiencing any negative side effects.

She also mentions that Qimir will be passing on any future “sensitive” issues to Bridget instead of
speaking with Osha directly. This makes Osha laugh a little. It’s a nice thing to do, considering
what happened via text. Osha certainly doesn’t want to be discussing her periods with Qimir, much
less her sex life. Her life is already under a microscope as it is.

Saber sets Osha up in a swanky hotel near the track. Not as nice as where some of the other drivers
are staying, but nicer than she deserves.

Nice, clean, but not comforting.

Osha strips the bed of the sheets, replacing them with her own. She also has her own pillow with
silk pillowcase, a small, white noise machine, and a stuffed animal—a butterfly she’s had since she
was a child that she calls Pip. It’s little things like this that help her at least sleep at night, when
she’s alone.

Growing up with a twin and sharing everything with her made Osha always want to have her own
things. Her own toys, her own bed, her own room. But now that she’s grown, all she wants is
someone sleeping in her bed at night again. She picks up Pip and squeezes him tight.

Then she hides it under the blanket. No one needs to know she still sleeps with a stuffed animal.

~~~

“It’s a heart monitor,” Qimir explains, holding what looks like a mic pack, but instead of a mic at
the end of the cord, there are several sticky, rubber discs. “We need to check the basics, measure the
stress on your body.”

“I’ve done stress tests. Saber makes us do one annually that—”

“I’ve seen it. They conduct it through the sim.” He gestures to the track behind her. “This will be
more accurate.”
It’s practice day. Qualifying is tomorrow. She doesn’t have time to play with stats and numbers. But
she bites her lip and shrugs, remembering that he’s the one in control.

“What? You’re not gonna fight me on this?”

“I’m…” She takes a deep breath. “...Trying something new.”

He chuckles, then points to her chest. “We’ll put two here, then one here.” He pokes at her ribs on
her left side and Osha jumps. “Ticklish?”

She forces down her smile. “A bit.” Osha lifts her shirt a little so he can place one of the stickers
there, his fingers smoothing it out without lingering on her skin.

He then places one on her right side, above her breast, and Osha turns her head, trying to avoid
staring at him. So close, touching her like this, it makes her skin prickle. She catches a wave of his
scent—some fancy cologne. Upsettingly, it’s intoxicating.

“Pull down your shirt a little,” he says, fingers hovering over the top hem of her shirt, hesitant.
Osha pulls it down, just enough so he can press the last sticker over her heart.

This time, Qimir’s fingers linger as they press down on her chest. He doesn’t need the monitor to
feel her heart racing, and he looks into her eyes, curious. What he finds there is not what he was
expecting.

Osha’s eyes have softened, almost saddened, her mouth relaxed, lips parted just a little, like she
wants to say something, but it won’t come out. Qimir’s hand lays flat on her chest, feeling her heart
beat heavy against his palm. Is she warming up to him? Is she, perhaps, letting her mind wander
into dangerous territory? Or is she simply disarmed by such intimate touch?

He remembers how lonely it was when he was a driver.

He licks his lips, then lets his hand fall. “Clip this on the outside of your suit. Make sure it’s
comfortable.”

Osha takes the monitoring pack and nods. A quiet, “Thanks,” is all she can manage.

When she goes to get dressed, she finds a fresh race suit in her locker. She puzzles, looking it over
and wondering why he'd get her a brand new one. Perhaps he's trying to curry some favor with her?

No way.

It fits better than her old suit, and she finds that it hugs her curves more snugly around her waist,
her ass, and her breasts. She recalls how Qimir circled her in Miami, how he assessed her, looking
like something was wrong. The pieces start to fall into place.

“I’m on your side.” he had said.

Later, when she gets in the car, she can feel the excitement in her gut. Simulators only do so much.
Being on the track for real is the only way to feel the grip of the wheels on the asphalt, the down
force of the wind on the car, and the pure fear, the adrenaline making every nerve ending tingle in
anticipation.
“Don’t think about the monitor,” Qimir says. “Just focus on your turns, and report anything that
goes wrong with the car.”

Osha nods, then sets off to take her practice laps. Her favorite part of racing is getting back on the
track, back behind the wheel after being away for days, sometimes weeks. Her foot presses down
on the throttle, increasing her speed along the straight until she's forced to brake at a turn.

There's nothing like it in the world. Three hundred and seventy kilometers per hour, the tug on your
entire body when you take a turn, wrestling with the weight of the car and the pure power of the
engine.

“Okay, radio check, Osha.”

Of course Qimir has to ruin it. “Yep, radio check.”

“Good girl.”

“Can you stop that?”

“Stop what?”

“Calling me a ‘good girl’?”

“Hm. Let me think about that.” There’s a pause. Osha speeds up along the straight and narrow.
Then, the radio crackles again as he adds, “No.”

Qimir watches the feedback from the monitor on the computer. Osha’s heart rate quickens, then
levels out. Just a little stress, an annoyance. Good.

“I’m not a child,” she says roughly. “You wouldn’t call a man a “good boy.”

She’s got a point. But give her an inch and she’ll take a mile. “Think of it as a term of endearment.”

She huffs. “Whatever.”

“Repeat?”

“Nothing.”

Qimir lets the silence fall as Osha focuses on her laps. The track here is not too difficult, with
plenty of straight zones, but it is narrow, making it difficult to pass others.

Osha sees a blue flag, signaling that she needs to let the car coming up behind her pass. She stays
on one side of the track, and Yord flies by in the other red Saber car.

“Maneuvers, Osh, not just speed,” Qimir says, reminding her to focus on how and when she takes
her turns, not just gunning it until she has to break at the corner.

Osha doesn’t respond, but takes the next turn around the outside, only a few seconds behind Yord.

“No racing,” Qimir says. “Your enemy right now is yourself.”

Osha growls in frustration, pushing down on the throttle, but not to catch up with Yord. Instead, she
zones in on the movements of the car, taking her turns with ease over the next few laps.

“That’s it, Osh. You got this. Keep it gentle. You don’t always have to push so hard.”

She doesn’t respond, entirely honed in on the track, the car, his words.

Qimir looks around at the others at the pit wall. Sol is hovering over Jecki, watching Yord’s
screens. The engineers are focused on the cars. Their radio conversations are for everyone to hear,
but on practice days they’re mostly ignored. So Qimir leans over, speaking only so Osha can hear.

“Next lap… Show me what you got.”

“What?” It takes her out of the zone for a second. Now he wants her to push it? After telling her not
to?

“Push it, Osh. I know you want to. You like the speed, the force on your body as you take a turn.
You like the thrill, the danger, the split second decisions.”

His voice is warm, soothing her gut and igniting her core. A flutter, a pulse between her thighs as
she takes another turn, the sharpest of the track. The engine revs and clicks down as she breaks into
it, then she comes out and her foot’s pressed down fully on the throttle.

She comes up behind Yord, now caught back up with him. He gets a blue flag, and Osha doesn’t
need to be encouraged to overtake him, but Qimir’s voice is in her ears again.

“Push, push, push. Harder. Come on,” he growls.

“Shit,” she says, overtaking Yord and continuing on at the highest speed she’s ever done on this
track. Her head presses back into the seat, and she feels a tingling sensation in her lap, the car
vibrating under her just enough to make her lower body shake in a dangerous way.

“That’s a good girl,” Qimir says, soft and buttery in her ears. Not like a coach at all. No, coaches
don’t speak to you as if they’re actively fucking you. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Osha’s senses spike, the pressure between her thighs building. “Yes,” she says, breath hitching. She
can’t stop it now. Once it starts, she just has to let it finish.

It doesn’t happen all the time. In fact, she can count on two hands how many times it’s happened in
her entire career. Luckily, she’s good enough to keep it from seriously distracting her. She grips the
wheel, letting it roll over her. A tight moan escapes her mouth as the final wave presses through her
body.

Qimir’s fingers press to his lips as he watches Osha’s heart rate spike. He says nothing, knowing
something’s… off. But she would say something if she sensed danger.

Then he hears her breathing heavily, followed by a little noise, one that he would never associate
with racing.

She loses nothing from it, ending the lap with a personal best. Sol comes over to see the stats and
pats Qimir on the back.

“She’s doing well,” he says.

Qimir’s breath catches, and he turns off his mic before he answers, “Yeah, um… She is. Really
well, actually.”

“Maneuvers or speed?” Osha asks as if nothing happened.

“Maneu—Shit.” He turns the mic back on. “Maneuvers, Osh, Maneuvers. Your last lap was really
good. Good job.”

“Whatever you’re doing,” Sol says, “It’s working.”

Qimir flushes, turning his attention back to the video feeds as Sol walks away. If he caused that, it’s
a serious issue.

Or is it?

He’s not sure yet. He shouldn’t make any assumptions.

When Osha pulls into the pit, ending her one hour practice, he stays at the pit wall, going over her
stats, marking areas that need improvement. The engineers need to tighten up the brakes before the
next practice run, and he’s worried about the excessive vibrations in the rear of the chassis. But
otherwise, they’re off to a good start for the weekend.

“So?” Osha says as she approaches the pit wall. “Can I take this thing off now?”

Qimir gives her a quick glance, then looks back at the numbers on the screen. “You, uh… had a
spike here.” He runs a hand through his hair, using the elastic around his wrist to pull it back in a
casual ponytail before looking back at her.

Osha’s staring at her stats, and he’s staring at her—warm complexion, high cheekbones, full lips…
pretty eyes.

He clears his throat. “You, uh… wanna tell me what that’s about?” She looks at him, eyebrows
raised as though she’s clueless. Is there any use in pretending that he doesn’t know?

“Osha!” Jecki calls from the other side of the pit wall. “You did amazing! Nice work!” Osha nods
in her direction, a big smile on her face.

“I’m hungry,” she says to Qimir. “We’ll talk later?”

Qimir slowly nods, and Osha doesn’t hesitate to get out of there as soon as possible.

~~~

That evening, they sit across from each other at the restaurant in the paddock, only accessible to the
teams, Qimir with his laptop on the table, Osha leaning on her elbow, exhausted from the two hours
worth of practice. Her eyes flutter shut as he pulls up her stats.

“So your heart rate tends to spike when it needs to, and you’re good at breathing and keeping it
down when you can. Some people forget to breathe, but not you.” He looks up, catching her dozing
off. “Hey.” He snaps his fingers, and Osha’s eyes open.

“Are we getting food or are we just sitting here so you can torture me with the smell of french
fries?” Osha says.
“Fries are on the never list.”

She whines, laying her head down on the table. Then she looks up at him, hoping to get some
sympathy.

“What about a burger?”

He types away at his laptop as he answers, “Whole wheat bun with lettuce and tomato? Sure.” Osha
grimaces. She was thinking potato roll with barbeque sauce and bacon.

The waiter approaches, and Osha gives up. “Why don’t you just order for me.”

“Good idea.” He looks up from the laptop. “Two chicken caesar salads, dressing on the side, a
grilled salmon fillet for Miss Aniseya.”

The waiter smiles and nods in her direction and Osha smiles back weakly.

When he’s gone, Osha lays her head back down on the table. “I need to sleep.”

“You need to eat. You’ll get plenty of sleep, I promise.” He opens the graph that shows her heart
rate spiking towards the end of the first practice session and spins the laptop around. “We need to
talk about this.”

Osha looks up at the screen, brow furrowing. “What is it?”

Qimir taps the screen with his finger. Several lines spike up, peaking higher than the rest.

Osha swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry. She reaches for her water and takes a few sips.

“Tell me what happened,” he says quietly. His face is serious. And perhaps he is worried about her,
Osha thinks. Perhaps he’s trying to get to the bottom of it in case it’s something that could affect
her driving.

“It’s nothing,” she lies. “It just happens sometimes.”

“What happens, Osha?” he asks quietly, leaning over the table and closing the laptop. It clicks shut,
and Osha looks into his eyes, not knowing how to explain.

She shakes her head. “I think it’s just… the vibration? Or something? It sometimes makes me…”
Please don’t make me say it.

He squints at her, knowing her meaning. He assumed as much, but needed confirmation.

“You handled it well,” he says, tension still so thick, he desperately wants to douse himself with the
ice water sitting on the table. She literally gets off on racing?

Osha’s face warms, and she rubs her temples with her fingertips. No one’s ever known, until now.
If it ever got out that she sometimes orgasmed on the track—while racing—it would be
humiliating. And it would probably be the end of her career.

“Don’t worry,” he says, sensing her unease. “It’ll be our little secret.”

There it is again, that buttery voice. Osha breathes in sharply through her nose.
“I’d rather you pretend you didn’t know.”

He leans back in his chair. “Just tell me one thing.”

She raises a brow, waiting.

“Does it only happen when you’re racing well?”

Osha doesn’t need to contemplate that. She nods slowly.

“Well… That might be a problem then.”

“It doesn’t affect my driving.”

“Maybe not every time. But what about the one time it does?”

“A million things can go wrong on the track, with the car, other drivers… Let me worry about my
own body.”

He shakes his head. “This was my one condition. I’m in control, Osha.”

She stands, blood boiling. “You can’t control everything,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Actually, I can.” He gestures to the chair. “Sit.”

Osha refuses, crossing her arms over her chest. “No.”

“Then we’re done.”

She hesitates, not knowing what he means. But she’s so angry that she can’t think straight. The
birth control, the new suit, the heart monitor, and now this? He started by circling her, now he’s
closing in around her and she can barely breathe.

“I’m leaving,” she says, grabbing her jacket and turning away from the table. She doesn’t look back
as she exits the restaurant. A part of her expects him to run after her, to beg her to come back and
eat.

But he doesn’t.

~~~

“Sunny and bright, not a cloud in the sky today, Jay.”

“Yes, it’s a perfect day for speeding around a track at about two hundred thirty miles per hour, isn’t
it Gary?”

“Every day is a perfect day for that.”

“Touche.”

“I’ll tell you what it is a perfect day for—for Osha Aniseya to finally break free of the curse that’s
been plaguing her.”

“And how do you imagine she’ll do that?”

“Well, it appears a new face has been seen around the Saber pit.”

“That’s right. Miss Aniseya’s got herself a new race engineer.”

“Indeed. And she managed to come in at position thirteen yesterday at qualifiers, which, for her,
just might be a lucky number.”

Osha rolls her eyes as she walks past the screen in Mission Control. She’s fully suited up, placing
her headphones over her ears. She starts her pre-race soundtrack and starts to stretch.

Qimir didn’t leave as he had threatened. She assumes that would be in violation of his contract.

But since their little argument in the restaurant, Osha’s been giving him the silent treatment, aside
from repeating his direction over comms. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be bothering him. Even
more unfortunate: it bothers her. Finally, she has someone around who seems to be aware of parts
of her that even she doesn’t quite understand. He knows something no one else knows.

“Our little secret.”

She shakes her head of the thought and focuses on the music.

Meanwhile, Qimir’s pacing in the garage, frustrated that she won’t speak to him. He knew she was
stubborn, but he thought she’d come around after they secured her P13.

Maybe he’s being too easy on her.

Qimir walks into Mission Control, where he knows Osha is mentally prepping. She’s facing away
from him, stretching her arms and neck, when he comes up behind her and snags the headphones
from her head. She flails, trying to grab them back, but Qimir’s quick, lifting an arm to block her as
he holds them to his ears.

“Fast Car? Really?” He smiles. “The Tracy Chapman version.”

Osha rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed. “What? Were you expecting something faster, more
exciting?”

“Yeah,” he says without missing a beat. Osha’s breath catches at the sincerity, the way he’s looking
at her as though he’s seeing her in a whole new light, like he wants to get to know her better.

The song changes, and Chapman’s voice still plays on the headphones. Qimir slowly hands them
back, and Osha snaches them away. She’s more of a sap than he originally considered. Clearly
more vulnerable than she lets on. And of course she is—this attitude is just a defense mechanism.

“It’s a good album,” he says. “You listen to it before every race?”

Osha puts the headphones around her neck. “Yeah. And you just interrupted my favorite. It’s bad
luck.”

His eyebrows raise. “Superstitious… Interesting.”

Osha doesn’t respond to that. Every driver has odd pre-race rituals. She knows Yord listens to
Taylor Swift, of all things.
“Did you eat?” he asks.

“Yeah. Rice and chicken, again.”

Qimir puzzles. “What did you request?”

“Pasta. What’s the point of carb-loading if you can’t eat the good stuff?”

He completely forgot about her pre-race meals. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should’ve made sure you
were getting what you wanted. Pre-race meals are important.”

Osha nearly falls over in reaction to his kindness. “Um… Okay.”

“You’ll get pasta next race. I’m assuming cheese?”

“Y-yeah…”

He nods. “Great.” Awkwardly, Qimir moves closer to her and places his hand on her shoulder,
trying to be supportive, to show her he’s still on her side despite their argument. But Osha shrugs
him off, shivering under his touch. It’s a little too kind.

Qimir bites his lip. He’s overdoing it.

Walking away, he chastises himself. She doesn’t need blind kindness. She needs someone who
understands her.

When Osha gets in the car, Qimir says into her ears, “You ready, Osh?”

She doesn’t miss a beat when she responds, “Are you?”

He smiles wide. “Let’s win some points.”

 That's inappropriate
Chapter Notes

Playlist for the vibes: and away we go playlist

“I can't believe what I'm seeing, Gary, can you?”

“It's Osha Aniseya, pushing her way to the top ten! I can't quite believe it either, Jay.”

“Looks like De La Cruz must be doing something a bit different for the driver.”

“Whatever he's doing, it's working, because Aniseya just secured herself another point for the
Formula One season.”

“Think she can keep up the momentum going into Monaco?”

“Tough track, Jay, but I sure hope so.”

~~~

Osha sits in the briefing room after the race, staring at the screen with her stats next to Yord’s. It
only takes a quick glance to see that she performed better, even though he came in ninth, securing
two more points for their team. Everyone was very happy about that. Especially Jecki, who also
congratulated Osha, of course. But her level of enthusiasm was through the roof for Osha’s
teammate.

Then there’s Qimir: quiet, calculating. He didn’t congratulate Osha right away. But he did hand her
a protein bar—peanut butter flavor, her favorite. It was a kind gesture, a sign that he’s looking out
for her.

Osha’s not sure how she feels about that. Because if it’s all about control, then she shouldn’t feel
anything at all. But there’s something… odd… about how Qimir looks after her, as though he likes
her.

Not like-like, of course. She thinks he’s probably incapable of feeling that way about her. But
like… just like. And that feels nice to Osha. It's nice that he cares. Though his control over her is
still annoying.

“Monaco in ‘24,” he says, looking at her.

“What?” Her mouth is still full of her protein bar.

“Last year. Tell me about it.”

Osha shrugs as she chews and looks at Yord. “Yord came in tenth. I look up the rear.”
Yord speaks before Qimir can continue. “My qualifying position was better. Osha had trouble on
the Nouvelle Chicane.”

Qimir shoots Yord a hard glare. “Did I ask you?”

Yord raises his hands in a surrender. “Fine.” He looks at Sol. “Can I go?”

Sol nods and Yord stands, making his way out. Osha swallows, unsure why Qimir would snap at
Yord like that.

“What do you wanna know?” she finally asks. “Monaco’s hard. Everyone knows that. The turns are
technical, the streets are narrow, and there are few opportunities to overtake.”

“So you have to nail the qualifying round.”

“That is usually the goal,” she says with a hint of attitude.

Qimir looks to Sol. “Can I have a word with Osha… alone?”

Sol hesitates, looking to the other engineers still in the room. He exhales. “Sure.” They all slowly
get up and leave.

Osha takes another bite of the protein bar and sits back so her head’s resting. Her neck’s been so
sore lately from all the extra exercises.

“You need to work on defense,” Qimir says. Osha closes her eyes as she chews. “We should visit
headquarters in Monaco before the race on Wednesday… and Thursday. We’ll get you into the sim
so we can work on it together.”

“Ten four,” she breathes out.

“Hey,” he says, making Osha tilt her head to look at him. “We’re good, right?” Osha sees
something in his eyes that she’s unfamiliar with.

“You and me?”

He huffs. “You see anyone else around?”

Osha smiles. “We’re good.” His advice, his coaching, his rules… It’s all working.

“Good.” He clears his throat. “I want you to write up several reasons for why you couldn’t get into
the top ten last year in Monaco. Rewatch the race from multiple perspectives. Then we’ll meet at
headquarters and go over it before putting you in the sim.”

Osha realizes something. “You live in Monaco?”

“Yeah. I, uh… have an apartment there.”

“Since when?”

“Since I won the F2 championship in ‘22.”

Osha nods. In that level of winning, it definitely makes sense to secure a place in Monaco. Many
drivers live there, many racing teams have offices there, and it is essentially an international city.

“You ever get homesick?” she asks.

He squints at her, wondering if she really cares, or if she’s just filling the silence. “Monaco is home
now.”

“Whereas before…?”

“Los Angeles.” He tilts his head, looking her over. “You’re from San Fran, aren’t you?”

She scoffs. “All of that’s online.”

“Well, you are one of twenty F1 drivers in the world.” He licks his lips. “Tell me something I don’t
know. Something that’s not online.”

Osha shakes her head. “You have to earn that sort of information.”

He scrunches his nose. “The protein bar wasn’t good enough?”

Osha gives him a look, like she’s not entirely sure what he’s doing. “I should go get changed.”

He nods. “Don’t forget that you have the sponsorship meeting on Tuesday. I’ll be joining you
online for that.”

Osha lets out a big sigh. Monaco week was always a weird one for her, and it’s going to be even
weirder since she’ll be staying at her own place, not a hotel, for once. She should be happy about
that, but she’s not sure which setting makes her feel more alone.

“Meeting on Tuesday, headquarters on Wednesday and Thursday, practice on the track on Friday,
quals on Saturday… No time to breathe.”

“Go out tonight. Blow off some steam,” he says nonchalantly. Then he realizes his fuck up.

“Um, if I recall, you said no partying, no drinking, no drugs of any kind five days before practice
days?”

“Glad you remembered.”

“So you were just testing me?”

He thinks a moment, seriously considering letting her break the rules. But then he remembers who
he’s dealing with.

“Yeah. A test… Get some rest. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

~~~

Osha unpacks another box in her condo, breaking it down and adding it to the pile of cardboard
near her door. It’s Tuesday, and her meeting isn’t until three, so she figured she’d order a bunch of
food from her favorite place and do some more unpacking.
The delivery guy gives her a curious look when he arrives with three bags of food, and at first Osha
thinks he recognizes her, but then she realizes he’s putting together that all this food is for one
person. But she doesn’t mind. She’s an athlete, after all. She deserves to splurge now and then.

She takes out everything and spreads it out on the counter. A smorgasbord of all her favs: french
fries, beef sliders, chicken tenders, loaded potato skins, spicy chicken wings, and chicken nachos.
She’ll pick at it throughout the day, then she’ll save the rest for her meals for the rest of the week.

Qimir would probably pass out if he saw how blatantly she was ignoring his rules. But this is her
one rulebreak. She’s not drinking. She’s on his schedule.

She just wants to eat a fried fucking potato.

Meanwhile, Qimir’s pacing his apartment, worried about the upcoming sponsorship meeting. He
got some insider info from one of his racing contacts, and it seems the sponsor is looking for an
unconventional partnership, one that would require Osha to provide her personal time to the brand.
He’s still not certain about the details, just that Seb made it sound ominous, especially since they
were looking into a partnership with Osha, the only woman in F1. Not the Saber team, not Yord—
just her.

He decides he should take the meeting by her side, and that they probably need to chat in person
before-hand. He can prep her for any possible conflict, and during the meeting, he can mute them if
they need to have an aside.

There are others that will be online that will be representing her—social media manager, personal
manager, Sol… But Qimir decides he needs to be physically by her side. He's in charge of all of
this now, after all.

Qimir gets in his car, and drives to Osha’s, which is, incidentally, only a few minutes away.

~~~

Osha opens her door, thinking it’s the delivery guy back with the empanadas she swore she ordered.
Unfortunately for her, Qimir stands there with his laptop in hand, expression serious.

“What are you—”

He pushes past her, forcing himself into her place, dodging the boxes on the floor. “I thought we
should probably tackle this togeth—What the fuck is that?” He’s looking at the food on the counter,
clearly clocking that it’s full of all the things on the “never” list.

“I’m not eating it all at once,” she says, defensive.

“You’re not eating it at all.” He goes to the counter, and Osha rushes to the box of fries, taking
some out of the container before he can throw them away.

“Asshole,” she says under her breath, going to shove the three fries in her mouth, but Qimir reaches
over and snatches them away. “Hey!”

“How many rules have you broken when I wasn’t looking?”

“None!”
He gives her a hard look.

“A few.”

“You’re a few days out from the race, Osha. Your glycemic index will spike, leaving you with low
energy for race day.” He tosses several boxes in the bin. “You need protein, carbs, and healthy
starches.”

“Oh my god, I know.”

“Then why are you eating like this?”

Here he is, standing in her apartment—her space—throwing her food into the bin, telling her what
to do. “Why are you even here?”

He pauses at the chicken wings. They’re clearly baked, not fried. “These are fine,” he says. “I came
because I’m worried about the sponsor.”

“What do you mean?”

Qimir fills her in, explaining how he knows and what they need to prepare for. He also texts
Saber’s chef as Osha eats the chicken wings, putting in an order for Osha’s dinner. He’s not about
to have her ruin her diet right before Monaco, of all races.

When it’s time for the meeting, they sit in front of Qimir’s laptop on Osha’s couch—the one piece
of furniture she has in the main room. They stack up boxes to place the laptop on, and Qimir makes
a note in his head to encourage her to get items to fill in her condo. He knows she can afford it, and
it’s good for the soul to make a space feel like your own.

The meeting begins, and Osha smiles wide on the camera, being rather used to this. Sol looks
confused as to why they’re side-by-side, but Qimir interrupts the meeting before he can question
the situation, diving into the main point.

“Osha regularly wears the Ploom brand, don’t you, Osha?” She glares at him sideways, but he
continues, “We’re hoping to make some public appearances soon, where she can show off some
new pieces.”

Osha forces a smile. She doesn’t own anything Ploom. It’s not her style at all—thin, tight,
revealing, and expensive. The only reason she’s having this meeting is for a potential deal where
they can slap the name on her helmet for a monetary boost. It would all go towards the team, of
course.

The CEO of Ploom clears his throat, scratching his mustache as he starts to say in a thick Italian
accent, “We were thinking of something more… unconventional.”

Sol speaks up this time. “Wearing the brand would be rather unconventional for Miss Aniseya, Mr.
Pesci. She is the only woman in F1, afterall.”

Osha reddens, hating to be reminded that she’s the only one with breasts to show off the tight
clothes. “I want to hear the proposition,” she says, feeling frustrated. People always talk around her
in these meetings.

Qimir shoots her a look, muting them on the call. “You don’t have to do anything, Osh.”
“I know.” She unmutes, giving Mr. Pesci her undivided attention.

“We were hoping Osha could go out with my son, Leo, the night of the race. It would be a scene,
would garner press for both the brand and for Formula One’s only woman driver.”

The blood suddenly rushes from Osha’s face, and she feels cold. Qimir doesn’t have to look at her
to know she’s not okay with this.

“That’s inappropriate,” he says, shaking his head. “Osha’s not dating anyone for a sponsorship.”

“Wait,” she says. “Give us a moment.” She mutes them and bends down the screen so they can’t
see. “I want to do it,” she says to Qimir, who’s looking at her like she’s lost her mind.

“What? No, you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a lie. A ruse. Dating a sponsor’s son for money?”

“All sponsorship deals are like this, Qimir. You know this. And it’s just one night.” She shrugs.
“Might be fun.”

Mr. Pesci says sternly, “We do need to know soon so my son can make the arrangements.” Osha
opens the laptop again and unmutes them.

“I accept,” she says.

Qimir slams the mute button and tilts the screen down once again. “I don’t.”

“Well it’s not your decision, is it?”

“We agreed that I was in control.”

The voice on the other end of the call chimes in, “Lovely. My son’s really looking forward to
meeting you.”

Osha opens the laptop and smiles wide, unmuting them to say, “And I’m looking forward to
meeting him!”

The meeting ends abruptly, and Qimir shuts the laptop, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You don’t need to sell yourself like that,” he says quietly.

Osha’s brow furrows. “It’s not like I’m gonna sleep with him, Qimir.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“To call me a cheap whore?”

Qimir stands, not knowing what to say or do. He’s ruined this. He’s made things worse just by
being here.

“Osha, I don’t think you’re… I just want you to have what you want,” he says slowly.
Osha breathes in deeply, a confusing mix of emotions bubbling inside her. “I want to do this.”

He looks at her thoughtfully. Her braids are tied back in a long ponytail, and her shorts and tank
don’t leave much to the imagination, though he knows she’s wearing a sports bra. He can see the
thick outline when she moves a certain way.

She’s young, pretty, talented, and she deserves a night out with a young, rich heir. It’s not like he
had much to offer her anyway.

“Fine,” he says. “Your limit is two drinks.You cannot get sloshy with the paparazzi following you
around all night.”

“Three.”

He scoffs. “Three?” he thinks a moment, then says, “Three.” He’s resolved, and she seems happy
with the compromise.

That’s all that matters.

“I should go,” he says. He was going to stay to discuss strategy, but he feels the walls closing in
around him, like she’s got him trapped in her world and he can’t look at her the same when he’s in
this position. Very little furniture, boxes still being broken down, junk food out on the counter.

She’s lonely. She’s alone . Just like him.

“I’ll see you at headquarters?” she asks.

“Yeah… Tomorrow.”

Later, right as Osha’s given up on dinner, her doorbell rings. When she answers it, she finds that
someone’s dropped off several bags of food: sweet potato fries, brown rice mushroom risotto,
ricotta gnocchi, roasted vegetables on whole wheat pasta with a creamy tomato sauce, and one
burger. It’s got a whole wheat bun with a light aioli and swiss cheese, but it’s a burger, still.

Osha bites into it, deciding it’s exactly what she was craving. Qimir must’ve ordered this all for her
after he saw her unhealthy spread. It makes her feel liked… almost loved. As though he’s not only
looking out for her, but he’s leaving her these special gifts, secret messages that only they
understand.

It no longer feels overwhelming. She no longer feels as though she’s drowning in his attention. And
she thinks that maybe, just maybe, he likes her. Not like-like, just like.

And maybe… she likes him too.

~~~

Over the next couple of days, any memory Osha had of Qimir being nice to her is forgotten,
replaced by the stern, relentless coach that’s now telling her that her turns on that last lap were
“garbage.” It’s just the sim. He’ll get over it. But Osha’s sick of all critique and no praise.

She knows she beat her own best on the sim several times, but he’s making her do it again, with no
end in sight.
Meanwhile, Qimir’s trying to figure out what Osha’s going to wear on her little night out after the
race. He keeps his attention split between what’s happening in the sim and Ploom’s website.
Shockingly, the little pieces of fabric are considered “clothes,” even though Qimir’s certain that if
Osha wore them in the daylight, he’d be able to see anything underneath.

But he supposes that’s the point.

He rubs his face, frustrated, sitting in a chair in the observation room with all the computers that are
measuring the elements in the simulation. “Again,” he says, telling Osha to run the track again.
“You need to take the chicane faster.”

The fucking Nouvelle Chicane. Chicanes are already difficult as is, but this chicane at Monaco is
particularly infamous. An overtaking area, but it's frustrating, pushing the driver through a quick
and tight left and right turn, right after coming out of the tunnel.

Osha stands from the cockpit and looks through the doorway to the observation room. “The sim
doesn’t have the same grip. I’m telling you, I can’t go any faster on the chicane.” Then she sees that
he’s on his phone and practically growls, stepping out of the cockpit and walking out of the sim
room and up to him.

She snatches his phone out of his hand and Qimir doesn’t flinch, allowing her to take it.

“What is this?” she asks, seeing the Ploom dresses on skinny models on the screen.

“Your outfit for Sunday night, after the race.”

Osha’s face reddens. “Why are you picking it out?” She hands his phone back to him but he holds
his hand up.

“Why don’t you? They all look the same to me anyway.”

Osha doubts that, but she scrolls for a moment, finding a red halter dress that dips low. It’s not
really her style, but it is her color. “This one,” she says, handing the phone back.

Qimir raises a brow. “That’s, um…”

“What? It’s Saber red.”

“Revealing.”

“They’re all revealing. It’s Ploom.”

Qimir orders it regardless. “I’m assuming you have the appropriate… undergarments for something
like that?”

This time it’s Osha’s turn to raise a brow. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I’m just saying. I’m not sure how women keep things… in place, while wearing something
like that.”

Osha holds her response on the tip of her tongue as she looks around. It’s late, and most people
have gone home by now. They’re alone in this room, and they’re probably the last still hanging
around on the entire Saber campus.
So she responds, “Usually we don’t wear anything. It’s better that way. No lines.” She’s simply
explaining—no ulterior motives. Nope. None at all.

“Nothing?” He rolls his tongue in his cheek. Osha nods. “So you’ll be wearing nothing
underneath?” His eyes slip down over her body, then snap back up to her face. His legs are spread
wide in the office chair, and he slowly spins side to side.

Osha crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling exposed. But there’s something about it
that’s thrilling. His eyes on her, his buttery voice, the way he tip toes up to the line but never
crosses it.

“It can be comfortable.” Her voice comes out as more of a squeak and she hopes he doesn’t see
how flushed she’s becoming.

But he does. Qimir’s not so much of a fool to think that someone like her would be into someone
like him, but he sees how much she likes to push against him and his rules.

A little flirtation never hurt anyone.

“I’m sure Leo will love that.” The other man’s name burns on his tongue.

“It’s not for him.”

Qimir stands, his wide frame now hovering over her, face just inches from her own. “Is it?”

“No. I told you. I’m not going to sleep with him.” His eyes look to her lips and Osha suddenly
realizes what’s happening. Her defenses go up and she adds, “Not that it would be any of your
business. I can sleep with whoever I want.”

Qimir smiles. He’s got her nerves acting up, she’s practically shaking. “Well you are on the pill
so…” He shrugs. “Just make sure he’s disease-free before you jump into bed with him.”

“I’m not going to—I don’t want to sleep with him, okay?” Her voice echoes in the empty room,
coming out louder than she intended. She’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling as her anger
slowly subsides.

They stand there, in a stalemate, neither of them willing to cross the line.

A smug grin paints Qimir’s face. “Good to know.” He gestures to the sim. “Now go practice that
chicane.”
 Goodnight, princess
Chapter Notes

Playlist for the vibes: and away we go playlist

“There’s the little speed demon,” Qimir says as Osha walks into the garage, all suited up and ready
to go. “Enjoy your pre-race meal?” She gives him a curt nod.

She did well on quals, securing P11. But Monaco is a hard race, one of the hardest of the year, and
she doesn’t expect to score any points. If anything, she just hopes to finish with her car in one
piece. Though she’s always less sure about herself before a race.

“You okay?” he asks as he gets closer to her. Osha steps back a little, feeling odd so close to him.
Their little talk about her outfit she’ll be wearing tonight has been repeating in her head over and
over again, almost as often as she takes the Nouvelle Chicane in her brain.

She was pushing it with him, trying to see how far he’d go to tease her. It seems he would’ve gone
further had she come up with another witty remark. But he’s just so damn disarming, always having
the upper hand.

“I’m fine,” she squeaks. “Fine, I’m fine,” she says at a lower tone.

“Hey…” He grabs her arm and tugs, pulling her closer. He’s wearing a white Saber polo and she
can’t help but notice that the sleeves are tight around his biceps. “What’s going on in that head of
yours?”

She looks over his face, brain nearly short-circuiting at how attractive he’s looking today. White is
certainly his color, though she supposes black would be just as sharp.

“I’m just… I don’t know.” She really doesn’t. She’s not usually like this.

Qimir looks around, then points to the corner where the tyres are stored. They’ll have a little more
privacy over there.

He leans on the wall near a tower of tyres, worry setting in his brow. “Do you think you need to…
You know. Before the race. Wouldn’t that help?”

Osha’s eyes widen, realizing what he’s suggesting. “Qimir!”

He winces, raising a finger over her lips as he makes sure no one’s overhearing. “Osha, come on.
I’m just making sure we’ve covered all our bases.”

Osha rolls her eyes. “I’m… covered.”

“Are you sure, because you seem a little…” He makes a face. “Antsy?”
She sighs. “I always… before a race.”

“Really?” He perks up at that and she gives him a hard look. “I mean… right. You would, since
that’s a thing.” He’s losing his cool, not able to keep his mind from going there . Where does she do
it? In the morning while she’s still in a private space? Or is it part of her pre-race ritual? Maybe she
does it in the locker room when she changes, or in the—

“Qimir.” She breathes out steadily, trying to get a grip. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He’s been caught. He knows he’s been looking at her differently since he found out
she sometimes orgasms on the track.

“Like I’m some kind of freak.” She starts to walk away, and he follows her.

“I don’t think you’re a freak.” It hadn’t even occurred to him that she’d think that.

“Sure you don’t.” She looks over the car, checking the interior.

“Osh…” His voice dips into that sincere territory and Osha turns, waiting for what he has to say to
her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask about that kind of thing.”

Osha sort of startles at that, because she wants him to. She likes that he knows and that he’s
concerned about her.

“No, it’s… It’s fine.”

“You ready, Aniseya?” Jecki says as she comes up behind them, slapping Osha on the ass. “P11,
let’s goooo!”

Osha smiles, some of her nerves shaking out, making way for excitement.

“Good luck, Aniseya,” Qimir says, giving her a knowing look and a nod before walking off to the
pit wall. Something about that look makes her feel all tingly. She shakes it off before hopping
inside the car.

~~~

“Lap fifty,” Qimir says in her ears. “P12.” Twenty-eight to go .

She’s been wrestling with Stroll for this position for the last twenty laps. He passed her in the
tunnel, and she’s been fighting to overtake ever since.

“Who is P10?” she asks, knowing Yord’s up there somewhere.

“Fandar,” Qimir responds. “Focus on Stroll for now, Osh.”

Yord hasn’t made any progress, which is not unusual considering the track and considering that
Yord typically holds position. He’s exceptionally good at defense.

But Osha can be better. She knows that now.

If there’s anything Qimir’s taught her, it’s that she doesn’t have to settle for the middle of the pack.
She can demand better for herself. And she deserves it.
She winds a corner, not braking at all.

“Another push like that and you can get back P11.”

Osha smiles. “I got it.”

“I know you do.”

Her chest swells and she leans into the car, pressing ahead despite the way her body is slammed
into the side of the chassis again and again. It’s a violent sport, and they are athletes, but Osha
always forgets just how rough it can get. Her knees knock together at every turn. Her heavy-
helmeted head is thrown this way and that. And her hands and arms shake, wrestling with the 1700-
pound car.

“On the chicane,” she says. “I can do it.”

Qimir knows what she’s suggesting. “That’s not safe, Osha.” Passing other drivers there is tricky.
You either pass through outside of the track, all four wheels off making it illegal, or you inevitably
cut off your opponent, likely causing a wreck.

“I’ve practised it so many times. Stroll keeps taking it the same—I know how to overtake him.”

Qimir has to decide here and now whether he’s going to trust Osha to do this, or if he needs to take
control and coach her.

But he has to admit that he doesn’t currently have a better plan. It’s either this, or they wait for an
opportunity that might not ever come.

“Go for it,” he says. “Push it, Osh.” He shakes his head as she enters the tunnel, anticipation
building in his belly. His nerves are shot as the light adjusts on the screen, allowing him to see her
come up behind Stroll quickly. Too quickly.

Osha lets off on the gas. “Shit. He was trying to break-check me.”

“He’s trying to scare you. Don’t let him.” Qimir silently curses himself for encouraging such risky
behavior. But what else are they going to do?

“Asshole.”

“You’ve done worse,” he says, serious.

Osha’s chest tightens. That’s true . “Next lap,” she says. She’ll overtake him next lap, and this time
she’ll be ready for his maneuvers.

“There it is, Osh. Push, push, push.”

Osha slams on the throttle, rear spoiler up so she can gain more speed as she whips around Stroll
coming out of the tunnel. She nearly runs him off the road, but takes the turn with only two wheels
off the track, giving him space as she moves ahead.

“P11—Nice overtake, Osh!”

Osha can hear the hollering in the Saber pit, but she’s more focused on the relief in Qimir’s voice.
He’s happy for her, ecstatic, even.

“I want to go for Yord,” she says.

Qimir turns to Sol, turning off his radio. “She can do it, Sol.”

Sol shakes his head. “We’ve secured a point. With only twenty-five laps to go, we need to focus on
keeping it, not racing each other.”

“Did you see what she did on the chicane? She’s got this. She can overtake Yord and Sainz.”

“No. Osha will support Yord today, keep anyone from taking that P10. We need the point.”

Qimir slams his hand on the table. “She can get more than one point, don’t you see?” he gestures to
the screen, showing that Osha’s quickly catching up to Yord.

Sol comes closer to Qimir, expression serious and steady. “Defense, Qimir.” They lock eyes for a
moment, and Qimir’s jaw clenches as he grips the edge of the table on the pit wall. “Don’t forget
that you work for the team, not her.”

When he’s walked away, Qimir turns on his radio again. “Osh… We have to play defense.”

“What?!” She’s so close to Yord she can practically taste it—no, literally, she can taste his fumes.

He could tell her it’s not his call. He could drive a little wedge between her and her beloved racing
manager, who has been a mentor—a father figure of sorts—throughout her entire racing career.

But he’s the bad guy in all of this, isn’t he? And he has a role to play.

“Don’t overtake Yord,” he says. “There’s only twenty-four laps to go and Saber needs the point.
There’s no use racing so late with a teammate, only to not gain anything else and potentially
wreck.”

Osha scoffs. “Suddenly risk-averse? You know I can gain two spots—I can take more than one
point.”

She’s angry, and there’s nothing he can say to make it better.

Or is there?

“Listen, Osh. I know you can. I know what you can do. But today we hold the line. You wanna pull
back a little bit so you can go for the fastest lap of the day? Then do that. But you’re solidly P11.
Next race, we go for ten.”

“Next race?”

“Yeah.”

“You promise?”

He can hear the disappointment in her voice, and a desperate need that bubbles up—she needs that
promise. “I promise,” he says quietly, even though he can’t promise such a thing.
Osha pulls back. “How far is Stroll?”

“He had to pit for new tyres. You have a solid forty-second gap now.”

“Good,” she says. “I’m going for the fastest lap.”

~~~

Osha doesn’t get anything for the fastest lap, except for a little note on the screen to all who are
watching, which should perk up some eyebrows both in the paddock and elsewhere. Still, it feels
good to have something to her name for the day. She was so close to the point, maybe even two.

When they’re done with their briefing, Qimir finally tells her she got something else today.

“They’re calling you the F1 Princess,” he says, sliding his phone to her.”

Osha picks it up and looks at the screen, where she finds a picture of her smiling, taken a year ago
when she was still a rookie in F1, her hip popped out, dressed in her cherry-red jumpsuit, hands
raised in two peace signs. Someone photoshopped a little tiara on her head and a hashtag is edited
over the picture: #F1Princess.

Osha rolls her eyes. “Great. Now people will ship me and Leclerc together.”

Qimir smiles. “That would upset the Carsha shippers tremendously.”

“Carsha?”

Jecki shoots Osha a look from the other side of the table. “You don’t know about Carsha?”

Osha shrugs, mind blanking. She starts to go over the names in her head that would build such a
catchy portmanteau.

“You and Carlos Sainz,” Qimir says. “It’s the most trending ship in F1, even more popular than
Landoscar.”

“And how in the world would you know that?” Osha glares at Qimir and he simply smiles at his
phone, putting his feet up on the table, looking smug and satisfied as her jaw drops.

“Osha, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Osha looks up at Sol, who seems as though he’s just remembering the agreement.

“You have a date tonight.” He smiles as though he approves of the match. Which would make
sense. Sol’s always preferred Osha to have a backup plan, something other than racing that could
keep her afloat, financially and otherwise. He probably thinks a rich heir is a good match.

Jecki’s eyes widen. “A date?

Osha shakes her head. “It’s just for a sponsorship. He’s not picking me up until seven.”

“Six,” Qimir corrects. “He wants to show you off before the sun sets, apparently.” His last few
words come out between his teeth as he grinds them together, trying to not look at her as he scrolls
on his phone. The hashtag #F1Princess takes up most of his feed, mostly edits of Osha with a tiara
or crown on her head, pointing out she made fastest lap today—calling her pretty gorgeous,
stunning in red.

Well, they’re certainly not wrong.

Osha stands, realizing she needs to go get dressed. “I need my—”

“It’s in your locker,” Qimir says, playing at nonchalance as he continues to scroll. Osha reacts with
a little panic, and his eyes follow her as she leaves the room.

“You’re keeping her on top of everything. That’s good,” Sol says, placing a hand on Qimir’s
shoulder. It makes Qimir’s skin itch. He doesn’t like this arrangement with Ploom, and he looked
into this Leo kid, a spoiled brat whose only interests are cars and women.

He just wants Osha for arm candy, nothing more. Why no one else can see that is beyond him. But
Sol especially—he should see it. He should be more aware, shouldn’t be so enthusiastic about
selling her off to the highest bidder.

“Like you said,” Qimir starts, “For the team.” A lie.

~~~

Somehow, Qimir had slipped Osha’s dress in her locker without her realizing it. Just the dress, a
matching clutch, and heels—as they both knew she wasn’t planning on wearing anything
underneath.

She shivers even though she’s standing in the hot, Mediterranean sun. Her social media manager
stands with her, going over some things about Leo before their date.

He likes cars, a big fan of Saber’s sport line, and he likes women, the color red, and partying.

Well, at least Osha’s got the red dress. She can discuss cars with him, especially sports cars. Maybe
she’ll enjoy the conversation. Maybe he’s just another playboy who sees all these things as toys,
including her.

It doesn’t matter. It’s just one night.

~~~

Qimir follows along on social media, watching footage of Osha getting in the fancy sportscar,
putting her handbag between her thighs so she doesn’t flash the paparazzi as she slides into the
passenger seat. She smiles wide as they take off, looking like she belongs in such luxury.

And she does.

He watches still as she arrives at the club, as she dances inside, her breasts bouncing under the thin
fabric as she jumps along with the music. He winces, hovering over his counter in his apartment as
he watches her pull up the top of the dress, trying to keep herself covered. It’s one social media post
after another, from other drivers, influencers, people in the industry, all pointing their phones at the
#F1Princess.

But Osha looks to be having fun, whereas Qimir’s sufficiently blue-balled and hopeless.
He gets a notification from one of his friends who’s a reserve driver in F1 and is also at the club,
wondering where Qimir is.

“ Your F1 Princess got fastest lap today. Shouldn’t you be here? ” He attaches a video of Osha, who
takes a shot of something clear.

“Shit,” he says. That’s gotta be more than three drinks now.

“ On my way. ”

~~~

Osha walks out of the bathroom, checking her phone as she walks in the hall, back towards the
crowd. It’s a private club, and there are some unspoken rules about taking pictures and videos of
the celebrities here, but she supposes people made exceptions when it came to her, because her face
and body are plastered all over Insta.

At least I look good, she thinks.

She sways a little, catching herself on the person who suddenly approaches from her left, thinking
it’s Leo. She steadies a hand on his chest, then he leans into her ear, and she realizes it’s not Leo at
all.

“You’re over your drink limit,” he growls.

Osha shoves Qimir away. “I can handle it.”

True, but he’s not letting her off that easy. He knows everyone’s eyes are on her. She needs to be
more careful now than ever. He follows her down the hall, then places a hand in front of her, braced
against the wall and trapping her there. She rocks in her heels, and he steadies her with his other
hand on her arm.

“You’re the F1 Princess now. You know what that means.”

“It means I deserve a break.” She pulls away, but he holds her still, much stronger than she realized.

“It means…” He sneers at her, trying to maintain his composure. “That they’re looking for an
opportunity to hate you. That’s how this works. You play their game the right way, then they
reward you. You step one toe out of line, then you’re out with the garbage the next day.” He gets
even closer, adding a warning, “And they will bait you. They will encourage you to step over that
line because they love the hate even more.”

Fears creeps into her as he explains. She knows all of this already. It’s happened to her more than
once now. So she sighs, conceding.

“I’ll stop drinking, okay? It’s just soda from now on.”

Qimir can see she’s sincere, and backs away from her, but she doesn’t immediately walk away.
Instead, she narrows her eyes at him, studying him. He’s still wearing his race day polo and his
dark jeans. His hair is a little greasy, probably from the day’s stress and sweat.

He clears his throat before she can say anything. “You should get back to your date.” He practically
spits it out, and that makes her even more curious.
Osha tilts her head as Qimir awkwardly stands there, not leaving her orbit, not taking his eyes off
her body. He always does this somehow: gets in her bubble and closes in on her, not allowing her to
breathe. Except this time, he’s the one not breathing.

“Why did you come here?” she finally asks, voice raised over the loud music. “Why not just text
me?”

“I thought that maybe…” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t sure how drunk you were.”

Osha’s mouth opens in realization. “Oh, so you thought that you would rush in to save the princess?
My knight in shining armor?” she teases.

His eyes are dark, no hint of playfulness in them, which wipes the smile off her face. She gulps as
he leans into her, hand once again on the wall near her head, the other moving to her hip. His
fingers tease the fabric of her dress lightly as his eyes rake over her. Her back arches slightly, body
instinctively yearning for closeness.

It’s been a long time, she thinks, then, willing herself to settle down, But he’s not looking for that.

“You know you can call me if you need anything, don’t you?” His breath is soft on her lips, minty,
covering a hint of something sweet. “I might not be a knight… or an heir… but I’m here for you. If
you get yourself into trouble, I will drop everything… ”

Osha wasn’t expecting that, the seriousness, the heaviness of it. The way he touches her just barely,
like if he put any pressure on her she would sting him, or bite him. But all she can do is nod slowly,
showing that she understands. Then his fingers pull away, leaving her cold and confused.

“You look great, by the way.” He gestures to her body—to all of her, really—and Osha nervously
pulls her clutch to her chest, feeling exposed under his gaze.

Then, with a curt nod, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd.

But Osha sees him not long after, her breath catching as she sits with Leo. The young heir talks to
her about cars. Well, more like mansplains them to her. She simply smiles and nods, wishing she
could have another drink. Annoyingly, she sticks to water, because Qimir’s eyes follow her from
across the bar as he chats with a couple of reserve drivers.

Qimir’s not an idiot. He knows he’s her race engineer, nothing more. Leo might be a tool, but at
least he’s giving her the attention she deserves.

And all of that would be fine and good, but Qimir also sees how her pretty eyes always go back to
him, how she takes every excuse to find him in the crowd. Making sure he’s still around just in case
she needs him? Or waiting for him to leave so she can break his rules?

Or maybe… He doesn’t let his mind go there.

~~~

After midnight, Osha has Leo drop her off at her condo. She gives him a kiss on the cheek before
getting out of the car, and luckily he doesn’t push her to let him come up.

When she’s alone, she kicks off her heels and collapses on the couch, mind swimming in thoughts
of him . It was just a short moment, but it’s stayed with her the entire night. His fingers on her,
playing with the bunched fabric on her hip, his eyes moving over her, his voice so sharp, so much
more strained than what she’s used to.

He’s usually so calm and resolved. But tonight he was on edge, and she was too, balanced on the
edge of a knife, anticipating something—anything.

And yet, nothing happened.

She pulls out her phone and texts him, “ I’m home .” Simple, innocent, not insinuating anything at
all. Just letting him know.

Qimir texts back almost immediately, “ Goodnight, princess. ”

Osha laughs, feet kicking as she rolls over. She stares at the message, not knowing if she should
come back with some witty remark.

But something about it is so soft and precious to her. As though it means something different
between them. So she admires it for a while longer, then finally drags herself into the bathroom to
prepare for bed.

Before she falls asleep, all alone in her bed, she texts him back, “ Goodnight, Qimir .”
 That's what happened, didn't it?
Chapter Notes

Playlist for the vibes: and away we go playlist

Osha drags her feet along the walk of shame.

No, it’s not that sort of walk of shame.

It’s the F1 Walk of Shame™, along the paddock. Because in the paddock—the area behind the pits
where the teams spend all their time during the race weekend—the teams are lined up based on
how they’re currently scored.

Which means that, currently, McClaren is the first team you pass along the paddock. Whereas
Saber takes up the middle-rear.

This also means that the team members who take up the rear have to walk past all the other teams
on their way to their own. The longer the walk, the more one’s reminded that they’re losing.

Thus: The Walk of Shame.

But Osha’s got something special in her pocket. She’s the F1 Princess. Although there’s a little bit
of annoyance she feels at it—considering it’s a name solely based on her gender—she also knows
she was dubbed it after she got fastest lap in Monaco. So it means more than her gender, for the
time being.

She wants to keep earning that meaning. She wants to keep proving to herself and to them that she
can do this.

“There’s the princess,” Qimir says as she approaches Saber’s space. It’s different when he says it,
of course. He smiles wide, showing her an article on his phone as he comes up beside her. She
shrinks away from him at first, wondering why he would get so close to her without any warning,
but then she sees the headline.

“ Aniseya and De La Cruz a Force to be Reckoned With ”

“Really?” Osha asks skeptically.

Qimir shrugs. “Saber might’ve fed that specific string of words to the publication, but it’s true.”

Over the last couple of weeks, they’ve pushed ahead in the pack, securing P10 in Spain, then P9 in
Canada. Yord placed ninth and tenth respectively, increasing the tension between her and her
teammate.

But Sol was letting them race it out, thankfully. It seems the #F1Princess stuff convinced him to let
her push a little more. On social media, she’s quickly becoming more popular than Yord, with new
fans coming to the sport just to support her. And with that, more discussions about fairness,
equality, gender, race… Stuff she’s been through many times before, except this time it’s on an
even larger scale.

So is it really true that they’re a “force to be reckoned with”? Or is it just the calm before the
storm? As Qimir had explained, they’re all just waiting for her to fuck up.

She forces a laugh at Qimir’s smugness, facing him squarely. “You’re the one who said they’re
looking for a reason to hate me. Doesn’t this just put more of a target on my back?”

“Not just you. Remember,” he leans in, so only she can hear, “We’re in this together, Osh.”

“I have a lot more to lose.”

Qimir squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. “I know,” he whispers. Osha knows by now that he
means it, in more ways than she can currently comprehend. “You ready?” he adds.

As usual, she answers with a smirk, “Are you?”

~~~

Osha sits with Jecki at the restaurant in the paddock, looking over the menu for something she
won’t get in trouble for eating. Qimir seems to always show up when she breaks his rules, not when
she’s following them, so she’s slowly but surely given in to them. She spots a salmon dish with
vegetables, and orders that. Jecki orders a burger and fries, and Osha frowns as the waiter places
their food on the table.

“So how’s working with Qimir? Seems like he’s pretty intense.”

Osha nods. “Yeah, ‘intense’ is one way to put it. He’s got all these rules I have to follow.”

“Isn’t that normal for drivers? Yord’s personal manager won’t let him bring girls over to his
condo.”

Osha raises a brow, knowing exactly why. The last time he did was when she was caught sneaking
out the next morning. It was just sex that time, just a one night stand, a moment of weakness when
she had no one else to call.

She ended up having to finish herself off, and she never made that mistake again.

“Qimir’s rules are a bit more invasive. But… It is working. I really shouldn’t complain.”

Jecki snorts. “You’re allowed to complain to me, Osha.” Osha returns a friendly smile, but knows
it’s probably best to keep a wall up with Jecki, considering how close she and Yord are. They might
all be on the same team, but they’re still competing against each other.

They chat more about the track, the cars, work stuff, as they eat. Osha’s almost relieved when he
interrupts them.

“What’s this?” Qimir’s voice suddenly appears as he takes the seat next to Osha in the booth. He
nudges her, his elbow poking into her side, making her flinch. “You’re an athlete, not a rabbit.”

“I had six eggs for breakfast,” Osha says with a mouthful of asparagus.
Qimir waves down the waiter and orders her another salmon fillet. “Protein, Osh. Lots of protein.”
Neither of the girls respond, giving each other knowing looks. “Did I interrupt something?”

Osha laughs a little. “I was just telling Jecki about all your rules.”

“Rules are good for athletes. Keeps them healthy.” He grabs a carrot off Osha’s plate and pops it in
his mouth.

Jecki tilts her head at him. “You were a driver, weren’t you? You were pretty good, too, from what I
remember.”

Osha looks at him, curious as to how he’ll respond.

“I was, before Osha ran me off the track.” He smiles smugly as he says it, eyes finding Osha’s, still
chewing on that damn carrot.

“That was an accident,” she says quietly.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Wait,” Jecki chimes in, “That crash. Osha caused it?”

“She sure did.”

There’s a pause as Osha lets it stew in the tension. Then, she asks, “Why did you quit after that?
After the accident?”

He narrows his eyes at her, but doesn’t correct her use of the word “accident.” He reaches around to
scratch at his back, that scar there making itself known again.

“I, uh… Had a long recovery time. By the time I was ready to get back on the track, I missed half a
season and my contract was up.” It’s partially true. Mostly true , he tells himself.

Osha knows he could’ve sought another contract, that he was good enough to continue with a
different team, but she doesn’t press him for more info. This part of the story seems to bother him.
Others might consider his curtness to be mysterious, maybe even intriguing, but Osha knows him
better now. She can hear the regret in his tone.

She knows he misses it.

“Regardless, I probably would’ve won the championship that year if it weren’t for the F1 Princess
over here.”

Despite his lighter tone, Osha doesn’t like that he’s blaming her for his entire life being thrown off
course. “The stewards dropped the investigation. We were racing hard,” she says. “Accidents
happen.”

“ I was racing hard. You… I’m not sure what you were doing.” He gives her a curious look.

“I didn’t—” She breathes out hard. “I didn’t know you were that close.”

“That’s not how it played out on the radio from that day.”
Shit , she thinks. If he’s heard the radio from that day then he knows Sol warned her about De La
Cruz being close.

“But you didn’t respond,” he continues. “You didn’t say anything.” Qimir then realizes something,
something he never would’ve even considered had he no knowledge of her little… quirk.

“Forget it,” he adds suddenly. “It’s in the past anyway.” He slides out of the booth, scratching his
back again. If Osha had one of her speed-induced orgasms on the track that day, then maybe it
really was an accident.

Osha presses her lips together as she watches him leave, feeling guilty all over again.

~~~

“You ready, princess?” Qimir says as Osha tightens up the collar of her racing suit.

“Are you?” she answers as she always does, a little more bite in her tone today.

He tilts his head at her, sensing it immediately. “What’s that about?”

She exhales with a groan. “Nothing.” But Qimir knows better. He pulls her to the side of the
garage, waving people away so they can have a moment.

“What is it this time?” he asks.

Osha doesn’t like the implication that she’s always like this and she rolls her eyes. “Seriously?”

“Of course I’m serious. We can’t start quals like this, Osh. You have to be in a good space mentally,
and I—”

“I don’t like that you blame me for everything that happened,” she blurts out. “Your wreck, how
you quit racing after—You blame it all on me.” She tries to keep her voice steady, but it waivers a
little. She’s hurt, and looking at him now makes it hurt even worse.

He steps closer to her, making sure they won’t be overheard. “Osha… Did you… That day. Did you
happen to have a, you know, track-gasm? Speed-gasm? I’m not sure what we’re calling it.”

She says through her teeth, “We’re not calling it anything.”

“Well we gotta call it something if it keeps happening.”

Osha closes her eyes, breathing deeply. “It won’t keep happening.” A lie.

“Well, if it did happen that day, then I could forgive you, you know.”

“And if it didn’t?”

“Then I was right about you.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall. “But something tells
me you’re not that heartless.”

Osha's cheeks burn and she looks away from him. “I need to get in the car. It’s almost time.”
“Yeah…” He wishes she’d just be honest with him. “Get in the car, princess.” He exaggerates a
bow, and Osha sucks in a breath through her teeth.

~~~

Qimir doesn’t talk much during qualifying. She’s doing fine on her own, and she doesn’t need him
distracting her, annoying her.

And this track is a fun track—one of the best. You can pass on the straights, most of the turns are
wide, and it has elevation changes, giving the drivers another element to consider as they fly by at a
hundred and thirty miles per hour.

But Osha’s playing it safe, taking the turns slowly and not pushing it on the straights. He doesn’t
understand why.

Finally, when she’s nurtured yet another corner, dangerously slipping into P10 and potentially
lower, he speaks up, “Why are we playing it safe, Osh?”

Osha swallows a lump in her throat. She doesn’t respond.

“Osh, come on.” This is not a private line. Others listen to their radio conversations. Fans have
access to them. He takes a deep breath before saying, “Forget about that , okay? It’s time for the F1
Princess to shine, don’t you think?”

Osha’s heart beats in her ears. He's right. She had let the memory of the wreck frazzle her. The red
flag, the safety car, the smoke. But now he's telling her to forget it. She shoves the memory of it all
from her mind and pushes forward.

“That’s it, Osh. Push it. You’re moving back up.”

She takes a turn, moving fast through it, and Qimir growls, “Yes!” on the radio. She beams.

“That’s it, good girl. Just you and the track. No one else. You got this.”

“No one else,” she repeats quietly. Just us . The track, the car, his voice. Nothing else.

“One more lap, Osh. Show ‘em what you got. Push, push, push.”

“Qimir—I—” She can feel it building, that sensation between her thighs. “Shit,” she curses.

Qimir knows what’s happening, and he panics, trying to find a way to cover it up. So he talks her
through it the only way he knows how.

“You’re doing good, Osh. Just a little bit more. Keep it steady. Breathe… Breathe, Osh. Push
through this turn, you can—exactly. Brilliant. I didn’t doubt you for one second.”

Osha bites on her bottom lip as it peaks, orgasm bursting through her body, causing her to take the
turn a little sharper than she should’ve. But she steadies the wheel, straightening out as she pushes
out of the curve.

“Difficult turn, but you managed it, unsurprisingly.” He stops, listening out for what’s happening on
the other end. “You good, Osh?” He’s pretty sure he covered up her little pants and that familiar
noise she makes with his chatter.
“I’m good,” she says. Should she thank him? Did he do that on purpose? Little does he realize that
his pep talk only made it more intense for her. Usually her driving is unaffected by them, or she’s
able to clamp it down until she’s on a straight. But that? That was… a lot.

She earns grid position eight, despite everything.

Qimir hides his face in his hands at the pit wall, feeling overwhelmed by the whole thing. She’s a
bundle of nerves, screaming to be touched, pleasured—loved. And he can’t help but think that he
could be the one to do it. And maybe it would help with her racing. At least, that’s his excuse as he
imagines her under him, in vivid detail, undressed and spread out for him.

“Hey,” Osha says as she approaches him from behind. He turns to face her, slowly, eyes looking
down at the ground, jaw clenched tight.

“You did great,” he says. “You can go get changed.”

Osha leans down, tilting her head so she can catch his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says tersely. “I gotta go, um…” Sitting is hiding the stiffness between his legs, so he
grabs his laptop from the table and puts it in front of him as he stands. “We’ll chat later.”

“What about my debrief?”

“Just give me a few, okay?” He stomps off, heading inside. He makes his way to the restroom, and
closes himself in the single room. He locks it, then looks at himself in the mirror, setting his laptop
on the counter.

“Fuck,” he curses at his reflection, knowing what he’s about to do. A dark voice in the back of his
mind tells him it’s okay, because she did it too. It’s fine. It’s natural. It doesn’t mean anything.

He pulls up the video of her from the club on his phone as he undoes his pants. And quickly he
finds his release, cursing as he reaches the peak. But even as he comes down from it, he knows this
is going to be a ritual.

Because otherwise, he’s going to cross that fucking line.

~~~

After the debrief, Qimir and Osha linger, both of them knowing there are too many things left
unsaid, things only they should discuss.

“You took that turn too sharp,” he says, closing his laptop and leaning over the table, arms resting
in front of him. Osha’s sitting just a few seats away, but both of them feel as though there’s a raging
river between them.

“I know,” Osha manages to say. She’s still upset with him, but he helped her through what
happened and she just can’t find the anger.

“I know you said before every race, but you should… before you get in the car. Every time.”

Osha nods slowly. “I did this morning, I thought that was enough.”
He rubs his face in his hands, already feeling himself getting hard again at that confession. If she’s
that horny, then this is definitely a problem, and not just for her racing. If she gives him just a tiny
opening, a hint of an invitation, he’s not sure what he’d do.

“We don’t want you causing another wreck. I’m surprised you haven’t caused more.” He knows he
messed up as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

Osha’s nostrils flare. “That’s not fair,” she says. “It’s not what happened.”

“Isn’t it? You didn’t deny it before.” He’s angry now—at her, the situation, the dishonesty.

“Qimir…” she pleads with him, trying to show she’s being sincere. But is she really ready to tell
him the truth?

“Come on, Osh. Just tell me. It happened, and you lost control and ran me off. That’s why it
happened, didn’t it?”

Osha slowly shakes her head and Qimir’s heart falls into his stomach.

“What?” he says, not believing it.

“Qimir… I pushed you off that track on purpose.” She bites down the sadness, because that’s not
for her to feel. That wouldn’t be fair. That belongs to him.

He gives her a long glare, judging her for the first time all over again. Then he huffs, standing.

“So I was right about you. You’re…” Ruthless, vindictive, dangerous. But he knows her better now.
She's also impatient, sensitive, and sentimental. He lingers, trying to figure her out.

“I made a mistake,” she explains. “The biggest mistake of my career.” She stands too, crossing her
arms, suddenly feeling cold. “I don’t deserve forgiveness, I know that. I just don’t want this to
come between us.” He still doesn’t respond, so she continues, “Qimir, I need you. I need you to
stay coaching me.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving,” he says as though it’s a ridiculous assumption.

“You’re not?”

“Of course not.” He looks around, realizing that the threat of being without her hurts worse than the
realization that she purposefully ran him off the track. Because he always assumed that was the
case. He resented her, blamed everything on her.

But perhaps that loathing turned into something else, long before he started coaching her. Always
watching her from afar or through a screen, he imagined what she’d be like. Who is the girl who
ran me off the track, really?

And now he knows.

Qimir closes the space between them, his hand lifting to her face, backs of his fingers quickly
brushing her cheek before resting again by his side. An adoring gesture, probably a little out of line.
Osha’s cheek is hot from where he touched her.
“I know you might not understand this, Osha, but I need you too. I need this.” He gestures to
everything around them. “I need to be here.” He gestures to her. “With you.”

A smile breaks on Osha’s face, and Qimir feels as though he’s seen the sun. He smiles too, and
Osha’s relieved.

“So we’re good?” she asks.

He scrunches his nose. “I might add a few more reps to your workout this week but…” Osha laughs
at that. “We’re good.” He squeezes her shoulder, then instinctively pulls her in for a hug. Her arms
wrap around his torso, and he pulls her close, finding that she fits there perfectly.

Osha hooks her hands together behind his back, so relieved that this is happening. She thought he
wouldn’t dare touch her after what she just admitted, but he has, and it makes her heart flutter. He
smells nice, and his heart beats under her ear, fast but strong.

When he pulls away, she feels an immense loss, and she hopes—prays—that there are more hugs in
her future. Maybe she’s touch-starved, or maybe she’s just horny, but Qimir’s hugs are clearly his
superpower. She feels him all over her, lingering.

“That was nice,” she says.

He checks his watch, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “We gotta get you something to eat.”

“Not salmon, please.”

“Not salmon,” he promises. “But protein.”

Osha throws her head back in a groan, giving up as she follows him out the door.
 You gotta earn it
Chapter Notes

This is a little longer given the *things* that happen! I hope you enjoy. I messed with the
scenes in this chapter quite a lot! Took a while to get it where I wanted it.

As always, here is the playlist: and away we go playlist

<3 Have funnnn!

“Gary, I’m still reeling, personally, at how Aniseya managed that final lap without the right tyres
for the weather.”

“Thank goodness it was just practice, Jay, because I’m not sure she would’ve done as well if she
were intentionally racing others.”

“Rain is exceptionally tricky, too, in England, because you can’t be certain if you’re going to need
intermediate tyres, which are good for a damp track, or full wet ones, which are intended for a
completely soaked track.”

“That’s right, Jay, and if you switch to wet tyres when you only need intermediate, you risk losing
speed. Too much grip, when the conditions don’t warrant it.”

“Right you are, Gary, right you are.”

Osha can hear the F1 stream on the bedroom television from Mae’s shower, and she lets out a big
sigh under the hot water. It was her decision not to switch out her slick tyres. Qimir wanted to when
he saw the clouds roll in, but Osha was worried about her reserves for qualifying and the race itself.
The weather outlook over the next couple of days seems ominous, and she’s not going to get stuck
without wets.

The others put on their wets too soon, and some even had to change out for another set during the
practice. Which means she’s in a considerably better position for the next couple of days. They
have a limited supply of each type, by regulation.

But she’s certainly lucky that she didn't spin out or crash.

Osha steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around her before walking into the bedroom. She
turns down the commentary with the remote and looks down at the bed where Mae put Pip, all nice
and snug against the pillows.

“You still bring that moth wherever you go, huh?” Mae says, getting something from her closet.

Osha grabs Pip, brow furrowing. “Pip’s a butterfly.”

Mae snorts. “Definitely a moth. Not that it matters.”

Osha sighs, sitting on the bed. “You really don't need to give up your bed. I was perfectly
comfortable with the blow up mattress.”

Mae's got her hands full of sheets and blankets to make her bed in the other room when she
responds, “Your new race engineer would probably kill me if he knew I had you sleep on an air
mattress the night before qualifying. No, you get the bed all to yourself. You need it.”

Osha doesn't argue. She goes to her suitcase and takes out some shorts and a tank. Her phone
buzzes as she dresses, and she sees it's from Qimir.

“ How is Mae’s ?”

She texts back, “ Comfortable.”

“Don't stay up too late.”

She rolls her eyes. “I'm getting into bed now.”

Qimir stares at the message on his phone, imagining Osha in bed, wearing little or nothing at all.
It's been tense between them since the night at the club, since he let his fingers roam over her hip,
an action that was a little too familiar for their relationship. Then their hug, which made him sink
even further into her orbit.

He just can't stop thinking about her.

He breathes in deeply, then responds, “ Good call today about the tyres .”

“ You let me make it. I appreciate that .”

Qimir winces. It's all too clinical, too professional.

“ So it's better than a hotel?”

“Mae's? Of course. I hate hotels .”

Qimir thinks on that. With all of the excitement around her now and the points she's achieved, he
could make an argument for why she should have her own motorhome for some of the European
races. Maybe he can get her a rental in other cities, instead of a hotel.

Osha adds, “ You're staying in a hotel, aren't you ?”

Qimir looks around at the modern fixtures and clean lines of the simple furniture. He's sitting in
bed, partially under the crisp sheets, wearing nothing at all.

“ Yeah. It sucks .”

Osha says goodnight to Mae, then climbs into the bed, curling over on her side and staring at her
phone. She holds Pip close, setting her head on one of his wings.

They do this sometimes, text until they run out of things to say. Until they've both tip toed up to the
line they never cross.
Then Osha remembers something from weeks ago. He asked her to tell him something he didn't
know, something that's not online.

Osha snaps a quick selfie of her and Pip, then looks at it. She panics, realizing she nearly sent it to
Qimir and the lighting is all wrong. So she takes a few more, selects the best one, then sends it,
along with the words, “ You earned a little piece of info that's not online.”

Qimir's chest swells at the message and he clicks the picture, instantly zooming in on her eyes. Her
expression's mostly flat, nonchalant, one corner of her lips perked up just a little. Like it’s no big
deal. A stuffed animal of sorts is nestled under her face and she's wearing a simple red tank,
looking comfy under the covers which are up to her shoulders. She looks so vulnerable like this,
not at all like the little spitfire he’s gotten to know.

“ Is that a moth ?” he responds, then curses under his breath because shouldn't he have told her she
was pretty or something?

“ It's a butterfly.”

“Looks like a moth.”

“I didn't show you so we could argue .”

He hesitates and responds, “ It's cute .” Then he looks at that picture again and adds, “ You both are
.”

Cute? She thinks. Cute like “little sister” cute? Or cute like “I like you” cute? Osha types, then
stops, several times, and Qimir rubs his face, worried he's crossed the line he's been so careful not
to cross.

“ Thank you ,” is all she says, leaving Qimir to scratch his chin. If he wants to flirt with her, then
he’s going to have to be more obvious.

But does he? Should he?

Not tonight. Not before qualifying.

Which is the problem, isn’t it? It’ll never be a good time for it. He won’t risk throwing her off her
game. He won’t be a distraction for her.

“ Sleep well, princess ,” he texts. He looks at the picture one more time before forcing himself to go
to sleep.

~~~

The track is soaked for qualifying, and Osha pulls into the pit, switching out her intermediate tyres
for full wets. Rain is considered the great equalizer in F1, because you can’t just rely on speed. The
team with the fastest car can’t hold the lead based on that alone, and natural skill stands out.

She speeds back out onto the track, and Qimir says in her ears, “Looks like you enjoy the wet
track.”

“I do,” she says, catching back up to Yuki Tsunoda. They don’t need to be racing, but Osha can’t
help it. She passes him, waving in his general direction as she does.
“Well keep it up, princess. We can celebrate after.”

“Celebrate?”

Qimir smiles. “I mean… We can’t get crazy since the race is tomorrow, but…”

Osha brakes coming around a hairpin turn. “I’m going for P6.”

“We’re good with P7,” he says, seeing Yord struggle on the screen, currently pulling for P9. “No
need to push it in this weather.”

“Oh, come on, I got this.”

“Osha, no. This is your last lap. Keep it tight.”

Osha ignores him, gunning it, her foot pressing all the way down on the throttle as she approaches
the final turn. She knows her time is close to securing P6.

If I could just—

Osha’s back left tyre glides over a wet patch along the turn and although she does everything she’s
supposed to do, the car has already been gripped by the water, pulling the back end of her car off
the track and sending her spinning. It happens in slow motion, Osha cursing quietly, knowing
exactly where she’s heading.

She slams into the wall of rubber tires, the entire left side of her car now nestled into the outer wall.

“Osh—Talk to me. Are you okay?” Qimir puts his hands on his headphones, wanting to rip them
off so he can run to the car, but she’s far away and right now this is the only way for him to know
she’s not hurt.

“Osh… Are you okay?” Sol approaches behind him, focused on the screen showing her car. He
flips a switch on the pit wall, switching to her channel.

“Osha, are you okay?” Sol asks, voice authoritative but clearly concerned.

Osha lets out an audible groan on the comms. “Just a little bruised, I think.”

Qimir grinds his teeth together, then removes his headphones, tossing them on the table.

“I’m sorry,” Osha says. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard on the final turn.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Sol says.

Some people start to come over to help her get out of the car, but she’s confused about something.
“Qimir?”

“Qimir’s not on comms at the moment,” Sol explains.

“Shit.” Osha knows she fucked up. He’s probably pissed. He had let her make the call about the
tyres yesterday and it gave her an ego boost. She ignored his warning, pushed it too hard, now she’s
in a wall.
~~~

Qimir’s pacing in the briefing room by the time Osha gets back. She walks in through the frosted
glass doors, and they’re alone. The tension is thick, almost ominous, and Osha worries he’s
thinking of quitting. He would have every right to. Surely there’s some clause in the contract which
enables him to leave when his driver is actively working against him, making things more
dangerous for everyone.

“Why didn’t you respond?” he asks, voice strained. “I said your name twice and you didn’t respond
to me.”

He looks at her, his eyes soft and filled with emotions she hasn’t seen in them before now: worry
and relief, playing out cyclically. Osha doesn’t know what to say to him. She wasn’t expecting this
and she’s not sure she understands.

“You responded to Sol,” he says. “You responded to him, but not to me.” He swallows hard, not
enjoying feeling this way, like his feet aren’t on the ground, like he’s spinning out on the track, his
tyres not gripping like they should.

“I—I’m sorry,” Osha says slowly.

“I was so… Dammit, Osha.” He scrubs a hand over his face, wanting so badly to hug her, to feel
her in one piece under his hands. “I was worried.”

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“I am mad.” He puts his hands on his hips and breathes out roughly. “You still got P7, despite the
wreck. And the mechanics are saying the damage was minor, so you’re still racing tomorrow.”

“So we’re not celebrating?” She smiles weakly, wishing they could go back to their typical banter.

He shakes his head. “Do what you want, Osh. You’ve made it very clear that that’s what you intend
to do.” A shrug, then he starts to walk away.

But Osha grabs his wrist. “I want to celebrate,” she says. “With you.” She doesn’t want this to hang
between them. She wants her friend back.

“Osh, I’m not really up for—” But he’s cut off, because suddenly, Osha’s on him.

Surprising herself, Osha hugs him, arms wrapping around his neck, chin resting on his shoulder. He
has to steady himself from the sudden movement, with nothing to hold onto but her.

“Please,” she says. It could be just an innocent hug, a way to say she’s sorry, or that she appreciates
him. But there’s so much more there between them, so much more they should say.

Qimir hesitates, but his hands eventually land on her lower back. She’s still in her racing suit, and
there are many layers between them, but even so, he allows himself to feel her strong body in one
piece under his hands.

“Osha,” he whispers, breath catching when he pulls back a little and looks down at her.

This is the line, and they’re bending it, being so close. Bending it—not breaking it, not crossing it.
But then, the line seems to collapse in on itself, giving them some wiggle room. Because something
is happening here, between them. Something good .

They look at each other, at each other’s lips, and they’re both thinking it. But Qimir’s the weaker
one. He holds her, he has her right now, in this moment, in his arms. And all he can think about in
this moment is kissing her. And why shouldn’t he?

He takes his chance.

Osha leans in when she sees it coming. She didn’t think he’d make the first move, but he did. And
now, she’s kissing him back.

It is a team sport, after all. Kissing. Takes two to play the game.

It’s short and sweet, a slight tug from him, pulling at her bottom lip as the kiss naturally ends. It
was so easy, so right, so comfortable.

Qimir licks his lips, the taste of her lingering there. “There,” he says quietly, “We celebrated.” He
lets her go, then walks away, heart beating hard in his chest.

Osha steadies herself on the back of a chair, completely breathless after what just transpired. He
kissed her—she kissed him. They kissed each other. They kissed .

She supposes it was inevitable, given the looks, the texts, the flirtatious bickering. But she never
imagined it to actually happen, always thinking that Qimir was resolved to never cross that line
with her.

But he did. And now she touches her fingertips to her lips, wanting to hold onto that feeling for a
little longer as it fades.

~~~

He should’ve kissed her a second time. He thinks that now as he stares at her lips. She’s saying
something to Sol about her tyre reserves. Then her eyes catch him, curious, and he gives her a nod,
trying to play it cool, keep it professional.

Even if he had kissed her a second time, it wouldn’t have been enough. And he kept thinking that if
he crossed that line, she would be distracted, off her game. But she appears to be fine. More than
fine, actually.

“Should we go for the full wets right away?” she asks, approaching him. His eyes search her face,
sliding over her cheeks, long lashes, soft lips.

“Um…” He shakes his head, looking to the screen in front of him. “It’s hot. The track will likely
dry some before the race.”

Osha tilts her head at him. “You okay?” She senses something's bothering him, but she can't
pinpoint what.

“Yeah, I'm just…” He rubs a hand through his hair. “Just trying to keep all the elements in check.”
An odd way to say, “I wish we were kissing.”

Osha puzzles at that. Their little kiss yesterday was chaste, sweet, almost innocent—almost. Had
his breathing been more steady, she would say it was even just a kiss between friends, not that Osha
kisses her friends on the lips often, or at all.

Still. It's Qimir. She can't fathom a world in which kissing him is a regular occurrence. But maybe,
if she does well today, she can kiss him again.

“Which position am I pushing for?” she asks, looking over his notes on a clipboard on the edge of
the table.

Qimir takes a step back, needing a little more space between them to focus. “P7 is great. You don't
have to worry about racing Yord, and you would have improved since last race. Gives us six
points.”

Osha nods and looks up at him, her eyes smiling. “Can we celebrate after?”

Qimir nearly short-circuits, hand falling down and slamming into his clipboard on the edge of the
table, flipping it into the air before it clatters to the ground. They bend down simultaneously,
squatting to pick it up.

“Shit—”

“I got it!” Osha says.

Their hands grasp the board at the same time and they look at each other, Osha perfectly collected,
a pretty smile on her face, while Qimir nearly bursts at the seams.

“Hey,” Osha says so only he can hear, “What's got you so anxious?”

He matches her smile, knowing he's exposed. She can read him now almost as well as he can read
her—almost. Qimir would like to think that he's maintained some level of mysteriousness.

“You,” he says honestly, hand still on the clipboard. His eyes burn into her, hooded and accusatory.

Osha lets go of the board with a silent gasp and Qimir stands first, turning his attention back to the
computer screens on the pit wall. She gets to her feet slowly.

She thinks that maybe he meant that to be about the race or the weather. Certainly he didn’t mean…

“I'll be fine… in the rain.”

“Not what I'm anxious about.” He gives her a side eye.

“I can hold P7.”

“I know you can.”

Osha nods slowly, realizing that kiss might've affected him more than he let on.

“So… Can we?” she asks. Qimir looks at her, knowing he's in dangerous territory. “Celebrate, I
mean? After, of course.”

He can't help a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You gotta earn it.”
Osha beams, blood rushing to her chest and face instantly. Qimir notices, wishing he could bottle
up this part of her and keep it with him always.

“Go get ready,” he says. “Only forty minutes out.”

~~~

“It’s lights out and away we go here at the Silverstone Grand Prix—and there goes Fandar at the
first turn, he’s gunning it—oh, and he’s spinning out, hitting Sainz and Hadjar!”

“Oh, that is not pretty!”

“Looks like Aniseya maneuvered her way out of that one, Jay. Could've been a bad one.”

“Indeed. As we saw yesterday, Aniseya knows how to work with a wet track. Can’t say the same
about Fandar.”

“Well that’s three out now, and we already have a safety car on the first lap.”

~~~

It’s just Osha, the track, and his voice. No one else. No other distractions. The water tugs on her
tyres, threatening to pull her off course, but she doesn’t let it. Alex Albon comes up close behind,
but she continues to outpace him. And her knee pad slipped several laps ago, causing her right knee
to bruise as it knocks against the inside of the chassis, but she ignores it.

Because she’s gonna earn that kiss.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, Osh, but you can go for P6.”

She spots Leclerc ahead. He’s struggling in the rain—just one of those days. Well, his loss is Osha’s
gain.

“Come on, Osh. One lap left. You got this.” His heart is pounding. But she’s clearly locked in,
driving better than ever, despite the rain.

“What’s gotten into you, huh? What’s different?”

“I think you know,” she responds.

Qimir bites his lip in a smile. “Don’t get cocky, now. After this turn—go for it.”

Osha pushes down on the throttle, coming up next to Leclerc. They both brake into the next turn,
and Osha stays on the inside, praying her tyres don’t spin out.

They don’t.

“P6! Osha, that’s P6!”

“Fuck, yeah!” she yells back. Another position gained, another step towards the podium.

When she makes it back to the pit, Qimir’s the first one at her car, the other engineers applaud her,
but she’s only focused on him. She removes her helmet, then stands, fist pumping in the air as she
yells, “P6, baby!” Then, she climbs out, and Qimir’s suddenly holding her. In the excitement, she
must’ve jumped into his arms, and now he’s got a hand tucked under her ass, hoisting her in the air
as everyone cheers.

She taps his arm lightly, and he puts her down. Though she can’t help but wonder what would’ve
happened if she kissed him in front of all these people. They pat her on the back. Jecki slaps her ass
and gives her a hug. Sol gives her a hug too and she even thinks she sees a tear in his eye.

Notably, Yord’s nowhere to be found. He must’ve stomped off after his wreck.

She and Qimir don’t have to say it. They don’t exchange words, just a glance. Not here—later.

She goes to get weighed, takes a picture with the team, then they do their debrief. All the while,
Osha’s heart beats heavy in her chest, the anticipation rising, threatening to burst.

She goes to her room to change, taking her clothes out of the locker and unzipping the racing suit.
As always, her undershirt is soaked, and she peels it off carefully.

“You did great,” a voice says, cutting through the anticipation, driving in fear instantly. Osha spins
around to find Yord, leaning against the wall, his eyes dark, expression flat. This is her locker
room. No one else is allowed in here.

“Get out,” she says quietly. Was he watching her undress? She’s still wearing her sports bra, and
he’s seen it all before, but something about this just feels wrong, unsafe, even.

Yord simply rolls his eyes, then slips out of the room.

Just outside, Qimir catches him exiting Osha’s locker room and he instantly knows something’s off.
“Hey,” he calls to the driver, who doesn’t stop. “Fandar—Hey!” He catches up to him and grabs his
shoulder, forcing him to turn towards him. “What the fuck was that about?”

“I was just congratulating her, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

He shoves his finger in Yord’s face, shoving him back against the wall in the narrow hallway. She
and Yord dated before. Qimir thinks that maybe Yord’s looking for a way to scare her—because he
knows her. Yord knows how vulnerable she really is.

Qimir growls, “You’re on fucking thin ice—If I catch you in there—”

“Qimir!” Osha says from the doorway, dressed in a Saber tee, her racing suit still zipped up to her
waist. Worry paints her face. “Let him go,” she says.

Qimir looks back at Yord and grinds his teeth, pushing him away.

“Asshole,” Yord mumbles as he straightens his shirt, walking away from them both.

Qimir approaches Osha, looking her over, trying to figure out what occurred, if she’s hurt.

“I’m fine,” she says slowly. “I don’t know why he was in there.”

“Was the door not locked?”

She shrugs. “No one ever tries to come in, so I just stopped locking it.”
He gives her a look.

“I’ll lock it from now on,” she concedes.

He finally starts to breathe more steadily, coming down from the anger.

“Hey,” she says, catching his eyes. “What was that about you not being a knight in shining armor?
Because I beg to differ.”

He cracks a smile and shakes his head. “I overreacted.” He doesn’t want her thinking he’s a hot-
head or that she’s unsafe with him for whatever reason.

But Osha’s hand falls to his forearm, comforting. “Thank you,” she says.

“I’ll be here. You go finish changing.”

Osha ducks back into her locker room and finishes getting out of her race attire. Someone knocks
on her door just as she’s finishing, and she puzzles, hoping she’s not taking too long.

“Impatient, much?” she says under her breath. She opens the door, dressed in the Saber tee and
jeans, only to find Mae standing there. Qimir leans against the wall behind her, biting his lip in a
frown.

“Oshie, that was insane!” she says. “I’m so sorry I had to take a call right as you crossed the finish
line, but I saw everything!”

“Mae!” Osha pushes down her disappointment, but she knows Mae can see something’s bothering
her. “Did you meet Qimir?”

She nods. “Yeah, your race engineer. He told me you were in here. We have dinner plans, let’s go!”

“Dinner plans?” she says slowly, eyes locking on Qimir’s. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Go have fun,” he says. “We’ll touch base in Monaco.”

Osha feels a tug on her heart. She flies back tomorrow, doesn’t get back until tomorrow evening,
and her schedule is packed until the next race in two weeks.

But she earned that kiss, dammit.

“Mae, can you… give me a moment with Qimir? I can meet you outside in like five minutes, we
just need to discuss boring race stuff.” She laughs nervously.

Mae furrows her brow at her. “You can talk about whatever with me—” She then sees Osha’s
expression, and maybe they do have a little bit of a twin thing, because then a big smile creeps onto
Mae’s face. “Yeah, talk about what you need to talk about.”

She disappears quickly, leaving Osha and Qimir alone in the hallway. “I think most everyone’s
gone,” Osha says as Qimir takes a step forward, closing in on her. She can only look at him, and he
can only look at her, the cold, too-bright hallway fading around them.

“You wanna celebrate?” he asks, looking at her lips. He needs them, now, yesterday, always.
“You said I had to earn it.” She’s also looking at his, breath catching a little at how quickly he’s
closing the space between them.

A slight shake of his head. “I was gonna kiss you either way.” Her heart flutters and his hand
reaches to her face, thumb brushing over her jaw as he cradles the back of her neck. Osha’s head
tilts back, lips parting as he, finally, kisses her.

Her skin prickles, and she doesn’t know where to put her hands, but then Qimir’s other hand pulls
her closer by her waist and she melts into him, hands naturally falling to his shoulders. His mouth
opens more, tongue teasing hers, willing it to open. Osha smiles a little in the kiss, parting her lips
to let him in.

They fully lose themselves in it, tasting, testing, exploring. Osha’s hands find their way to Qimir’s
nape, and he moans into her mouth as she presses her fingers into his hair, pulling slightly.

It’s a sign that they should stop, but they don’t, and Qimir steps forward, pushing Osha against the
wall and bracing himself with one hand while his other slides up from her waist, fingers grazing the
underwire of her bra, then cupped firmly under her breast. This time, Osha moans, and Qimir
hesitantly breaks the kiss. They both breathe in together, frozen in this position, assessing their little
situation.

“I shouldn’t have started something I can’t finish,” he says roughly. A hot pressure makes itself
known between Osha’s thighs and she bites her lip, wishing they could continue this—whatever
this is.

“Dammit,” she whispers. Qimir chuckles and peels himself away from her.

“You should go,” he says. “Mae’s waiting.”

“Yeah.” Osha takes her bag from the table and slings it over her shoulder. “We’ll touch base in
Monaco?”

He nods, smiling reassuringly.

“Good,” she says, finally turning away and walking out the door. She smiles shyly to herself, and
once she’s gone, Qimir nods slowly, just now realizing that despite the odds, he got the girl.

Qimir De La Cruz has just snagged himself a princess.

 What a fucking mess
Chapter Notes

This chapter mentions other F1 drivers a little more frequently than previous chapters, but you
absolutely do not need to keep up with them as they won't play major roles in the story -
they're mostly Easter eggs for those who are F1 fans ;)

As always, here is the playlist: and away we go playlist

<3 Have funnnn!

“Good girl. You really wanna beat him, don’t you? Find an opening and take it. Push it—harder.
Are you calling me old? Show me what you got.”

Osha watches the compilation on her phone, titled, “ The sexiest race engineer in F1 - Sexiest
things he’s said on comms. ”

“That’s it, good girl. Just you and the track. No one else. You got this. I didn’t doubt you for one
second.”

Osha presses her thighs together. His voice is incredibly sexy. She should’ve known this would
happen. Still, it feels a little invasive. Some of these are taken from the time he was talking over her
orgasm.

A notification pops up on her phone from the drivers’ group chat. It includes all of the F1 drivers,
so people are careful what they drop in it.

No one understands what it's like on track aside from the other drivers, so they all cling to each
other in different ways, their little group chat a reminder that they're not always alone and they’re
all a little bit insane to be employed in such a sport. Osha used to ignore this camaraderie. She
avoided it, because she felt they wouldn't accept her in the same way they accepted male drivers.

She was wrong.

It took time, but she wedged her way into the group, found her own cadence with the ones she's
willing to give her time. And for the ones she doesn't, she tolerates, plays the politics. Only they
understand what she's going through, after all.

Well, them and Qimir.

Thankfully, this message is from Carlos Sainz and Osha knows it’ll be a mood-lifter, will make all
the drivers perk up and laugh.

“Aniseya’s race engineer is taking the heat off all of us this week.”

Osha smiles. The video she was watching wasn’t the only one. Social media is flooded with TikTok
sounds of Qimir’s voice that people are using as dubs, fan edits of videos and pictures of him with
sparkling effects, and posts of just “ ARMS ” alongside pictures of him in his fitted racing polo.

“I’m not surprised. He’s a whole snack,” Lando Norris says in the chat. Some of the others react
with laughing faces.

“ Thank him for us, will you @Aniseya? ” Carlos adds.

Osha responds, “ I thought you all liked the attention? ”

George Russel starts typing, his message popping up with, “It’s nice to have a break sometimes,
don’t you think?”

True . Though she’s not sure how she feels about all these women fawning over him, talking about
his attractive bits like they want to take a bite out of him.

Someone knocks on her door. She gets up from the couch to answer it, finding a thin, blond woman
with a laptop in hand, colorful bag slipped across her frame.

“Hi, Miss Aniseya? Qimir De La Cruz sent me to help furnish your apartment.”

Osha looks around at her empty space. It was the last thing on her very long list of things to do.

“So you’re like, what, a professional furniture buyer?”

She laughs at that. “An interior designer, so, yes, a little bit.”

Osha and the woman meet for the next hour or so, going over Osha’s personal style and what she
wishes to get out of the space. They settle on comfort, warmth—a place where Osha can rest
between races that doesn’t feel like only one person lives there. Something that’s opposite of a
hotel room, every blank space filled with something aesthetically pleasing. A maximalist’s oasis.

When they’re done and Osha’s alone again, she calls Qimir. “The interior designer was nice,” she
says as soon as he answers.

“Was it?” He’s in his apartment, going over Osha’s stats from the last year’s race at the Spa track in
Belgium. “I was worried it was too forward.”

“It’s smart. I have no time to buy furniture, much less decor.”

“Speaking of your time…”

Osha tenses a little, not knowing what to anticipate.

“I was hoping I could borrow some, maybe at the charity event this weekend?”

She sighs. That’s days away. But she’s not even sure what’s happening between them. If it’s just
going to be sex, then that’s great. She’d be into that, wouldn’t she?

But something about that thought irks her. Because if it’s just sex, then she’d have to accept the
reality that he doesn’t want more of her, and, for some reason, that tugs on her heart, making her
slump into her couch.

“So you’re coming to the event, then? I wasn’t sure you would,” she says.
“I’ve actually been every year. I have some friends who are expecting me.”

She raises a brow at that. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll have to make the rounds, shake hands with some people. But then, maybe you and I
could…”

Hang out? Hook up? Osha’s mind rattles with the possibilities.

“...Celebrate,” he finally says, causing Osha’s heart to pound in her stomach. Their little codeword
for “kiss.”

“And, um, what would we be celebrating?”

Qimir shrugs on the other end, trying to play it cool. “I dunno. Pick something.”

“Hm. Maybe we celebrate finally being able to celebrate?”

Qimir laughs. “Is that frustration I hear in your voice?”

Osha rubs her cheek with her fingers, finding it hot. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

Qimir lets the silence hang between them, having so much he wants to say, but not like this. Not
over the phone.

“You’re a busy woman,” he finally says.

They go over her schedule after that, making sure they’re on the same page. Then Qimir says he
needs to go answer a Zoom call, and Osha nearly growls as she hangs up the phone.

She wants more. She wants to flirt, kiss, hug, and more . But it’s all so new, and she doesn’t even
know if he feels the same. So she tampers down on those feelings over the next few days and
focuses on her career.

~~~

“You’re doing well,” Diego says, pointing to her weight. “You upped again. Nice.”

“It’s all that protein,” Osha says between reps, huffing a little through it. Her personal trainer is one
of her favorite people on her team. He’s older, with salt and pepper hair, a thick beard, and kind
eyes. His Spanish accent has always been a comfort, attractive in its natural lilt.

“Well keep it up,” he says. “All of this makes taking those turns a hell of a lot easier.”

She nods, then drops the weights, going into her one minute rest. The Saber gym is well-equipped,
just for the drivers, and she takes the break at the water fountain at the back of the room.

Qimir enters the gym then, looking for Diego. “Hey,” he says, pointing to the man, then turning his
finger and gesturing for him to come speak with him.

Osha watches from afar, confused as to why he wouldn’t just say what he needs to in front of her.
When she returns to the weights, Diego walks back, frowning. Qimir’s disappeared.
“We’re adding thirty minutes to your routine.”

“What?”

“He says you’re not getting enough endurance training, so—Osha, wait.”

She’s already started walking after him. She pushes through the gym doors and finds him down the
hall.

“Qimir, what the hell?” she yells, not caring who overhears. “Thirty-fucking-minutes?”

He spins around, phone in his hand. “I can’t chat right now, Osh.”

She runs to catch up with him. “No, make time for me now.”

His phone vibrates and he goes to answer it and Osha makes a face at him, clearly angry. “Osh,
come on. This isn’t punishment.”

“No, it’s just you being an asshole.”

He takes a deep breath. “The Belgium track is dangerous. I was looking back at your stats and on
that track specifically and you always lose momentum halfway through the race. You get tired,
don’t you?”

Osha chews the inside of her cheek, not wanting to admit he’s right.

He nods. “We only have a week, but I think we can get your endurance up a little. You’ll be better
prepared that way.”

The Belgium track is known for being dangerous, which is why she always has issues with it. She
tenses up more, which exhausts her faster. Doesn’t help that it’s packed with turns.

She concedes. “I wish you would talk to me about this kind of thing directly.”

“I wanted to but your schedule…” He sees the annoyance on her face. It’s not just about her
schedule, and he should admit that. His voice lowers as he steps closer. “Being around you is kind
of difficult, you know that?”

Osha rubs the back of her neck nervously, all too aware of her exposed midriff in this outfit. “I’m
not going to, like, attack you or something.”

“Well maybe I’m not as good at practicing restraint.” His eyes move down to her cleavage, to the
beads of sweat dripping down between her breasts. When he looks up again, a smile finally breaks
on her face, breaking the tension somewhat.

Someone walks by, passing them in the hall, and Qimir takes a step back. “You should get back to
it.”

Osha’s jaw clenches at the thought of having to do another thirty minutes on top of her regular
routine, and all of that instead of kissing him. “Okay, but, I’m still mad at you.”

“I’ll make up for it, I promise.”

She hides a smile, turning away from him. “You better.”

~~~

Osha’s styling team went above and beyond this year for the now-dubbed “F1 Princess.” For the
charity event, she’s draped in an asymmetrical gold gown, earrings and heels a bright, Saber-red.
Her braids are pulled back into a high ponytail. When she looks in the mirror, she nearly gasps at
how she glows.

It’s all secondary though, compared to her anticipation.

An event like this is hours long, with lots of speakers broken up with cocktails, snacks, mingling,
and gossipping. Last year, Osha stuck by Yord for most of the night, but the tension between them
now is thick. So she searches the crowd after she take the press photo, looking for someone.

“There you are,” Qimir says from behind. She spins around, finding him in a cream suit over a
crisp, white shirt, loose and unbuttoned at the top. He looks her over and nods his head in approval.

“You like?” she asks, batting her eyelashes and striking a half-hearted pose.

“I should. I picked it out.”

She deflates. “You did not.”

“I did.” He waives down a waiter with a tray of glasses and takes two, handing one to Osha. “They
sent me the options and that’s the one I picked.”

It’s a little unnerving, like he’s this all-powerful, omniscient force. “Well don’t do that next time.”

He shrugs, noncommittal. “Come on, all the cool kids hang out near the windows.”

She follows him to the edge of the party, where it’s not as loud. The windows overlook the iconic
Nouvelle Chicane on the Monaco race track a few stories down, which is just a simple road now
while not being used for racing. Still, the view is impressive with the marina and ocean in the
background.

“Osha, you know Sebastian Vettel.”

Osha shakes hands with the older, retired driver. He left F1 just as she was coming into the sport.

“How do you know each other?” Osha asks. She recognizes now that the “Seb” in Qimir’s phone is
Vettel. She wonders about the others, seemingly all women’s names.

Sebastian answers, “Qimir was on my pit team years ago, probably before you started karting.”

“We’re not that old, Seb.”

Osha catches sight of a group of young women in the corner nearby, all huddled together, some of
them making eyes at Qimir. She instantly feels self-conscious, knowing they’ve probably seen all
the posts online. And they’re all gorgeous—tall, thin, perfect hair, modelesque features. The kind of
women F1 drivers date.
After a while of chatting with Qimir and Sebastian, Osha finishes her drink and excuses herself,
wanting another. Qimir seems to be so caught up with his conversation that he doesn’t realize he’s
the star of the event.

Osha grabs another glass of wine and slowly makes her way back to the windows, when she nearly
collides with Yord.

“Excuse—Oh, hey,” he says. “Enjoying the attention?”

“What? What attention? Everyone’s staring at my race engineer.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Right.” He walks away from her and she puzzles, then looks back over
at the girls near the window. One of them is suddenly staring daggers at her and she looks away
quickly, walking back over to Qimir.

Sebastian is peeling away as she arrives, and Osha pulls Qimir’s shoulder, turning them away from
the group of women. “The girls in the corner won’t stop looking at you,” she says quietly.

“Oh yeah?” He smiles at her. “You jealous?”

Osha rolls her eyes. “It’s just excessive.”

“You have a blind spot.” He clinks his glass to hers. “Look around, Osh.”

Osha slowly turns her head, looking at the rest of the crowd. So many heads turned to them—no—
to her. They point at her dress as they chat to each other, others look like they’re discussing the
latest race, using her as an anchor point for their retellings. And some just stare.

“They’re looking at you , Osh.”

Osha turns to him, chest warming. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“I’m going to go get us something to snack on. You good?”

She nods, taking another sip of her wine. She steps up to the window, looking down over the
asphalt, that familiar turn so obvious even without the barriers.

“Osha!” A feminine voice. She turns, greeted by one of the thin models that were looking at Qimir
earlier. “Hi, sorry to bother you. I’m Brigitte.”

Osha reluctantly shakes her hand.

She gestures back to the group, who are far enough away not to overhear them. “The girls and I
were just wondering…” She leans into Osha's ear. “Is Qimir seeing anyone these days?”

She wants to scream, “ Me! He’s seeing me! ” But she doesn’t dare. She wants to shove this little
tart across the room, to throw her drink in her face.

Instead, Osha smiles and shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure he’s single.” She could’ve lied, said he
was seeing someone—someone that’s definitely not her. But it could come back to bite her in the
ass. Models and influencers talk, rumors spread.
Brigitte continues, “I’ve of course been there, done that.” She waves dismissively. “But you know,
he’s so popular now—we were so curious!” Osha can see through her forced nonchalance. Brigitte
got a taste, and now she’s desperate for more.

“I’m curious,” Osha asks, “How many of you have been with Qimir?”

Brigitte sighs, looking to the ceiling as though she’s counting. “I think most of us, surely.”

“Right.” She should’ve known. Osha’s not as in tune with the gossip as others. She had gotten a
vibe from Qimir when they were both in F2, and it made her stay far away from him. But this? This
is somewhat unexpected.

There are at least eight women in that corner, not counting Brigitte.

“Oh my god, he’s coming back. Tell him ‘Bridge’ says ‘hi’!” She squeals in excitement before
running back to her cackle of models and Osha grinds her teeth together as she watches Qimir
come closer.

“What’s that look for?” he asks, handing her a plate filled with fancy things you can eat in one
bite.

She doesn’t accept it. “I’m not hungry.”

“What? I got all your favorites. They had potato skins.”

Of course he would let her break his rules tonight, right now, when she should be mad at him. She
rolls her eyes and lifts her dress so she can dramatically stomp away. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop
her, and she doesn’t look back at him as she pushes through the bathroom door, trying to maintain
her composure. She can’t cry in a dress like this—that would be ridiculous.

Osha shuts herself in one of the stalls and leans back against a wall, breathing deeply, in and out.

It takes a few minutes, but she decides that she can’t be mad at him, not for this. She’s just jealous.
He’s gorgeous, talented, sexy as hell. He’s also probably extremely good in bed, given the look on
Brigitte’s face when she squealed. He also probably gave her that nickname.

That part does hurt a little.

She exits the bathroom, joining the crowd again. Taking a deep breath, she looks over to Qimir,
who is speaking with Yord, of all people.

Of course, Osha has no idea what is about to happen. She has no idea that Yord is threatening
Qimir, confirming that he has blackmail on his phone that he’s ready to send at any moment.

“What do you want, Yord?” Qimir asks, not knowing what he has, but not really caring either way.

“I want you gone. Ever since you showed up, it’s been all about you and her. You know they’re
changing the cars to fit her racing style?”

Qimir snorts. “Yeah, I do. And she’s gonna keep beating your ass into the pavement.” He steps
closer, trying to keep his face blank as he continues, “Because she’s better than you.”
Yord’s nostrils flare, and he puffs up like he’s going to hit Qimir, but Qimir simply narrows his
eyes, daring the young man to try it in such a public venue.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Qimir emphasizes.

Yord sneers at him, then walks away.

“What the hell was that about?” Osha asks as she approaches Qimir.

“Nothing. Just an empty threat.” He’s about to ask her if she’s okay, when her phone starts
buzzing.

Osha fumbles with it in her clutch, but eventually unlocks it, finding that the drivers’ groupchat is
lighting up about something serious.

“ Delete it. That’s not cool. ” Sainz says. Osha scrolls up, past other similar messages, to find a
video from Yord, posted mere seconds ago. She clicks it, and then thanks god her volume is down
because it’s porn.

No, not just porn—it’s Qimir. And Brigitte.

Osha sucks in a breath, holding the phone close so Qimir can’t see.

“What is it?” he asks, looking around the room, confused as to why all the other drivers he can spot
are also looking at their phones, cringing and curious at the same time. A strange energy settles on
them all.

Osha doesn’t know why she does it. Perhaps she wants her own blackmail in case he hurts her, or
perhaps she’s curious. Either way, the video is downloaded on her phone now.

“ Fucking delete it, man, ” Max Verstappen adds to the chat.

The video disappears.

Osha’s relieved. It all happened in less than a minute, and she looks up to find the entire room
trying to figure out what stole the drivers’ attentions so simultaneously.

Across the room, she hears Lando making a joke about a meme that Alex Albon shared earlier in
the day, implying that that’s what they were all looking at. That seems to satisfy the crowd.

“Osha?”

She looks to Qimir, emotions all tied up inside of her, making her want to get behind a wheel and
do something stupid. “I’m not feeling so good,” she says.

He puts his hand on her shoulder and she slips away from him, walking towards the exit. She can
feel him on her heels and she speeds up, finding Sol in the crowd.

“Sol. I need to leave.” She gives him a pleading look, knowing he’s no match against her big brown
eyes as they fill up with tears.

“I’ll get you a car,” he says quietly. His hand grasps her shoulder, and Qimir feels helpless as he
watches in the crowd, giving up on his chasing after her.
He knows something happened that he’s not privy to. He’s missing something important. But she
needs her space, and he can give that to her for tonight, until he figures out what went wrong.

“Hey, Qimir?” Brigitte approaches. He rubs his jaw, not really wanting to deal with her tonight. He
hardly recalls their little fling a year ago, just a blur amongst the others which are even less
memorable.

“I’m so sorry about the video. I didn’t think he would send it to so many people!” she whisper-yells
into his ear.

“What? What video?”

All she has to do is wince, and that’s all it takes for him to put the pieces together. Yord’s little
threat. The video they filmed last year. All the drivers looking at their phones at the same time.

He looks around, trying to find Yord. When he doesn’t spot him right away, he turns back to
Brigitte and whispers, “Why the fuck would you send it to Yord?”

She flushes. “It was stupid. We were flirting and I guess he knew we had dated—”

Qimir walks away, needing to talk to Osha now, because if she saw that video just now… He slows,
hand pressing through his hair. He can feel eyes on him.

He can’t fix this now. He’s not even sure what he’d say to her once he finds her. And he’s not sorry
—he didn’t do anything wrong. No, she just needs time, and he needs to find a way to show her
that she’s more than just a fling to him.

“What a fucking mess,” he says under his breath.

~~~

Osha wipes away her eye makeup roughly with a washcloth, already in a large tee and comfy
underwear. She feels stupid and immature for how she ran away—twice. First to the bathroom, then
all the way home.

But it was so suffocating in there, with Brigitte, then the video. She feels a little guilty, having left
Qimir all alone to deal with the fallout. But the drivers accept him—they actually like him—all of
them except Yord, that is.

She spent most of the ride home wondering why Yord would send that—to hurt Qimir? To hurt
her? To intimidate her, for sure. Over the last few months, had he really developed such hateful
feelings towards her? It makes her shiver.

When she climbs into bed, she only has one thing on her mind: the video. As soon as she saved it,
she knew she was going to watch it. And not even out of anger or jealousy. More than anything,
she’s curious.

Osha gets comfortable and pulls it up on her phone. She hesitates for a moment, seeing the still
image of the two of them in dim light, Qimir adjusting the camera, his hand bigger in the frame
than the rest of his naked body.
Then, she presses play.
 Did you watch any of it?
Chapter Notes

I know this is weird, but for the sake of my sanity, I am calling the tyres on the F1 cars "tyres"
and the tires stacked up in the tire wall "tires."

Playlist for the vibes: and away we go playlist

The first thing that changes is his arms. Osha knew they were muscular—toned and taught. What
she hadn’t realized, though, was how they moved like expertly crafted pistons, joint and muscle
rotating, folding and unfolding, holding and pushing and, sometimes, embracing.

The second thing that changes are his hands. Always so deliberate, intentionally reaching for
something he needs to touch. And now, she sees how desperate they are, how his eyes find their
target shortly after his fingers have already decided that’s where they need to be. Pinching and
gripping and grasping.

The last thing that changes is his eyes. Because he doesn’t look at her the way he looks at Osha. It’s
not the same.

She watches the video for the umpteenth time, by now watching purely for scientific reasons. The
man is practicing a craft, clearly knowing he’s being filmed. It’s almost as if he knows she’s
watching—Osha specifically. That’s impossible, of course, but it doesn’t change how it feels when
he looks at the camera and smirks. And Osha always rolls her eyes at that part, shaking her head as
the Qimir on the screen slows his thrusts just enough to make her thighs clench.

The one thing that doesn't change is his mouth. He runs it constantly, asking Brigitte what she likes
and narrating his performance. Seems like his comms are just the tip of the iceberg—his dirty talk
is on a whole other level.

Osha finally forces herself to get up from the bed in the back of the luxury motorhome, where she’s
been hibernating for too long. Qimir had insisted on the F1 Princess having one for the European
races, and Saber quickly gave in to the demand, given her current popularity and ranking. If she
continues to race well this season, she’ll be essentially paying it back ten times over.

She exits the room through a colorful, beaded curtain and moves into the main area, filled with
seating and a large television. Turning it on to the race stream, she’s satisfied to find that they’re
discussing Yord’s abysmal performance at the Spa, Belgium practice earlier that day.

“Now I think Gary, that Fandar has been shrinking into the back of the pack simply because
Aniseya is jumping ahead. Because we know he’s better than what we saw yesterday at practice.”

“Perhaps he can turn it around at qualifying, Jay, but I’m sure that whatever is going on at Saber,
it’s causing a rift between the two young drivers.”
No kidding.

“Well hopefully they can find a team strategy for Spa to keep both of them ahead. Though I’m
personally looking forward to another position push from Aniseya. She’s getting closer to that
podium and you and I both know the fans are hungry to see her succeed.”

“Oh, Jay, it’s all anyone’s talking about, isn’t it?”

She mutes the stream then, starting to feel antsy. She and Qimir haven’t had a chance to talk about
what happened, but they easily slipped into their usual roles—as driver and race engineer. Nothing
needed to be said for her to race well. There’s no animosity between them, though she does feel
progressively more distracted when she’s around him.

A part of her wants to keep that version of Qimir on her phone only. Keep him in that box, nowhere
near her, just for her viewing pleasure.

But she’s not an idiot. She’s seen the way he looks back at her, like he’s two seconds away from
ripping off her racing suit and fucking her against the pit wall. Somehow, he manages himself,
keeps a lid on his desires. Though all those little things she’s starting to notice, along with the way
his jaw clenches, makes her think she’ll be the one ripping off his clothes first.

It’s only a matter of time.

~~~

Qimir’s fingers flip a switch on the pit wall so he can view the inside of Osha’s cockpit. Her head
tilts from side to side as she takes a chicane.

“You’re doing great, Osh. Box on next lap. We’ll get you new tyres.”

“Understood,” she responds. She pulls into the pit lane, carefully angling her car between the Saber
crew that waits with new tyres. She holds her breath as they move, watching the red light above
intently, waiting for it to turn green.

It feels like an eternity, then she realizes that it might as well be, because there was an issue getting
on the front left tyre, and it takes just two seconds longer than it usually does.

“Fuck,” she curses in her helmet. The light turns green, and she’s off again, speeding out of the pit
lane. “That took too long.”

“You’ll make it up,” Qimir says. “We have some wiggle room right now.”

“And why is that?”

Qimir can’t say exactly what he’s thinking. Because everyone sucks today.

Instead, he responds, “You’re not the only one having issues.”

Osha gets the message.

~~~

“Tough qualifying day here, Jay, it seems as though everyone’s having issues.”
“Mercedes with engine trouble, Ferrari understeering, even the McClarens—odd tyre strategy today
with them, don’t you think, Gary?”

“Odd indeed. And Saber really needs to tighten up their pit stop times. Seems they lost a few
seconds because of it.”

“And every second counts in this sport.”

“Every second and every tenth of a second—every hundredth of a second.”

“Which Aniseya made up on the track, luckily. Seems as though the young Saber driver will snag
position four on the grid, that’s P4. An extremely good outcome given the pit struggles.”

“Extremely, yes. Though Fandar will be right behind her in P5, which means…”

“Gary, are you telling me we might see Fandar and Aniseya race it out for the podium?”

“I think it’s possible, Jay, I really do.”

~~~

Qimir stands outside of Osha’s motorhome, laptop tucked under his arm, fingers rolling the fabric
of his shirt nervously. There are a few other luxury motorhomes lined up here, belonging to other
drivers. He spots George Russell nearby, exiting his own. They give each other a nod, and Qimir
turns away from him, knowing all the drivers saw his little sex tape.

He also knows that they know Brigitte’s reputation.

Brigitte and her ilk are basically F1 groupies, only able to get into events because of their parents’
sponsorship money. They want to be arm candy, want to be seen with a Formula One driver.
Brigitte could care less if that video leaked to the press. She fucked the “sexiest race engineer in
F1.” She’d love that.

But he’s now starting to recognize the appeal. Getting close to Osha, potentially being her arm
candy—that sounds nice. It’d certainly be something to brag about.

He steps up to the door of the motorhome and knocks. Osha opens it soon after, looking like she
just woke from a nap.

Her breath catches. She wasn’t expecting him. Her braids are unraveling, her face oily, what little
eye makeup she had on now smudged, whole body sweaty after a full day of being stuck under all
those layers. After qualifying, she basically passed out on the couch in her motorhome, dressed in
just a tee and shorts, which feel like nothing now, with him standing before her.

“Sorry, you were resting.” He gestures that he’ll leave. “I should—”

“No, don’t.” She has plenty of excuses to get him inside, but the only one that comes out is, “We
should talk.” The truth.

Qimir hesitantly steps inside, careful not to touch her. He looks around at the spacious room, filled
with things that make her comfortable. A coffee pod machine on the counter next to a big basket of
all her favorite snacks, massive, fluffy pillows on the ground and on the couches, a beaded curtain
leading to her bedroom in the back.
“Nice vibe,” he says.

“Yeah, I was going for retro, but… it’ll do.”

“Nah, I like it. It suits you.”

She raises a brow and tugs on one of her braids which is slowly unraveling. “My hair’s a mess,”
she says, breathing out a nervous laugh. She then realizes they’re just standing here, awkwardly.
“Sit. We should sit.”

They sit across from each other, on separate couches. Silence feels the space as Osha continues to
pick at her braids. She has a hair appointment scheduled for when they get back from Belgium, but
she’s impatient.

“I’m sorry you had to see the video,” Qimir finally says, getting it out of the way.

Osha pulls her feet under her on the couch and puts a blanket over her legs. “You don’t have to
apologize.” She’s watched it so many times, she’s practically memorized it, can play it back in her
head, word-for-word, thrust-for-thrust. She tries not to stare at him.

Qimir tilts his head at her, wondering why she’s avoiding his eyes. “Did you watch any of it?”

Suddenly it’s too hot for a blanket. Osha shoves it off and stands. “I’m gonna make coffee. You
want coffee?”

Qimir smiles. So she did watch it. “It’s nearly eight at night.”

“Yeah, and I don’t have to be at the paddock until nine tomorrow.” She opens the top of the
machine and pops a pod inside. “Besides, coffee doesn’t affect me the same as others.” She slams
the top down a little too hard when she sees him stand in the corner of her eye. “That’s your
schedule, right?”

“Osha…”

She spins, hands behind her, gripping the counter tight, otherwise she might do something insane.
He’s getting closer, slowly but surely, and her chest rises and falls as she forces herself to breathe.

Qimir rests a hand on the counter next to her, leaning against it as he says, “Brigitte was just a
fling.”

The coffee starts to trickle into the mug next to them and the smell of it sobers her a little. “You
usually make sex tapes with your flings?”

He chuckles. “If I say yes, would that annoy you?” She scoffs at that. “Or maybe… it’d make you
jealous.”

She meets his eyes, now serious. “You’re teasing me.”

Qimir puts a hand on her waist, the touch hot to them both. The video is all but forgotten, on a
different plane of existence, because all there is right now is them. Not any of those other people,
so insignificant considering the current reality.
“And you’re begging to be teased,” he says, “To be played with.” His voice strains a little, hungry,
yearning. His fingers itch to touch her bare skin, pulling lightly at the fabric of her tee.

“You wanna play with me?” A smile teases her lips, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Seeing how willing she is, Qimir can't hold himself back any longer. He pulls her body against him
and plants his lips on her mouth.

She instantly melts into him, hands hooking behind his neck, back arching to get even closer, his
hand on her lower back pressing her tightly to him, desperate to be even closer though there's no
space left between them.

They fumble this next part, unsure where it's going. Qimir's yanking at Osha's shirt while Osha is
exploring the kiss more, trying to enjoy what she's earned.

So he takes the hint and slows down a little, enjoying tasting her. He pulls them to the couch, one
clumsy step at a time, landing there in a heap of sighs and smiles and little laughs. Her hands tangle
in his hair as she straddles his lap, and Qimir's hand palms at her breast as they continue to tease
each other's mouths.

Teeth clash as they smile in the kiss, both just relieved this is happening, but they continue, not
letting anything get in the way of enjoying this. It's as though time slows here, Qimir's fingers
squeeze her tit through the fabric of her tee and bra. It's gentle and achingly slow, but so hungry.
His other hand on her neck and jaw guides her through the kiss, a little messy, a little wet, but so, so
hot.

Osha especially likes kissing him. She likes his scent, his taste, how his lips catch hers, how his
tongue invades and defends. It's all at once playful and serious, teasing and testing.

When she comes up for air, she asks, “Is this what you had in mind?” She’s certain her makeup is
even more smudged now, but that doesn't seem to bother him.

He practically growls in response, hands falling to her thighs, fingers slipping under the hem of her
shorts. “Not really,” he says, one hand hooking the waistband and dipping inside the front of her
shorts, finding no other layer. He lifts a brow in surprise.

Osha shifts in his lap, making it easier for him to touch her there. And when his fingers find that
sensitive spot, she squeezes her eyes shut, letting out a pitched moan.

“Look at me, Osha. Look at me.”

She opens her eyes and focuses on his, lips parted as he rubs her there in gentle circles. She then
rides his hand as he slips two fingers inside.

“Fuck, you're soaking wet.”

Qimir hooks his fingers inside of her and starts to pump them in and out. Osha thinks he's a wizard
of sorts—a sex wizard, surely, with an advanced degree from the School of Sex Wizardry (which is
totally a thing). Because no one's ever made her feel so good and so messy all at once. She
practically turns to goo in his hands, unable to think or speak or do anything other than feel what he
gives her.
His other hand latches again to her breast while he fingers her and he wishes he could tear her
clothes away, but he's too involved in her pleasure. Their mouths hover so close together,
sometimes kissing, mostly just breathing, hot, wet breath passing between them. Qimir nibbles at
her lower lip, taking it in his teeth, and Osha likes that, she likes that at a lot .

Breath hitching, hips rocking, feeling too good too fast, his fingers finding the perfect spot inside
her.

“Are you gonna come for me, Osh?” He tries putting more pressure on her clit with his palm, and it
seems to have an effect. She's practically panting now, hands braced on his shoulders, keeping
herself steady as his hand makes squelching noises inside her.

“Y—yes,” she says, almost whimpering.

“That's my girl.” Osha makes a high-pitched noise at that, so he continues, “Push it, Osh. You got
this.” He smiles at her and she's so overcome by it, knowing exactly what he's doing. The things he
says to her over comms have always had a tone of mischief to them—of sex. Now he’s just
confirming it.

His voice is raspy, breathy, as he lets out a string of words. “Come on Osh, just a little further.
That's it. Good girl.” All the while, Osha bucks her hips a little, riding his hand, bracing herself on
him for what's about to happen.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes out. Her body spasms, orgasm whipping through her in a hot wave. She
buries her face in his neck as she comes, whimpering into his skin.

“Good girl,” he says again in a whisper, hand slowing. “Such a good girl.” She clearly has no issues
in that department.

When he knows it's over, he slides his hand out and wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight.
They stay like this for a while, Osha completely spent, tired and groggy. And although Qimir's rock
hard and ready to give her a round two, he doesn't want to ruin the moment.

“So you liked that?” he asks.

Osha lets out a laugh, pulling away from him. She holds his face in her hands and really looks at
him, taking in his features, his sharp cheekbones contrasted by soft eyes, those pillowy lips she
loves so much. He has a little freckle near his hairline, above his forehead, and another under his
cheek that disappears when he smiles.

“What are you looking at?”

Osha purses her lips together, hiding what she knows will be a goofy smile. “Nothing.”

Qimir moves suddenly, grabbing her and playfully tackling her to the couch so she's on her back,
looking up at him. She can't hide her smile now.

“I need you to know something,” he says quietly, pushing an unraveling braid behind her shoulder.
“You’re not just a fling.”

Osha feels so stupidly happy. “I better not be.”

Qimir kisses her again, soft and sweet on the lips before saying, “Big day tomorrow.”
She stretches under him. “Big day… Then we celebrate?”

He chuckles. “You bet.”

~~~

Qimir walks out of the motorhome, quietly and carefully. It’s late and he knows how it would look
if someone caught him. He thinks he’s lucky, until he spots Sol ahead, hand on his chin, brow
furrowed as he watches Qimir.

He takes a deep breath, finding an excuse. “Osha and I were just—”

“That cannot happen, Qimir,” he says sharply, quietly. “She’s currently ranked sixth, on her way to
a podium. She should be dating someone like Leo—an heir to a fashion empire.”

“Not someone like me, right? A failed F2 driver.” He’s calm when he says it, but a fire burns in his
belly.

“If anyone catches you sneaking around in the darkness, you realize how that makes her look?”

His jaw clenches, and he slowly nods. “Nothing is happening between us,” he lies.

Sol relaxes a little. “Good. Leo’s inquired about another date. We need to get her back out into the
public eye, keep the positive momentum going.”

Qimir follows Sol as they walk to the Saber building in the paddock, teeth grinding together as Sol
goes on about his plans for Osha.

~~~

Osha takes the chicane, holding her breath as she slams into the side of the chassis. Yord is hot on
her heels, and they still have twenty laps to go.

“What do I do?” she asks, knowing he can overtake in the next straight.

Qimir rubs his chin, thinking. “Keep your cool. We have to box next lap.”

“What?!”

Qimir doesn’t respond. He lifts his headphones slightly, listening out for Sol or Jecki to see what
the strategy is for Yord. Sol catches his eye and turns to him.

“We’ll keep her in lead,” he says. “She’s more likely to overtake Leclerc.”

Qimir smiles and nods. It’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Box, Osh. Fandar’s going to let you pass when you get back out.”

Osha pulls into the pit lane. She steadies her breathing and watches the light above, praying that
they fixed their issues from the day prior.

They did.
Osha’s back out on the track in no time, gaining back up to Yord. They still have a gap between
them and those behind, but she was so close to Leclerc, sometimes sandwiched between Fandar and
the Ferrari driver on the tighter turns.

“Where am I passing?” Osha asks.

“They just let him know you’re behind. You can pass on the next turn.”

Osha speeds up, finding an opening on the inside of the turn. She speeds up a little more going into
it, then Yord’s rear wheels come flying back into her vision.

There are no brake lights in F1.

She gasps, sucking in air sharply as she turns the wheel. She tries to avoid him, she really does, but
she’s flying in at two hundred miles per hour, and she rams into his rear, front tyre catching on his
back tyre. Her car nearly drives up and over his before tilting and completely flipping, and Osha’s
suddenly upside down, the full weight of the car under her, above her, spinning out on the track.

Sparks fly around her, and she can’t breathe, only sucking in hot air as the tip of her helmet grazes
the asphalt.

The car slams into something, the spinning stopping, and just as the smell of smoke reaches Osha’s
nose, everything goes dark.
 Get in
Chapter Notes

Sorry it's been a hot second since the last update! Hopefully this makes up for it <3

Playlist for the vibes: and away we go playlist

Qimir throws his headphones down and runs. Sol tries to stop him, some others from the pit crew
grab at his shirt, but he shoves them away, running full-out onto the track. He can see her car in the
wall on its side, just the bottom of it visible. His feet won’t move fast enough. His legs aren’t strong
enough to get to her.

The emergency crew are just ahead of him and he sees the flicker of a flame, a thine plume of
smoke rising from the car.

“Shit,” he says, somehow running even faster. They’re trying to extinguish the fire when he arrives.
They can’t figure out how to get her out, so he jumps up onto the tire wall, trying to find her in the
wreckage. He thinks he spots her sparkly red helmet, still inside the cockpit.

“Osha!” he yells. There’s no movement. The others start to move the tires out of the way,
dissembling the rubber wall so they can reach her. They continue to blow the extinguisher on the
fire, but it’s spreading fast.

Running out of options, Qimir climbs down into the smoke, wedging himself between the tire wall
and the top of Osha’s car. He reaches down and grabs her shoulder, shaking it as hard as he can.

“Osha!” he yells again, “We have to get you out!” He coughs, throwing his elbow over his face as
his lungs fill with smoke. But then, movement. Osha’s helmet moves and her hands reach out,
trying to figure out which way is up.

Qimir grasps her wrists tightly and pulls, adrenaline making it easy. Every ounce of him is in it,
pulling her thin frame from the wreckage and up to him. He hoists her up over him and other arms
reach down from the top of the tire wall to bring her to safety. He follows quickly, climbing up onto
the wall and sitting beside her, making sure she’s okay.

Osha removes her helmet and coughs. Her head is heavy and there’s smoke in her lungs. Unable to
hold herself up, she falls back, laying out flat on the tire wall.

People hover over her, but their faces are blurred. She squints and blinks, catching sight of dark
hair, her name on familiar lips. But she’s so tired.

“Help me get her to the ambulance,” someone says to Qimir, who’s in a daze. He jolts, realizing the
ambulance is on the track. He grabs Osha by her shoulders while others grab her legs, carefully
moving her down to the stretcher.
Once she’s there, he freezes, mind blank as they put her in the back of the ambulance with several
paramedics.

He’s never felt this way before, like he’d do anything for this other person. She was so small in his
arms, so vulnerable and fragile.

He’s gonna kill Yord.

“Where is he?” He starts to stomp along the track which is now filled with several groups of people
from Saber’s team and reps from FIA—the official governing body of the sport.

Qimir spots Yord down the track near his car, pacing as Sol and Jecki speak to him. Qimir brakes
into a run.

“You fucking did this!” he shouts. “You fucking brake in front of her!” He winds back his arm to
swing at him, but others are on him quickly, holding him back.

Sol comes into his sight. “The FIA is going to investigate, Qimir. It’s in their hands now,” he says
between his teeth. It’s a warning—don’t make a scene, don’t accuse a teammate.

“He did this on purpose,” Qimir says quietly. “You saw it. Everyone saw it.” He shakes off the ones
holding him back.

Yord’s eyes are dark, arms crossed over his chest, but he doesn’t say a word.

Qimir growls loudly before yelling, “Fuck!” and turning away from them. He takes the long walk
back to the pit, every step heavier the further away she gets.

~~~

“You know what they say Jay—the show must go on.”

“Indeed it must, Gary. While Saber just suffered two DNFs—Did Not Finish—they have a reserve
driver they’re bringing in to take Aniseya’s place while she’s recovering. A very interesting choice
too.”

“That’s right, Mr. Leo Pesci, heir to the fashion empire that includes brands such as Ploom, will be
sitting in a Saber seat in this upcoming race.”

“He was also the champion of the Formula Regional European Championship just two years ago.”

“Indeed. Some people believed he was done with racing, until he showed up with Aniseya in
Monaco.”

“And fans are already discussing the love triangle that seems to be forming between the three
drivers, and on top of an extremely important investigation into Fandar and Aniseya’s crash.”

“Oh, Jay, you’re such a softie.”

“Can’t help it Gary, I'm just a sucker for a good love story.”

“This is going to be an interesting couple of weeks coming up for the Saber team, Jay.”
“Sure is Gary, sure is.”

~~~

Osha enters the paddock at Zandvoort, the Dutch Grand Prix. She’s healthy now, smiling wide as
the cameras flash in front of her, getting a picture of her refreshed look. Her longer, thicker braids
are woven with Saber-red, and she knows she’s glowing—that’s what real rest does to you.

She’s had a lot of it over the past week. Qimir banned her from the simulator for the entirety of her
recovery time—which was only ten days, but it seemed like much longer. She had a concussion,
which is not unusual in the sport. Could’ve been much, much worse.

She missed just one race which she watched from far away, inside her newly furnished and
decorated apartment. It’s a colorful oasis, and she already misses it as she steps inside the Saber
home base for the weekend.

She arrives to applause from the team in there, which quickly escalates to hugs. Yord’s nowhere to
be found, of course, likely hiding out in limbo, knowing the FIA decision will drop at any moment
which will leave him either crawling back into his seat as now the most disliked driver on the track,
or will require him to pack his bags and drag his sorry ass home.

He’s facing a ban as a penalty. But if they determine that he purposefully brake-checked her, Osha
knows that will be the end of whatever friendship they had left. To brake in front of her, not even a
little bump, but fully, purposefully force her to crash into him so violently—it makes her feel as
though she never really knew him at all.

“Hey,” Qimir says, looking her over in the garage. His hand is on her shoulder firmly, not pulling
her into a hug like she wants.

“Hey,” she says back in an exhale. It’s been too long and she knows he’s been avoiding her. And he
knows that she knows he’s been avoiding her.

It’s not like him to throw everything down for someone else, to risk his life or his health to save
someone, or to freeze, completely struck still with worry and fear.

He watched the wreck footage again and again, comparing the stats he had on hand from both their
cars. He took notes and submitted several emails to the FIA to assist in their investigation. They
agreed to keep his assistance quiet.

And all the while, he worried—about her, about himself, about them.

He gestures to the briefing room. “We should talk.” Osha follows him inside. They’re alone inside
the cold, white room.

“You’ve been busy,” Osha says, crossing her arms in a protective manner.

He rubs his face in frustration. “Osha… There’s so much I’ve been needing to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?” There’s pain in her voice. She can’t help it.

He starts with the most important thing. “I knew you needed rest—real rest. I thought me being
around would be… unwise.”
Osha nods slowly. “Did you miss me, at least?”

A smile breaks on his face. “Miss you? Osha…” He steps closer, almost laughing. “I hate not being
around you. I had to work with this Pesci guy for over a week.” She seems to relax a little. “Of
course I missed you.” There’s still a little tension between them, as though they’ve forgotten how to
just be around each other.

“Well I missed you too,” Osha says quietly. It’s unlike her to be so sappy with someone.

A pause, then Qimir realizes he has something more to reveal.

“Sol wants you with Leo. He’s got this vision for you, this grand plan. He told me about it the night
before your wreck.”

She bristles. “And why hasn’t anyone filled me in on this ‘grand plan’?”

“I don’t know, but he was very clear about not wanting us seeing each other. He’s worried about
your reputation.”

“Is that why you didn’t even text me back?” Her arms fall to her sides and she faces him more
squarely.

He nods slowly. “There’s too much at risk, Osh.”

Osha’s mind races with this new reality. This is not how she thought this meeting would go.

“That’s not what I want,” she says.

He tilts his head, curious. “And what is it that you want, Osha? You want to sneak around with a
failed F2 driver who is now your race engineer? You wanna get caught doing so? Because that’s
inevitable.”

She shrugs. “You said it yourself. They’re waiting for me to fuck up. If that’s fucking up, then I
don’t care. If they’re gonna hate me for that, then I don’t care.”

“Osha…” He’s trying to resist, he really is. But she steps closer to him and his hand finds her face
before he can will himself to not touch her.

Osha bites her lip in a smile before saying, “Sneaking around sounds kind of fun actually.”

Qimir can’t help but smile back. “It’s, uh, for a good cause, right?”

She puzzles. “What do you mean?”

He slips his hand around her waist and pulls her close and she gasps a little at the sudden
movement, at being so close to him.

“I mean… Maybe I can give you a hand before you have to hop in the driver’s seat.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“Yeah. Safety reasons, of course.” They lean into each other more, lips so close to kissing, when
the door opens. They separate like shrapnel, Qimir facing away from Osha and covering his face
with his hand.

Lucky for them, the crew that entered wasn’t paying attention and now go straight to their seats for
the practice pre-brief. They both sit as though nothing happened, and Qimir starts to walk the
hallway of the Saber building in his mind, looking for places they can sneak away to. The
bathroom? Her locker room?

His phone buzzes and he takes it out of his pocket, finding a message from Osha. He gives her a
look across the table before opening it.

“After the briefing, meet me in my locker room.”

Locker room, it is.

~~~

As soon as he stumbles inside, careful to make sure no one sees him, Qimir’s tackled by Osha. It’s
been so long since they’ve kissed, and she is insatiable, nearly crawling up his muscled body, trying
to get closer, to devour him.

He can’t resist her now even if he wanted to. His hands grip her tightly around her waist, her back,
down to her ass where he takes a handful and squeezes. Osha rocks her hips on him in response and
he hums into her mouth.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he says roughly, a hardness growing between his legs. It presses
against his jeans and he reaches down to adjust himself, to move it somewhere more comfortable.

“Let me,” she breathes out, hands moving down.

“Osh—” He grabs her wrists and shakes his head. His jaw clenches. “If you do that, it’s gonna be a
problem.”

“Why?”

His mind races. Because it’ll make a mess. Because this isn’t about me. Because I might get carried
away.

“Let me take care of you,” he insists, fingers undoing her jeans as he kisses her again. His teeth
catch her bottom lip and she relaxes as he steps forward and she steps backward, her back pressing
into the wall.

She was going to argue. She wants to see it, at least. He was buried in Brigitte in the video, but she
knows he’s big, got little glimpses of it as he fucked the other girl.

But perhaps he wants to take this slow, wants to savor her. That thought alone arouses her. Not just
a fling.

Osha lets out a pitched moan as his fingers find her clit and her hands wrap around his nape,
pulling his face into her neck as she lets herself feel the pleasure beginning to build.

Qimir kisses her neck before saying, “I should be doing this for you every day. It’s what you
deserve.” His other hand grabs her breast over the fabric of her shirt and wishes he would just rip it
off.
But then he reaches down further, and she gasps as his fingers slip inside. “Oh, fuck,” she
whispers.

“That’s it, Osha.” He smiles, flashing his canines. “My princess is getting what she deserves.” It
sounds to Osha like he’s staking his claim on her. No matter what the world thinks—she’s his
princess. It thrills her, makes her feel wanted, and maybe more.

He starts to pump his fingers inside her and watches her closely as he does it. Her lips are parted
into a pretty “o” shape and her eyes are filled with so much want, so much hunger.

“That’s right, Osh. Look how pretty you are.” He kisses her again, slowly, then says into her mouth
with his jaw clenched, “I want you to come for me Osha. Come on. Come on and come for me.” A
demand.

His hair falls in his face, darkening his gaze on her, and he gently bites at her lip before saying
again, “Come on. Just a little further. Just for me.”

Osha lets the dam break, gives into it wholly and suddenly. Qimir’s other hand covers her mouth as
she comes and she moans into his fingers.

“That’s a good girl,” he chuckles. “Fuck, I really enjoyed that.”

Her body relaxes a little and she breathes heavily, wishing she could return the favor. Qimir then
places his hands on either side of her, braced on the wall. He looks down at her with a dark
expression, jaw tight.

“You sure I can’t help you out?” she asks, hands pulling at his shirt.

He breathes out sharply. “Maybe next time.”

Qimir’s surprised that no one catches him as he exits the locker room. It was too easy, really. They
could do this every time before she has to get in the car and he could make up some lame excuse if
he is caught. Most people wouldn’t bat an eye anyway.

Sol’s the real problem.

His phone buzzes and he checks it. The FIA decision has dropped.

As he enters the garage, the energy falls, everyone having read the news at the same time. People
shake their heads solemnly, some are angry, some curse quietly.

The only two people not visibly upset are Qimir and Leo, but for entirely different reasons of
course.

“Pesci!” Sol calls from the entry to the briefing room. “Get changed. As expected, you’re taking
Yord’s place.”

“Fuck yeah,” he answers, passing Qimir and giving him a smile. Qimir’s mood sours instantly.

The garage is noisy with everyone moving about, getting Yord’s car adapted for the new driver.

Qimir only speaks loud enough for Sol to hear him when he asks, “This a part of the grand plan?
Get two drivers on the same team that are dating?” Sol’s jaw tenses, and Qimir realizes something.
“Oh… You encouraged it, didn’t you? You wanted Yord and Osha to be an item.”

“We’ve had to adapt a bit, but I think this will work.”

“We? Fuck no. I’m not a part of this.” He walks away from the older man, fuming.

Back inside, Osha steps out of her locker room and reads the news again, the same part over and
over.

“...ban for the rest of the season.”

Yord is essentially banned from the sport. Very few teams would ever consider signing him after
what he did.

“Hey, Aniseya,” Leo says as he approaches her. “Looks like we’re teammates now.” He winks and
flashes a smile.

She considers the handsome blond Italian for a moment, trying to figure him out. Their date was
kind of boring, but she was distracted most of the time with Qimir hovering nearby. She didn’t
really even give him a chance.

“And I guess this is my locker room now?” He gestures to the room next to Osha's.

“Yeah, uh—”

“Ya know, red’s not really my color, but it sure does suit you.” His eyes trail down her body and she
shakes her head.

“I’m not sure what Sol told you, Leo, but I’m not interested in being more than simply teammates.
Especially after everything that happened with the last one.”

He squints, biting his lip before saying, “We’ll see about that.” He then disappears into his locker
room, leaving Osha feeling odd. The confidence is attractive. He thinks he’s actually got a chance
with her, and maybe he has some moves she hasn’t seen yet, but Osha’s in this situationship with
Qimir, and she wants to see where that’s going.

Hopefully somewhere good. Hopefully somewhere that won’t get her into trouble.

~~~

They work well together, she has to admit. Better than she and Yord had even when they were
getting along, even better than when they were sleeping together.

Pesci makes room for her, anticipates her progress on the track well before he needs to, and, best of
all, he seems to enjoy being second on the team. He always congratulates her with zero animosity
in his expression. It’s refreshing compared to what she had with Yord.

She thinks about this as she stares at him from across the briefing room, still trying to figure him
out.

“It’s been an extremely productive weekend, everyone,” Sol says, clasping his hands together.
“Congratulations again to Osha for finishing in sixth place—well-deserved after your accident.
Excellent work.”
The room applauds her and Qimir firmly grasps her shoulder before patting her on the back.

Sol continues, “And congratulations to our new driver who managed tenth, managing to snag a
point. You should be proud.”

A weaker but still enthusiastic applause for Leo, who is beaming in his seat.

“We want to keep progressing like this,” Sol says more seriously.

They run through the strategies they employed over the weekend, assess what they could do better,
and discuss any issues they had with the cars.

“I want to speak with just Osha and Leo for a moment,” Sol says, side-eyeing Qimir, who sits in his
seat, not going anywhere as everyone else begins to filter out. “Qimir?” he asks.

Qimir shakes his head. “She’s my driver, I think it’s important that I know what this is about.”

Sol rolls his tongue in his cheek, thinking, then nods slowly. “Alright then.” He turns his attention
to the two drivers. “Press strategy. Both of your agents have already signed off on it. We’re going to
market the two of you as a relationship—partners. A duo, dyad, whatever they’re calling it these
days. A team in more ways than one.”

Osha looks to Qimir instinctively, but he’s staring at Sol—seething, really.

“That’s great,” Leo says. “That’ll be fun. It’ll give us some time to get to know each other better.”

Sol taps his phone. “We’ve booked a day charter back in Monaco, just for the two of you. It’ll
certainly cause a big buzz online.”

“A boat?” Osha almost laughs. It’s unreal. No, it’s absurd. She’s a racecar driver, not a celebrity
influencer Instagram model. She looks at Qimir. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? No one’s going to believe
we’re actually dating when we aren’t.”

“Well we could be,” Leo adds.

“You should do it,” Qimir says, not looking at her. “Like Leo said, it’ll be fun. You barely get out
as it is.”

“Great. I was hoping we’d all be on the same page,” Sol says.

“Wait, but—” Osha starts to protest, but Qimir clutches her shoulder.

“It’s good, Osh.” She looks at him and he nods, eyes reassuring her that he’s okay with this. But
she’s confused. How could he be okay with it? He said they were more than just a fling. He wants
to keep seeing her behind Sol’s back. How can he—

Oh , she thinks. It’s the perfect distraction. Everyone will be looking at her and Leo and not at her
and Qimir.

“Okay,” she finally says, nodding back at Qimir. “So when is this charter?”

~~~
Days later, back in Monaco, Osha texts Qimir before she’s supposed to meet Leo downstairs. It’s a
grand affair, what they’ve put together. Leo Pesci picks up the F1 Princess at her apartment, drives
her to the marina in his red Ferrari, then escorts her onto a massive yacht they’ve chartered for the
day. Just for them.

Well, them, Osha’s social media manager, her agent, Leo’s agent, a representative from Saber, and a
twenty-person crew. Osha’s used to being passed around within large swaths of people—suits,
money people, brand people.

But she’s just a driver—an adrenaline junkie that sometimes remembers she’s just a bag of meat
and loses her nerve. She’s not special. She’s not worth all this fanfare, all these eyes watching her.

“ I don’t know what they expect me to do ,” she texts Qimir. “ I’m not an actress .”

“ Just be yourself .”

She rolls her eyes. “ Being myself wouldn’t be going on a boat with Leo. I should be hanging out
with you .”

“ We see each other all the time .”

Osha doesn’t like that response. She doesn’t like that one bit. “ Fine ,” she replies. “ I guess I’ll try
to enjoy the unlimited alcohol .”

“ You should .”

Osha frowns. “ I guess I should wear a red suit since that’s Leo’s favorite color .”

Qimir stares at the message. He’s in his apartment, leaning over the balcony that overlooks the
marina. He doesn’t like any of this, but he knows it’s good for her image. It’s the right kind of
momentum to keep her in the press and keep getting brand deals. All the jewelry she’ll be wearing
today is sponsored. Her bag, her shoes, her sunglasses, a silly wide-brimmed hat that she’s
promised she’d wear for at least an hour—it’ll all turn into money for her and for the team.

“ You look great in red ,” he responds. He doesn’t need to distract her. But then she sends a picture
of herself in the mirror, wearing the tiniest red bikini he’s ever seen. It’s also more of Osha than
he’s ever seen before, and he’s thankful she at least showed him first before she showed the world.

He simply responds, “ Perfect .”

~~~

Osha lays on the bow, in just her bikini and all her required accessories. She tries to strike a decent
pose for all the onlookers, mostly on other nearby boats as they pull out of the marina. A few
smaller boats are loading up with paparazzis to follow them. A catamaran of partiers is also looking
to follow in their wake, snapping pictures on their phones.

It’s all just noise. She’d rather be on the track. But she takes another sip of her Aperol Spritz and
finally feels the effect of alcohol wash over her.

“Mm!” she says. “This is good.”

Leo raises his glass next to her, also drinking a Spritz. “To teammates,” he says.
Osha narrows her eyes at him behind her sunglasses. “To teammates.” They clink. She hasn’t been
able to figure him out yet, and she suspects he wants his time in the spotlight, as any of them do.
But drivers are a strange breed. They’re not really in it for the fame—they like to go fast. They like
to win.

The fame isn’t really worth the danger, but winning is. The adrenaline is. And Leo is a racer, just
like her. So maybe she judged him too harshly on the first meeting.

They start to discuss the weather, their favorite drinks, favorite tracks to race, most boring tracks to
race, and Osha slowly forgets all about what they’re there for.

“But Monza is fun!” he argues.

“You just say that because you’re Italian.”

“I don’t get how you love Singapore—I almost died in that heat.”

Osha smiles. “I do well in hot weather, whereas others don’t.”

“Hm…” Leo thinks about that, then adds, “Wasn’t Singapore where you ran De La Cruz off the
track?”

“That was an accident,” Osha responds on instinct. “The FIA ruled that—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. An ‘accident.’ Everyone knows the FIA was simply protecting the only female
driver they’ve had in years.”

Osha’s stomach suddenly feels hollow. She had seen the posts online, the “conspiracy theories,” she
had always called them.

“Do… Do other drivers say that about me?” She’s hurt. She never thought that would be the case.

“Hey, don’t let it bother you. People like you, Osha. Everyone’s intentionally done it at least once.
You get hot-headed going that fast. The road rage is on a different level.”

“I need to eat something.”

Suddenly there’s a woman in front of them, setting down a plate filled with cheeses and meats and
breads.

“Oh thank god,” Osha says, grabbing a piece of salami.

“You know you’re different than I thought you’d be,” Leo says.

“Yeah?” Osha stuffs her face with cheese, then suddenly remembers people are snapping pictures.
She tries to compose herself.

Leo chuckles. “You’re very real. Not like the Grid Girls that follow around the drivers like
groupies. Or a privileged daughter of some famous racer. You earned it. And you clearly love it.”

Osha smiles shyly. “Thank you, Leo.” It was the most perfect thing he could’ve said.

Her phone buzzes, and she reaches down to find Qimir’s sent a text. “ Getting friendly with Leo? ”
She puzzles. “ Are you watching us? ” She looks over her shoulder at the Monaco skyline. A
mixture of social media and the view from his apartment is likely enough for him to see what’s
going on.

“Just making sure things go smoothly.”

Right . All business, again. “You know, I think I’m gonna sunbathe a bit while we’re here. The
weather’s perfect for it.” She reached behind, undoing her top, but covering her breasts so she
doesn’t flash a nipple.

“Do you, uh, need me to help you with sun block?”

“Oh, I put some on when—I mean, yeah. Could you?” Might as well go for it, really rub it in—
literally. The only person she currently wants any attention from is Qimir, and since she knows he’s
watching, she wants to see how far she can push him out of the bounds of professionalism. She
wants him to break.

Leo asks one of the crew for some sun block—such a gentleman, this one. Then he proceeds to
apply it to her back, taking care not to touch her anywhere inappropriate. Again, such a gentleman,
she never would’ve expected it.

Her phone buzzes and she initially ignores it, wanting to seem like she doesn’t care what he has to
say—wanting to seem like she’s enjoying herself far too much to care. But her heart races with
anticipation.

“I think I got the important bits,” Leo says, wiping his hands on a nearby towel.

“Thanks!” Osha scrambles to grab her phone. It vibrates again as she unlocks it.

“ Make sure to get the backs of your legs .” Then he adds, “ Glad to see you’re truly relaxing .”

Osha squints and frowns before responding with a rolling eyes emoji. Fine. She’ll just have to get
creative.

“You should get the backs of my legs too,” she says to Leo. She looks at him, forcing a flirtatious
smile, and he cocks his head at her, confused.

“That’s a bit much, isn’t it?” he asks.

“We’re supposed to be dating, right? This is what people do when they date.” She swallows down a
pang of guilt as Leo hesitantly moves to her again, putting more sun block on his hands.

She takes a deep breath as he starts to touch her, laying her head down over her crossed arms. Osha
likes being touched. She likes being able to relax under someone’s hands, not needing to take
control, just feeling good. And perhaps she’s too horny, too needy. She has too many wants, she’s
impatient, and everything she wants or needs—she needs it now .

It’s the driver in her. She’ll go as fast as she can to get what she wants.

Which is why, just for a moment, she enjoys the way Leo touches her. She enjoys how he starts to
massage the sun block into her thighs, and how he moves up, just cupping her ass lightly, hesitant
to rub the block directly on her ass. Her bikini doesn’t cover much of that area.
Her phone buzzes, and at first she forgets who it could be. Qimir was all business anyway. He’s
probably just telling her that she’s doing well and social media is buzzing with these semi-
scandalous pictures.

But then she looks at the message, and it’s from Sol.

“ You’re doing great. ”

Osha swallows a lump in her throat, all of a sudden not really liking praise from her lifelong
mentor. She hangs her head and sighs.

“You good?” Leo asks, sitting back again.

“Yeah, I’m just… I’m fine.”

Qimir doesn’t text her again, and she worries that she’s really screwed up. Maybe it was too much.
Maybe she hurt his feelings.

But she was just doing what he told her to do, right? No. That was her choice, and she knows it.

When they’re back at her apartment, Osha climbs out of Leo’s car, thanking him for the ride, then
makes her way to the door of the apartment building. It’s gated, of course, just her and members of
her team having a way to access the grounds and the Porte Cochere. The high fences and shrubbery
block any paps or onlookers.

She hears Leo’s sportscar speed away, then hears another right behind it, pulling into the Porte
Cochere soon after. She turns, curious.

What she finds there is not what she was expecting at all.

A tiny Ford Fiesta, clearly modified with a spoiler, sports wheels, and a custom matte black paint
job sits in front of her. Red, shiny racing stripes on the sides. A man steps out of the driver’s seat.

“What the fuck?” she says slowly, looking him over. He’s wearing a black tee, black jeans, and
black sunglasses, all in contrast to his bright white smile.

“Get in,” Qimir says.

“What? But I’m—”

“You’re coming with me tonight.”

Osha exhales sharply, not believing his audacity. Maybe she made him a little jealous after all.

“What if someone sees us?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Where we’re going, everyone’s pretty… discreet.”

She hesitates, wanting to get out of this swimsuit and the jeans and tee as well, all sweaty and salty
from the sun and sea air. But this seems like an offer she can’t refuse—a lifeline. A way for both of
them to get what they want.

She narrows her eyes at him, then opens the passenger side door.
 You know you like it
Chapter Notes

LET'S GOOOOO! I had such a fun time writing this chapter. I hope you enjoy <333

Playlist for the vibes: and away we go playlist

Osha fastens her seatbelt, not used to being in such a small car, one that’s clearly got a modified
engine. It revs, almost growling, dangerously fast while taking the corners in Monaco. She grips the
handle in the door, then realizes the interior is also modified with racing bucket seats and the screen
where the GPS should be instead shows what appear to be stats from the car—in real time. Music
plays on the stereo, ambient electronica. It pulses through the car as though the entire thing is one
huge speaker.

“What the fuck?” Osha asks, looking at all the bells and whistles. She thought she knew him.
Maybe she was only seeing the tip of the iceberg.

Qimir reaches over to make sure she’s clipped in, not taking his eyes off the road as he says, “I
thought you’d want a reprieve from having to fake it all day.”

She frowns. “I didn’t fake anything.”

“Oh really?” He speeds up, going well-over the speed limit on the dark, straight road.

“Qimir…” she says in warning. “If we get pulled over—”

“Relax, Osh.” He flashes her a smile. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Osha gulps. Of course she does. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I can let off a little steam.” He shifts, pressing the car into a higher gear and speeding
up even more.

They fly by the yellow lights in the dark, the streets mostly empty at this time of night in this
neighborhood. And for some reason, Osha’s on edge. She’s heard of the illegal street racing in
Monaco, always jealous of the freedom those people took for themselves. They were less
privileged than those like her who were able to start with karting, a good mentor, and enough talent
and money to gradually rise to the next level.

But Qimir came from an engineering background—or so she thought. That’s what Sol had told her.

“Qimir… What did you do before you were in pit crew? Sol said you got your engineering
degree?”

He nods. “I did. But I guess you don’t know how I got a job in a Formula series pit crew.” He shifts
down as they approach a car, then whips around them quickly, shifting up again to regain speed.
“Someone found me way back then, while I was racing.”

“Street racing?”

“Yeah.” He slows down as they pass some cars parked in a lot, checking for the authorities. “This
woman… she’d been watching me, apparently, had been coming to a few of the races where I’d
won. She saw how I had modified my own car—different car than I have now. My Bluebell is still
back in the States.” Another car in front of them, which Qimir quickly passes. The car rumbles,
almost as if it’s humming in agreement. “But this woman—she offered me the job in the pit at
Ferrari, told me I could work my way up if I kept my head on straight and out of trouble.”

“And what is this exactly? Isn’t this trouble?”

“Well, it was a long time ago. And I’m no longer a Formula driver, am I?”

Osha bites her tongue as they approach a tall garage near a building that’s currently under
construction. It’s mostly empty, with just construction equipment stored on the first level.

They drive up, up, and up, to the fourth level, a few few still from the top, where they find more
cars. More Fiestas next to Honda Civics, Cameros, and Suburus, all modified, some with spoilers,
others with colorful lights that shine on the asphalt—all engines revving, showing off their internal
modifications, what lies beneath the hood. They flaunt their power as Qimir approaches, and as if
he’s done this hundreds of times prior, Qimir answers it with his own revving.

People yell and clap and Osha realizes that it's more than just a race—it’s a party. Music plays,
people dance, yell, and greet each other. Qimir pulls into a spot near the middle of the pack.

“So you’re really doing this? You’re gonna race?” Osha asks.

“ We , Osh. You and me.”

Osha pales. A Formula One car is one thing. In that car, she basically sits inside a 6mm carbon
fiber shell—aptly named the “survival cell”—fortified by a layer of bulletproof Kevlar. Not to
mention the extra safety precautions in F1 such as her helmet, the fireproof layers, the rubber tire
walls, and the safety car.

Compared to an F1 car, this thing might as well be comprised of paper, cardboard, and duct tape.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be with me. I’ve done this route many times—never got a scratch on the
Rumbler.”

“That’s what you call this thing?”

Qimir leans over to her, pats her on the thigh, and winks. “Come on, the people are great.”

As soon as Osha steps out of the Rumbler, she’s swarmed by bodies. At first, she shrinks away,
worried that they’ll try to get her autograph, take pictures, or touch her inappropriately. But then
there’s an unopened can of something in her hand and a young woman smiles at her, her piercings
catching the light, emphasizing her bright purple lipstick.

The others are actually surrounding Qimir, not Osha, and she instantly feels a little odd without all
the attention on her. Osha’s still wearing her red suit with a thin white cover. It hangs casually,
exposing a shoulder, cascading down to her torn jean shorts. Oddly enough, her look works here.
The guys wear leather racing jackets, the girls wear the same but with flashy, colorful attire
underneath. Lots of skin showing, of course. It is the middle of the summer.

But this woman in front of her—she’s like, really fucking pretty. Her short black hair silky,
brushing over her shoulders. Her smile is infectious. She’s wearing a purple bralette under her
racing jacket and a black skirt. Her motorcycle boots add a nice masculine touch to the fit.

“Hi, um…” Osha looks down at the can in her hand.

“It’s just hard seltzer,” the woman explains in a lilting Italian accent, “You looked a little frazzled. I
figured this would take the edge off.”

“Thanks,” Osha responds, cracking open the can.

“I go by Iris. You should choose a name too—an alias.”

Osha looks around nervously, and Qimir gives her an approving smile from the other side of the
car. She’s in his world now. Well, when in Rome…

“Red,” Osha blurts out. “You can call me Red.” Then she winces and leans in closer to the woman.
“Is that stupid?”

Iris shakes her head. “No, it suits you.” She nods towards Qimir. “He goes by the Stranger.”

Osha laughs a little and takes a sip of the hard seltzer before saying, “Of course he does.”

“Hey Osh…” Qimir approaches them, holding a can of something. Osha panics, an involuntary
reaction, grabbing his wrist and holding it up to the light. Then she finds that it’s just soda water in
his hand, and she sighs in relief.

Qimir leans into her. “I’m not reckless. Besides, I got precious cargo tonight.” He throws his arm
around her casually, and Osha almost flinches, but then remembers that it doesn't matter here.
These people will keep their secret, or they won't care at all.

Osha smiles shyly at his warmth, hiding it in another sip. Iris was right—she needed this, to take
the edge off. They chat in a group with some others, mostly about the cars, a little bit about a rally
car race a few of them were involved in recently.

These people are not F1 fans, she quickly discovers. That doesn’t mean they don’t know who she
is. Some of them can’t hide their excitement when she speaks up. But they’re not clamoring for
anything from her, not asking her about racing. They use her alias and she uses theirs, and it feels
comfortable, being able to just hang and be normal with normal people. (Maybe not entirely
normal, given that they’re also adrenaline junkies who sacrifice their safety for winning, but close
enough).

Qimir watches Osha closely, but tries not to seem too concerned. This was a risk—a big one. One
he wasn’t going to take until they had progressed a little further.

Although he’s not entirely sure what that would look like, in the near or far future. Sex is one thing.
But it’s hard to be committed to a long term relationship when you’re sneaking around and one of
you is faking another relationship entirely.
But when he saw her on that boat with Leo, who clearly likes her—and why wouldn’t he? She’s
easy to like, to adore, maybe even to—

“Let’s go!” someone shouts in the crowd. The place practically buzzes, the concrete vibrating under
their feet as everyone scrambles, preparing for the race. People yell, hoot and holler, and Qimir
looks at Osha, who’s feet are fixed to the ground as she watches Iris run off towards her glittery
purple Nissan.

“Red?” he says, using her alias.

She looks at him, mouth slightly ajar. “What’s happening?”

“We’re racing.” He opens the passenger door for her. “Come on. You’re co-driving.”

Osha gives him a look, exasperated, but she climbs in, silently convincing herself that it’s going to
be fine—Qimir’s an excellent driver. Right?

“Why are we in the middle of the grid?” she asks as they get the car into position. There are cars
starting ahead of them, and some behind.

“This isn’t F1, Osh. Rules are: whoever wins last has to start mid-grid. The winners have to prove
they can still take the front.”

“So who starts in the front?” At this point, she’s just asking to distract herself because her heart is
literally starting to beat out of her chest.

“A mixture of those who took up the middle and the rear.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

He chuckles. “That’s precisely the point.”

“What? Because life isn’t fair? Is that the point?”

Qimir shifts the car into gear and revs the engine. A woman steps out into the middle of the grid
and holds her hand high in the air.

“No,” he answers, eyes focused on the woman, wide and wild. “Because it's fun.”

The woman throws her arm down and the cars take off. Osha’s back sinks into the bucket seat,
hands bracing themselves on the console and the door. Her eyes widen as they immediately gain
positions, speeding past several cars, maneuvering their way to the front.

The Rumbler takes corners well, squeezing tight between the wall and nearby cars. And Osha now
realizes why it’s called “The Rumbler”—because it rumbles, duh.

“Keep an eye on the blue Camaro,” Qimir says, glancing in his rearview mirror. “He’s a bit of an
ass.”

Osha turns to see the Camaro. It weaves through traffic, then brakes suddenly, causing a few cars to
make emergency turns off the route. Ass, indeed.
“Who is he?” she asks. “Everyone seemed really nice—shit!” A car flies by them and Qimir
narrowly avoids a collision. But he’s calm and cool, hands firmly on the wheel, no signs of shock at
all.

“His alias is Benji. He’s raced in the Cannonball Run the last few years.”

“The illegal one?”

“I don’t think there’s another,” Qimir says as he yanks the wheel, nearly lifting the right wheels of
the Rumbler into the air. He breathes out sharply and shifts gears. “Benji’s actually a nice guy, Osh.
He’s just an ass when he gets behind the wheel.”

Someone’s tires spin out next to them, the high-pitched noise reverberating in the concrete
building. The sickly-yellow lights flash by as they make their way through the garage.

“They’re racing dirty tonight,” Qimir says, delight and excitement in his voice. I think they’re
trying to show off.”

“Why?”

He quickly glances at her before looking ahead again. “Because of you, of course.”

Osha looks to her right, where a bright orange Honda Civic is getting precariously close to them. A
rough-looking, dark-skinned man, possibly Italian, has the window rolled down, smiling at her with
a glint in his eye, a tattoo of a checkered flag on his forearm that grips the steering wheel.

As per usual, Osha was clueless. She always thinks people are more excited to see anyone but her.
She didn’t realize that about herself until this moment. It’s the second time he’s pointed this out to
her—why is she always so oblivious?

She spots the blue Camaro in the mirror, gaining fast, hot on their tail. “Blue Camaro, five
seconds.”

“We’re not going the same speed as the F1 cars, how can you even—”

“I just know, okay?” Osha responds roughly, watching the Camaro gain. “Two point—”

Qimir kicks the car into a higher gear as they reach the roof of the garage. A longer straightaway
now, racing to the other side of the roof so they can continue the race back down on the other end.

Here, the Rumbler gains only because some of the cars behind them block the Camaro, their speed
not as good on a straight as they were heading up the sharp turns.

The margins are slim though. It’s not certain just yet. The only thing Osha’s positive about is that
someone’s going to crash before it’s all over and done with.

She starts to curse silently, almost like praying—more like panicking.

“You doing alright, Red?” Qimir asks, flashing that mischievous smile of his. It makes Osha feel
better and worse at the same time.

“I’m hanging in there, Stranger . What kind of name is that anyway?”

“One I gave myself when I was maybe seventeen. It was a different world, a different life. But the
name stuck.”

Osha catches blue in the mirror again and swallows hard. “Six seconds,” she says.

Qimir comes around a corner and shifts gears, breaking suddenly, causing them to drift around the
concrete wall. Osha braces herself, fingers splayed on the window, her other hand on the back of
Qimir’s seat.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

Qimir hollars in excitement, amused, delighted, almost tickled, shifting the car again. It shakes side
to side after the drift before they take off again.

“Come on, Osha, you know you like it!”

Osha groans in response as they slow just a little, taking the next turn more safely by Osha’s
standards—and that’s coming from someone who takes corners at at least three times their current
speed. Just in a bulletproof cage rather than what they’re currently in. She tries to imagine that
they're in something safer, that’s not meant to crumple on impact.

“You like speed, Osha, don’t you? Or maybe it’s the winning? Must not be the danger, because you
seem a bit scared right now.”

Osha clenches her jaw, teeth grinding together. She’s braver than this. The memory of their moment
on the grid, when he first said something completely honest to her, comes flowing back.

“Don’t be scared.”

I’m not scared , she says in her head, knowing it’s useless.

Qimir’s crash rushes back to her. The smoke, the fire, the wheel that flew off the car, tumbling
through the air at over a hundred miles per hour. It almost hit her. She almost lost control of the car.
She almost—

A flash of blue. “The Camaro—on your right,” she says, snapping out of it. There’s no time to get
sucked into fear. And yet, her mind teases the memory. Always on the edge of death.

“How far?” Qimir asks.

But before Osha can answer, Benji has passed them on the straight, forcing Qimir to take the
outside of the next turn.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Osha says.

“Don’t be.”

Osha glances at him and Qimir’s wearing a full smile, beaming, clearly planning to overtake as
soon as he can. It makes Osha’s chest swell. She’s never seen him like this before. It reminds her
of… well, of herself.

Then, just as she was starting to appreciate this for what it really is, brake lights in front of them
cause the entire cabin to light up, both of them bathed in that deep red light. At first, Osha’s certain
they’ve crashed into Benji’s Camaro. She braces for impact, for the airbags to deploy—Fuck, she
really hopes Qimir didn’t take the airbags out to put in some fancy gear like she knows so many of
them do.

That thought lasts only a split second until something else eases its way in, flooding her senses,
completely illogical, totally absurd—it’s going to happen again. What happened with Yord is going
to happen again, except this time, Qimir is with her, and she can’t do anything to protect him. It
sinks into her gut, the helplessness. She doesn’t want to lose him.

But they don’t crash, Qimir expertly avoiding Benji’s asshole move.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Qimir says, pulling away from the Camaro. It was too close for comfort.
Normally, he’d push ahead, but he’s not going to take a chance with her here. He looks at Osha
quickly and places his hand on hers on the console. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, fingers
almost white, gripping the edge of the console too hard.

Osha swallows, shaking off the memory and the feeling of helplessness. It had completely invaded
her mind when she thought they got too close. She hadn’t had this issue in the last race.

Her heart beats hard in her chest and stomach. She suddenly feels extremely hungry, and like she
really needs another drink.

They cross the finish line, passing the woman from before waving a checkered flag, and Qimir
slows, pulling into a parking space at the end of the row. He turns to her, sensing that something’s
wrong.

“Hey,” he says, unbuckling himself and her quickly. “You okay? Talk to me.”

Osha relaxes a little, remembering she’s in a safe place. “Yeah, I—That was insane.” She smiles,
coming down from it all. The adrenaline finally stops releasing.

Qimir touches her face, holding it to the light. He’s not an idiot. He knows she gets scared
sometimes. He just never thought this would trigger it.

“More fun than a charter yacht?” he asks, watching her closely, hoping that teasing her will lighten
her mood a little.

Osha yanks away from him in a huff. “I need a drink.”

“You need to relax and let someone else drive,” he responds quietly. His way of telling her she’s
safe with him, but it didn’t come out right.

Osha rolls her eyes and opens the door, climbing out of the car. She can hear Qimir also exit the car
but she doesn’t look back, heading straight towards the cooler in Iris’ parking spot.

Qimir lets her go, knowing she needs to cool off. He pushed it, sure, but it wasn’t entirely his fault
that she had that reaction. That was Benji, being an asshole, as per usual. But he watches her as she
takes a can out of the cooler and chats with Iris and some of the others, celebrating at the finish
line.

“You know… that’s the first time the Stranger hasn’t won on this route,” Iris says to Osha after they
clink cans of hard seltzer.
Osha takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I assumed as much.”

Osha learns from Iris that Qimir only races with them on certain routes, and for most of the ones he
attends, he wins. They haven’t seen him in six months at least, and Osha surmises that’s because he
was attending to her every need.

Her knight. His princess.

She starts to relax, remembering why he brought her here—to show her this other side of him, to
share something real, to remind her she’s not just a fling.

Osha’s just so stubborn. And perhaps a little selfish. She starts to see the bigger picture once Iris
goes on and on about how long they’ve all been racing there. Qimir is still newer to the crew
compared to the rest, but they all like him. Apparently he refuses cash winnings and never
participates in bets.

Instead, he prefers winning parts or a hand to help him on his car for the day.

“So what did Benji win?” Osha asks, mind unable to completely grasp this entire setup.

Iris laughs. “That fucker just won ten thousand Euros.” Osha’s brows raise and Iris leans in. “I
know that’s nothing to you, but to many of us…”

“No, that’s… That’s a lot.” She means it. It’s maybe a third of what she got paid from the brands
for her little outing today but, if she’s honest, she doesn’t even know what to do with all that
money. It all goes into an account, or maybe several, overseen by a bunch of people that she meets
with quarterly.

But she remembers what it was like before—back when she couldn’t just spend what she wanted
whenever she wanted. It’s a sobering reminder of how far she’s come, and a reminder that she
progressed further than Qimir did—and that she’s responsible for how that played out.

She finds herself moving towards him when there’s a break in the conversation. He’s got a beer in
his hand, something bottled with a hip label. He’s done so much for her in such a short amount of
time. And here he is, still showing her parts of the world and parts of herself that she forgot existed.
The least she can do is thank him.

So of course, when she gets closer to him, and he licks his lips, smiling a little, just enough to make
her smile as well, Osha throws her arms over his shoulders and goes in for a kiss. Qimir
immediately wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer before their lips come together.

The crowd around them hoots and hollers, and Osha doesn’t care if they see. Not because they’re
nobodies. But because they are precisely the ones that should know.

And Qimir warms under this sudden kiss. Because who cares that he didn’t win the race when he
has her . He revels in it. Enjoys it. Maybe he even shows off a little by cradling her neck and
dipping her down. Their audience loves it.

When they disconnect, he bites his lip shyly. “That was unexpected. I thought you were mad at
me.”
The crowd around them starts to lose interest. They dissipate into their own circles of conversation,
but Osha wants to be alone with Qimir—truly alone.

“Can we go somewhere else? Just us?” she asks him, face falling into a serious expression.

Qimir can feel the heat between them, but he also catches the weight of what she’s saying. Things
unsaid that need to be said.

“Hey Iris!” he yells to the short brunette. She turns her head, expectant. “Thanks for looking after
Red. We’re heading out.” The girl then nods to him and winks at Osha, which causes her to flush.

Qimir catches it—the way she shivers at the mild flirting. The jealousy he felt earlier starts to fall
away, hanging on by just a thread. This woman beside him, now sitting in the passenger seat next to
him, just wants to be seen, touched, and turned on. She wants to feel, wants to give in, wants to
take a risk and do something insane.

She just needs a little push. The racing was proof of that. Just a little push, a little excitement,
maybe a little fear, and she’s turned on, all the way up to eleven.

He drives them up, to the top of the garage. Osha doesn’t say a word. It’s the perfect spot, in theory.
Nothing for miles in either direction. It’s dark, very few of the lights work up here. And when Osha
steps out of the car, she’s hit with a warm ocean breeze. They must be closer to the water than she
suspected.

But when she looks out over the view, all she sees is darkness. Some lights punctuate the black, in
yellows and oranges. There’s a stillness about a place like this that makes her shiver. Not because
it’s scary, but because it’s so quiet. The world seems to pause here, sleeping, waiting, anticipating
movement and noise.

Osha wraps her arms around herself and rubs her shoulders with her hands, which are soon covered
by Qimir’s, who’s come up from behind her. He then wraps his arms around her and rests his head
against her before kissing her cheek, close to her ear.

“You can say it now, you know.”

“Say what?” she asks, having an idea of what he means.

“That this was more fun than a chartered yacht.”

She snorts, but places her hands on his arms, relaxing against him. “Yeah. It was.” She soaks up the
silence, taking it all in, then adds, “You really don’t need to worry about Leo. He’s actually really
nice.”

“That’s exactly why I worry,” he says through gritted teeth. He lightly yanks one of her arms,
spinning her around to face him. He then walks backward, head tilting as he leans back on the hood
of the Rumbler.

Osha studies his expression—eyes squinting, lips pursed in a frown. He really is worried. So Osha
gets close to him, between his legs, and his arms naturally wrap around her, fingers tucking into the
back pockets of her shorts. He holds her there, looking up at her with the same expression, his
fingers ultimately dipping into her pockets and squeezing her ass lightly.
“You’re jealous,” she says.

“I am.”

Osha looks this way and that, making certain they’re really alone. There’s the steady thrum of a
bass as the party downstairs turns up. But otherwise…

Osha moves her hands from his shoulders down to his lap, fingers working quickly on the button of
his black jeans.

“Osha…” he says in warning, but he doesn’t stop her. His hands rest behind him on the hood of the
car, giving her easier access. “You sure you want to—”

“Shut up,” she says. Of course she’s sure. He’s been so selfish, keeping it to himself.

“Alright,” he says, relaxing. He didn’t expect this, but if he’s honest with himself, he needs it. He
needs to see that she wants him as much as he wants her. The little demons inside him keep telling
him he’s not good enough for her. But if she were to get on her knees for him…

Osha does just that, and Qimir flinches, knowing that can’t be comfortable—her bare knees on the
rough concrete. But when he looks down at her, she’s only focused on him, tugging at his pants and
then the elastic band of his underwear.

“You want it that bad?” he asks, almost purring as she wraps her hand around his length and
releases it from behind the fabric.

Osha’s done this plenty of times, moving on instinct, but at the sight of him in her hand, she freezes
for a second. It’s not just that he’s surprisingly big—and honestly, she should have expected it
given his reputation with the ladies—but no. The thing that takes her breath away is how Qimir
reacts to being touched like this.

His fingers grip the edge of the hood, his hips flinch towards her, wanting to rock himself into her
hand or mouth, probably both. She can practically feel the anticipation of him, electric, making the
air around them hot and tingly.

So maybe it makes her feel powerful. Maybe it makes her feel fucking good as hell, to have him
like this, under her control.

Slowly, carefully, gently, she puts her lips to the tip and looks up at him, letting it rest there as her
hand moves slowly down the shaft.

“Osha…” he says, almost begging, “Don’t tease me.”

She smiles. “I’m just enjoying myself.” She runs her lips along the side of him, lightly kissing him
as she does.

“Shit, Osh…” He gulps, dangerously close to losing control. “Do you want me to beg?”

“Maybe.” Her knees settle into the concrete, little stones starting to cut into her skin. But it doesn’t
bother her. It makes her feel more alive, sparking a thrill through her body. She opens her mouth
and lays him on her tongue, licking him in one long movement before kissing the tip again.
Qimir growls in frustration, pushing off the hood and moving his hand to the back of her neck,
fisting her braids. But he doesn’t force her, doesn’t put any pressure on her. He just holds on, and
waits.

Osha smiles and repeats the same movement, feeling herself becoming wet.

“Please, Osh.” He tugs at her braids a little, causing her head to tilt up to look at him. “I know you
want to. I know you want it in your mouth,” he says between his teeth.

She sticks out her tongue again, this time inching forward and closing her lips around him. Qimir
groans, hips pushing forward, hand falling back to the hood of the car.

Osha’s lips tease the flare, and Qimir curses, “Fuck.” When she goes even deeper, testing herself to
see how far she can take him, he sucks in a breath and holds it, only letting it out when she gags a
little. But she keeps going, starting to work on him at a steady pace.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he says, hand moving again to the back of her neck, encouraging. “So
fucking pretty while you suck my cock.”

That causes Osha to look up at him, finding him completely undone, mouth open, flushed, hair in
his face. She pulls his underwear down further, to his ankles, wanting to make him more
comfortable. Qimir takes advantage of the freedom of movement, adjusting his legs further apart
and placing his other hand on Osha’s head.

She braces herself on his thighs as he starts to use his hips, and suddenly he’s the one in charge,
fucking her face steadily. He’s not sure how he manages it, not losing control entirely. Maybe
there’s still time for that, when she’ll be more forgiving, when she trusts him more. But not now.
He’s careful as he presses himself in and out of her mouth, enjoying every second. Her eyes are full
and wide, beautiful in the dim light.

“So perfect,” he whispers. “Such a good girl.”

Osha shifts, hand falling between her thighs, wanting to relieve the pressure a little that’s been
building there. She moans around his cock as her fingers find the sensitive spot.

“Don’t you dare come,” he says roughly.

Her eyes snap up to his.

“Don’t. Come.” Osha narrows her eyes at him and he smiles, adding, “Not yet.”

Osha shivers, knowing he means to make her come himself. She reaches a hand back up to his
length, rubbing along it, giving him even more pleasure.

“Shit, Osh… Fuck, I’m gonna…” He swallows hard. It’s inevitable. She’s just too good at this, and
he lets her take control again, relaxing against the hood of the car as she bobs herself up and down
on his cock.

It lights him up suddenly, a whip and a wave of warmth at his core, released into her mouth. He
tenses, hands gripping the edge of the hood, then he relaxes, breathing heavy as it subsides.

Osha swallows it all, hot and salty on the back of her tongue. She disconnects from him with a pop,
and Qimir curses again, gripping his cock, a little too sensitive for that.
“Sorry,” she says.

He chuckles. “For what?” He gives her a hand, helping her to her feet before pulling up his pants.
“It’s your turn.”

Osha warms at that, letting herself be guided to sit on the hood of his car. He kisses her as he gets
her comfortable, on her cheeks, lips, and neck. Her feet don’t touch the ground, and Qimir leans
over her, hand on her back as he lays her down on the hood. His other hand encourages her knees
further apart as he kisses her again, hand then snaking up to between her legs, thumb pressed on her
thigh.

“This comfortable?” he asks.

Osha nods, a little nervous at what he’s planning to do to her here. She’s been wearing a swimsuit
all day, and she knows she’s musty between her legs.

But Qimir doesn’t seem to care as he traces kisses down to her tummy, sucking on the spot below
her belly button before undoing her shorts. He pulls them off, then assesses the red bikini bottoms.
His two fingers press over her clit, over the red bikini.

Osha yelps at the sensation. She’s sensitive, having been wound up so much from all the events of
the day.

Qimir looks up at her as his hand pushes the bikini to the side, just enough to allow himself access
to her. Osha feels the cool breeze on her there, exposed and vulnerable.

But she’s with him. And she knows she’s safe with him.

“You’re so beautiful, Osha,” he says before kissing the inside of her thigh. “You want me to kiss
you here?” He points to the other thigh.

“Yes,” she answers. Qimir kisses her there, letting his tongue linger for a moment before pointing
to the flesh around her cunt.

“What about here?”

Osha breathes out a “Yes,” and Qimir obliges.

“And here?” he asks, finger on her clit.

“Fuck, yes, please,” she says, writhing under him now.

He smiles, then dips his head down, burying his face in her.

“Fuck, oh my god,” she says quietly, hand reaching down to him, lightly gripping his hair.

Qimir’s tongue works on her expertly, diligently, sucking and licking her, focusing on what makes
her tense up, what makes her heart race, her breath catch. And she’s allowed to just be, to feel,
trapped here, by his mouth, on his car. A thrill shoots up her spine and she wriggles her hips,
wanting more.

“Look at you,” he says, coming up for air, his mouth and nose covered in a light layer of her slick.
“So greedy.” He buries in her again, his hand joining his mouth there, teasing her.
“Please, Qimir,” she begs.

“You want more?” he asks, smiling wide before kissing her clit.

“Fuck, yes, please.”

He then inserts two fingers, finds a good angle, then starts to pump them in and out as he licks her
steadily.

“Oh god,” she exclaims, “Oh fuck.” It’s building so fast with his fingers shoved up so far inside
her. Her whole core clenches around him, and it feels like she’s going to break like an egg.

“That’s it, baby. You’re so fucking hot, spread out on my car like that.” His other hand replaces his
tongue as he encourages her. “My little speed demon, my good fucking girl,” he growls.

Osha starts to pant, not caring what sounds fall from her mouth. She’s a mess, splayed out for him
on the hood. Her knees still burn from being scratched up on the concrete and her back is hot on the
hood, still heated by the engine that was roaring just minutes before.

But she feels just as alive now as she does when she’s driving at over two hundred miles per hour
on the track.

She tightens her grip on him, fingers squeezing into fists in his hair. Her hips lift up, grinding into
him as she finds that perfect spot.

“Shit,” she whispers, before arching her back and letting him go. Her orgasm makes her tense,
blood rushes through her, and for a moment, there’s only silence and Qimir’s mouth on her, his
fingers slowly pulling out of her. He presses his tongue over her clit as she feels the last of the
waves.

Then it’s over, and Osha sighs, laughing a little. “Oh my god,” she says.

“Are you impressed?” he asks before helping her to sit up. When she meets his eyes, however, he
finds that she’s in a daze. He holds her face in his hands and wipes his thumbs across her cheeks.
“You alright?” he asks.

Osha nods slowly. She doesn’t want to leave this place. She could stay here, with him, indefinitely.
But she needs to get out of these clothes, needs to wash off the salt air and tend to her braids.

“Thank you… for tonight,” she says. Qimir smiles and kisses her, his expert and mischievous
tongue pressing into her mouth, hands still on her face, neither of them wanting this night to end.

~~~

When Osha’s back in her apartment, she catches sight of her knees in the mirror. They’re messy—
bloody and dirty. She wipes one and winces. It burns.

After she’s patched herself up, she takes a picture of herself, her knees pulled up under her chin,
face in an exaggerated frown, and sends it to Qimir.

“ Fuck ,” he replies, followed by, “ How bad is it? ”

Osha smiles and types back, “ Not too bad. ”

“ I’m sorry .”

“ What for? ”

Qimir stares at the text and rubs his face before replying, “ You deserve better. ”

Without missing a beat, Osha replies, “ I deserve you .”

Qimir sighs, then replies with a heart emoji. He wasn’t sure what he was signing up for when they
agreed to this situationship. This “not a fling.” This secret.

He knew he liked her—a lot. But he didn’t expect to fall for her so hard, so fast.

And he didn’t expect for her to fall for him at all.

And yet, here they are.

 She's too close

\\// Two Years Ago \\//

Qimir walks through the paddock—well, strutting through it is more like it. As he tends to do. He’s
a driver for Ferrari in Formula Two, soon to be signed to race in Formula One—he deserves to
strut.

He sees her out of the corner of his eye—fucking Brigitte—and his pace quickens. She’s stomping
to him as though she’s found out about his little trysts with Becca… and Kiki… and Ellie. He never
claimed exclusivity with any of them, but perhaps he was unfair to them, fucking them like they
were lovers and not just flings. He treats it as a sport—no, an art—giving them the experience of a
lifetime.

And occasionally recording it so he can watch it back and improve.

But that’s just who he is. If Qimir does anything, he does it fully and completely. He didn’t just
become a pit engineer, he became the best pit engineer in Ferrari. He didn’t just fuck women, he
ruined them for any other man. And he didn’t just become a Formula driver, he’s determined to be
a champion and to continue into F1.

“Qimir, honey, please will you slow down?” Brigitte says, making him wince.

“Not your honey, Brig.”

She sighs, exasperated. “Are you coming out with us after the race?”

He puts his hands in the pockets of his Ferrari jacket. “Who is ‘us’?”

“You know, just the usual crowd.”

Ah, yes, the usual crowd . That consists of all the girls he’s currently sleeping with and some of the
ones he used to sleep with. He probably should start looking for a more permanent solution,
someone who he wouldn’t mind actually spending time with on a daily basis, who would be able to
accept that he can sometimes be an ass.

No woman would be that generous.

“I dunno, Brig, I think I’m gonna be pretty wiped from the race.” She pouts and Qimir winces. “I’ll
see you next week, alright?”

He dodges her follow up question, dismissing her with a wave as he continues to walk toward to
Ferrari building. He doesn’t owe her anything and she knows it. She knew what she was signing up
for.

Someone rams into Qimir, hard on his shoulder. He turns, finding Osha Aniseya looking back at
him, rolling her eyes as she puts her headphones on.
“Watch it,” she mumbles.

“Excuse you,” he retorts, emphasizing each consonant and vowel. But Osha just ignores him,
continuing on through the paddock. “What the fuck?” he says to himself.

“Accidentally brush shoulders with Miss Aniseya?” Vernestra says, approaching Qimir.

“I think she did that on purpose,” Qimir responds, rubbing his shoulder.

“Well, she can get away with it. Her mom died last year.” She says it matter-of-factly, and Qimir
puzzles. He always thought Aniseya was a generally private person, keeping her head down and
focusing on winning. Extremely determined, not letting anyone get in her way. She’s honestly been
a thorn in his side this year. He never heard anything about her mother.

“How did she…?”

“Car accident. Back in the States. Tragic, actually.”

Qimir shakes his head. “Well she needs therapy.”

“Come on, we have to run through stats with the crew.”

Qimir follows Vernestra into the Ferrari building, quickly forgetting about Osha and their little
collision.

~~~

Feet to the pedals, hands gripping the wheel, knees knocking together, breath hot on his face,
engine hotter on his back, taking corners at nearly two hundred miles per hour. There’s nothing like
it in the world.

The single-seat racecar has always felt like a second home for Qimir. He thinks he knows how
babies must feel in the womb. It’s warm. The persistent thrum is comforting. Even the tube in his
mouth that hydrates him is a comfort, making it easier to focus on what’s important.

He controls how it growls, how it moves, how it glides along the pavement. A womb that he can
drive. There’s some Freudian nonsense in that, surely.

But he’s not resting. Qimir knows she’s on his tail, has tried to overtake several times, but he
continues to outpace her just enough, defending his position in fifth place. She’s good, but she’s not
good enough. If anything, she’s just annoying him.

“How do I get her off my ass?” he asks.

A voice in his helmet answers, “Russell is right on top of her. He will distract her in the next few
sectors. You can outpace them as they’re focused on each other.”

It’s not a great strategy, but it is a strategy. Qimir would prefer to switch to new tyres.

“We should box after Russell passes her.”

“Sure.” His engineer knows Qimir is probably more qualified to be in the position than he is. He
tends to not argue.
But then Qimir sees Osha in his rearview mirror, gaining fast—too fast.

“Shit, I thought you said—”

He brakes going into the turn, trying to force her to the outside. Suddenly, they’re racing—truly
racing, side-by-side. They pass the stands and he can hear the roar of the crowd, excited to see
some action.

“Fuck, she’s too close,” he says, trying not to get forced off the track. “She’s pushing it.”

It’s reckless, the way she’s driving, more reckless than him on a bad day.

“She’s gonna cause a—”

Then it happens. In the next corner, Osha is in his blind spot when her front right tyre rams into the
side of Qimir’s car, carbon fiber bursts from the contact and his back left tyre catches on her tyre,
propelling him off the track. He spins violently, putting his arms in his lap and bracing for impact.

He swears he doesn’t stop spinning. The next thing he remembers is breathing in toxic fumes. He
coughs and then yells as a pain makes itself known on his entire back. It rips through him violently
and he looks around, finding that he’s not in the car at all—the car is no more, just chunks of metal
that are on fire, landing on him and all around him.

The pain is too much, and he doesn’t know which way is out. When he tries to move, his back
seizes and screams, making it impossible. The sounds from his mouth don’t seem human, and he’s
choking on the fumes, taking his final breaths. No more oxygen. No more breathing.

No more racing.

~~~

The wreck changes him.

He had been thrown from the car as it collided with the guardrails, ripping the vehicle in two. And
those guardrails tore into his back, exposing his flesh to the fiery debris.

He spends weeks in recovery, then months, then a year goes by and he’s still alone and angry and in
pain. Like a newborn, growing quickly, but not quick enough. He’s having to relearn basic motor
skills as his spine heals. Few come to visit him, as he’s no longer fun to be around. A handful of the
drivers in the series have sympathy for him, texting him light-hearted things to keep him in the
loop. But that only lasts until they all receive the news that he won’t be racing in the upcoming
year.

He’s still too weak, too broken. He blames Aniseya, wishes he could beat her some other way, to
teach her a lesson. He even comes up with an elaborate plan to sabotage her car.

He’d become an engineer again, maybe even her personal race engineer. He’d gain enough trust to
be in the garage by himself, and then he’d cut a line. Something small in her engine. Something
that would look like an accident—he’d make sure it looked as though it just melted away from the
heat.

But then one day, as he’s watching an interview of the drivers as they prepare for the new season,
Osha, now a rookie in F1, says something that catches him by surprise.
She’s asked the question, “Do you ever worry about wrecking the car?”

Osha responds, “All the time. Yeah.” She nods, eyes genuine, a little misty. “All the time.”

He swallows hard. The girl might need therapy, but she isn’t as much of a monster as he thought.
Her mother’s car accident probably haunts her, makes her fear very, very real, almost tangible. And
yet, she was still willing to push him off. He supposes her anger gets the best, and worst, of her,
even overriding her fear.

When he finally gets better, he’s decided to not let it bother him. She clearly has her own demons.
He doesn’t need to give her his as well.

He stops sleeping with so many women at once, starts to get serious about actually dating. He tries
to be present, to get to know them, but a failed F2 driver attracts a certain type—Grid Girls. They
are too interested in being eye candy, and not at all interested in getting to know him. They ask him
when he expects to get behind the wheel again, and he finds himself lying, saying that he’s in talks
with Mercedes or Williams, or whoever he thinks will impress them.

He keeps up the lie just long enough to get into their bed, then he leaves before they wake, wading
in self-loathing and the stench of stale alcohol.

And he discovers the street racing circuit in Monaco, gets his hands dirty and builds a new racing
car, meets people he never would’ve met through F1.

Then there’s another significant day, one that reveals just how different he’s become.

He’s sitting on the couch in his apartment, scrolling YouTube on his big screen, his feed filled with
F1 technical breakdowns of the latest races, long video essays about how the cars have evolved,
and interviews with drivers. One video catches his eye—A pretty girl with long, thick braids,
smiling wide. She’s happier than he’s used to seeing her, and he’s instantly curious, clicking on the
video.

“I think I can do it,” she says. “I mean, I want to make a podium my rookie year. But I’d be okay
with just winning points.”

Some high-beat music plays. She’s in a closed set, reading questions.

“PiasTREE01 asks, ‘Do you have hobbies outside of racing?’” She smiles shyly. “I don’t really
have a lot of time, but I like to play video games and watch movies and shows when I finally have
time to rest. If sinking into my couch were a hobby, I would be considered an expert.”

She’s charming, her smile infectious. Qimir doesn’t even realize he’s smiling as well.

“CharlesLeChair97 asks, ‘Did you ever switch places with your twin?’” Osha laughs, doubling
over. “Yeah, actually. Many times. But…” She puts a finger to her lips. “It’s a secret. Don’t tell
anyone.”

Qimir sinks into the couch more, crossing his arms over his chest. He sees a little sparkle in her
eye, a little mischief, something more . He can’t quite put his finger on it.

“GeorgeTruffle98 asks, ‘What is your favorite part about racing?’” She looks into the camera for a
second, a deer in the headlights, as though it’s an invasive question. “I… Um…” She smiles and
shakes her head. “I like to go fast,” she answers, biting her lip.

It’s sexy. She’s sexy.

He watches the entire video, pulled into her world, her orbit. It’s not until the screen starts to load
up another video of her that he realizes he’s smiling like an idiot. He stops the app from playing the
next video, going back to his home screen which is now filled with videos of Osha Aniseya—the
woman who destroyed his career.

Months later, he gets a call from Saber Racing. And he’s pretty sure, in one way or another, that it’s
fate. Fucking with him, or handing him a second chance, he wouldn’t know yet.

But he immediately says yes.

//\\ Present Day //\\

“The Italian Grand Prix—It feels like a reset, doesn’t it, Jay?”

“Feels like it’s been an intense year so far, Gary, and there’s been a little bit of musical chairs
playing out, specifically in the Saber cars. But I would bet money that Aniseya and Pesci are quite
the team.”

“So would I, Jay, so would I.”

“I know most of the viewers at home are already aware, but let’s get them up to speed. Qualies are
about to take place here at the Monza track, establishing the grid for the race tomorrow. And so far
at this weekend’s practices, Aniseya has been showing quite the talent for this track, making all the
right moves despite the difficult chicane in sector one.”

“Yes, she’s really been pushing it at practices, and I for one worry that she’s going to find engine
troubles by the time the race rolls around.”

“Or braking troubles. You know how Saber brakes have been this year—sticky.”

“Sticky! Yes, that too. But if she can keep up the pace from practices, she’ll have no trouble
qualifying in the front half of the grid.”

~~~

“And you said Monza was boring,” Leo teases Osha as they remove their helmets.

“It is.” Osha shakes out her braids and rolls her neck. “Because it’s easy.”

Leo scoffs. “Easy? A tight chicane right after that long of a straight? You’re either a bigger
adrenaline junkie than I am, or you have a death wish.”

Osha bristles at that. He couldn’t know, of course, that her fear is what she struggles with the most.
Qimir approaches Osha then, arms crossed over his chest. “P6. Not bad. Though I was expecting
better results in sectors four and five.”

Osha shakes her head and bites her lip. When he’s like this, he’s insufferable.

“The braking gets too tight. I swear they’re getting sticky.”

“I’ll have the crew take a look at them. You just…” He sighs. He doesn’t want to be a hardass, but
this is just how they are. He pushes, she pushes back. “You need to do visualizations. Work on the
braking in those sections.”

Osha’s teeth grind together. “Visualizations?” Most drivers do visualizations before getting onto the
track. It’s how they memorize every turn, every braking point, and every overtake opportunity,
down to the millisecond.

“I know you usually do them on race day mornings, but I need you to run the track at least ten
times tonight. Get your stats in front of you when you do, it’ll help.”

Osha rubs her neck in frustration. “Isn’t five enough?”

Qimir steps closer and leans in. “Why don’t you just do five and tell me you did ten, hm?” He
winks and Osha bites down on a smile, still annoyed with him, but knowing that this is all for her.
He wouldn’t be such a hardass if he didn’t care.

~~~

Race day is packed, as usual. Osha and Leo have to film a commercial in the morning. Saber has
teamed up with Taco Bell, and they have to say one, silly line together over and over again, until
they get it right.

“We win points, you score burritos!” Leo makes fun of Osha for not being able to say the word
“burrito” after the sixth take, suddenly pronouncing it with an emphasis on the “bur-” part.

“It doesn’t sound like a word anymore,” she complains, but still laughs when it comes out of her
mouth differently every time.

And Qimir watches from afar, finding it cute. Though he should be the one poking fun at her, no
Leo.

Osha’s pretty sure her cheeks are sore from smiling so hard by the time they’re done with the shoot,
and then she’s rushed right into an interview, where she has to keep up that smile. She tries to
massage her cheeks, but of course that doesn’t help.

Between her press and brand obligations, she continues to run through visualizations, memorizing
even the stickiness of the brakes on certain corners. But she’s shaky and frustrated, needing to let
off some steam, release a little pressure.

She’s sitting in her locker room, headphones on, race suit half on and hanging from her hips, when
there’s a knock on her door. She opens it, and Qimir’s standing there, looking smug.

“Can you give me a hand?” she asks, eyes wide and sparkling from Qimir’s perspective.

He smiles. “Where do you want that hand?”

Osha grabs his shirt and yanks him inside. “You know where.”

He helps her with that release, touching her exactly how she needs to be touched. And Osha doesn’t
try to make it more than what it is. She lets him pleasure her, a bundle of nerves under his fingers,
left completely undone, but also feeling fresh and powerful.

Afterwards, he zips her up, from her crotch to her neck, and says in her ear, “Now go get in that car,
and show us how the F1 Princess takes a chicane.”

Turns out, the F1 Princess takes a chicane extremely well. Better than the others. In fact, four of the
drivers spin out in the first lap at the first chicane, but Osha avoids the wreck, expertly
maneuvering around them.

By lap forty-seven, and with just six laps to go, she’s kept her position, solidly in P6, but the front
of the pack has started to lap the ones in the rear. This can get messy, as drivers in the front who are
trying to keep pace with each other now have to deal with traffic that is simply in their way.

Drivers being lapped are given a blue flag to let them know they have an obligation to create space
so they can be lapped, but sometimes they’re racing amongst each other and miss it.

And sometimes they’re just assholes about it.

Osha has a particularly messy scrape with Tsunoda around the sectors she was having issues with
prior. It doesn’t matter how many times you run visualizations—nothing prepares you for what
another driver will decide to do. Unpredictability is a bitch.

So when Tsunoda doesn’t let her pass and Osha’s brakes stick, all she can do is curse, helpless as
she bumps into him—just a little, not enough to cause any real damage. But they are going fast
enough to cause Osha to spin out. She spins into the grass where she comes to a stop.

“You good, Osh?” Qimir says in her ears.

“Peachy,” she responds, getting back onto the track with ease.

“Tsunoda’s being investigated for not acknowledging the blue flag,” Qimir explains.

“Good.” The FIA will take care of that. He was clearly in the wrong, and she would’ve avoided
him had her brakes not been sticky.

She finishes in P6, despite everything, which is something to celebrate right? Meanwhile, Tsunoda
is hit with a ten second penalty for not letting Osha pass—which doesn’t really matter, because he
was already last. (Someone really needs to sign that kid to a different team, give him a car he can
actually drive.)

“Osha,” Leo says, approaching her in the garage. “We should celebrate! P6 and P8? It’s good.”

She glances at Qimir quickly, long enough to see he’s curious, waiting to see how she’ll respond.

“Jecki!” she calls to the blond near the pit wall, who ducks out from behind it. “Why don’t we all
go out tonight? The four of us?”

“Good thinking.” Qimir says. “It’s on Osha.”

“Yes!” Jecki answers.

“What?” Osha looks at Qimir, not following.

Qimir shows Osha his phone screen. “You did just win Driver of the Day.”

Osha can’t believe what she’s seeing. “They voted for me?” Fifty-two percent of fans picked her,
out of all twenty drivers, more than half of the fans voted for her. She doesn’t get anything out of it,
just extra attention and maybe more brands looking at her as a potential investment.

Leo nods to her. “They had sympathy for you because of your wreck with Tsunoda. You probably
would’ve gotten fifth if that hadn’t happened. You were a beast, Osha.”

“I told you, Osh,” Qimir says, closer now. “They like you .” Qimir squeezes her shoulder as he
passes her. “Now come on, we should get the debrief done if we want to celebrate.”

~~~

With the power of his daddy’s money, Leo rents out the top floor of a club deep in the heart of
Monza. It’s just the four of them, but the club is small, the top floor looking down over the dance
floor.

Jecki flips out when she sees Osha in a tight, black dress and red, strappy heels. Osha matches her
enthusiasm, complimenting Jecki’s gold, sparkly dress and white, platform sneakers.

The men dress to impress too, Qimir topping off his simple dark jeans and black tee with a retro,
leather racing jacket, black with white stripes. And Leo wears his father’s brands, showing off his
wealth on his wrist—one of those watches that costs the same as a house.

Qimir never cared to preen and flaunt for attention. He sticks to the corners, watching how the
night unfolds. The other three chat near the railing, watching the dancers below as they sip their
cocktails. Qimir nurses his whisky, enjoying the view of Osha’s ass as she bends over, leaning over
the railing just a little.

It should just be them tonight, celebrating in their own way. But this is to keep up appearances, to
make Sol—and potential onlookers—happy and interested. A blooming romance between two
drivers is definitely a good story.

He sours thinking about it, and pulls out his phone. Maybe he’s feeling a little insecure, or maybe
he just wants to play. Either way, he knows it’s not a good idea.

He does it anyway.

Osha’s phone buzzes and she glances at it almost dismissively. If there hadn't have been a break in
the conversation, she likely would’ve ignored it. But now she’s staring at a text from Qimir.

“ Bend over again, ” it reads.

Osha swallows hard. She knows where he’s sitting, in that dark corner behind her. Rather than look
back, she leans over a little, then pokes out her ass, pretending to look closer at the crowd below.
Leo and Jecki hang casually over the side as well, chatting about Mercedes and McClaren tyre
change strategies. Osha’s only halfway listening.
Her phone buzzes again. “ Good girl ,” it reads. “ Are you wearing underwear? ”

A voice screams inside his head that this is not just a bad idea—it’s the old him. The old Qimir
would’ve pulled a stunt like this, but the new one? The one that was reborn from the wreckage?
He’s different now because of that wreck.

The wreck she caused.

Because nothing is so simple. He still has wounds. He still wants something out of her, something
that counts as revenge for what she did to him. And perhaps that’s not fair, and perhaps he’s being a
dick. But if she plays along, then what’s the harm, really?

She texts back, “ Yes .”

Qimir types, “ Good.” He pauses a moment before sending, knowing that he can’t stop himself
from pushing this even more. A darkness inside of him perks up and takes the wheel as the light
takes a backseat.

It feels good to be bad. It feels good to push her, to guide her, to share with her some of his demons.
She can handle it. He knows this now.

He adds, “ Bring them to me,” and hits send.

 Such a bad girl
Chapter Notes

it is time !

Playlist for the vibes: and away we go playlist

At first, Osha just stares at the text, mind blanking. What does he mean, “ Bring them to me ”? Her
underwear? She looks back slowly and sees that he’s just sitting there, eyes fixed to his phone.

Another text from him reads, “ Be a good girl, and bring me your underwear.”

She looks to him again and he looks up, eyes dark and hooded, lips parted slightly. He brings his
glass up to his lips and doesn’t take his eyes off her as he downs the last of the whisky.

Come on, Osh, play along , Qimir thinks.

Osha tilts her head and puts her phone back in her red leather clutch. “I’ll be right back,” she says
to Jecki.

“Oo, wait!” The blond grabs Osha's arm, clinging to her side. “Are we peeing?”

“Yes, peeing.” Osha forces a smile and her eyes widen as they pass Qimir, trying to communicate
to him that she’s attempting to obey, to give in to whatever game he’s playing with her. He smirks
at her, then winks.

Everyone she’s ever dated always treated her like she was cold, unfeeling, and unphased. Even
Yord, who should’ve known better being her racing teammate, would often accuse her of not
completely letting go. She had her guard up, sure, but that was always because he did nothing to
bring it down.

Comparatively, all Qimir does is break down her walls. Whether it’s getting under her skin, or
under her racing suit, she unfolds for him, and him alone.

That’s why, right now, she walks into the bathroom stall with the intention of removing her
underwear and, hopefully discreetly, passing them to Qimir.

“So what’s going on with you and Qimir anyway?” Jecki asks from the neighboring stall.

Osha freezes. “Um. Nothing. That’s kind of an odd question, Jecki.”

Jecki giggles. “Well if it’s ‘nothing,’ then why won’t you give Leo a chance?”

“Leo is sweet. He’s just… not my type.” Carefully and quietly, as Jecki rattles on about all the
merits and perks of dating someone like Leo, Osha removes her underwear, one foot at a time. Of
course, she had not planned to remove these tonight. Which was a stupid assumption, given her and
Qimir’s ever-escalating relationship.

But because of that assumption, she now holds a pink, cotton g-string printed with purple
butterflies in her hand. A g-string, because the dress she’s wearing exposes pantylines, pink and
printed because, well, she liked the butterflies. She curses under her breath but roles it up as tight as
she can and stuffs it in her clutch. It’s a little damp from the obvious, but she can’t be ashamed of
that right now.

It’s a messy game they’re playing, and he probably likes it that way. He’s probably getting hard just
thinking about her taking them off just to appease him.

“...Not to mention the clothes!” Jecki exclaims from outside the stall. The water faucet at the sink
turns on and Osha joins the blond, looking at herself in the mirror, checking her eye makeup as she
washes her hands.

“I don’t actually care for the clothes,” she finally chimes in.

Jecki gawks at her.

“What? They’re too thin. I like a little more, I dunno, spunk? Something more interesting, with a
deliberate style, and reliable—won’t fray at the slightest snag.

“Hm.” Jecki gives her a curious look.

“What?” Osha reaches for a paper towel, the g-string practically burning a hole through her clutch
as it sits on the counter.

“Nothing. It’s just that it sounds like you’re talking about Qimir, not clothes.”

Osha chokes on her own spit and coughs. “Qimir’s just my race engineer, nothing more.”

“Right. Of course.” Jecki shrugs, then winks. Osha laughs and shakes her head. There’s no need to
argue and lie. She just needs to be careful.

As they’re exiting the bathroom, Osha lets Jecki walk past her, then quickly takes the g-string back
out of her clutch, hiding it tight in her fist. She gets a thrill as they move closer to the guys who are
now chatting near where Qimir was sitting before. Leo stands as soon as they’re nearby.

“Qimir here has suggested we all go dance down below.”

Osha gives Qimir a look, noticing he’s removed his jacket which now hangs on the chair behind
him. “You sure that’s a good idea?” she asks. Normally he’d be extra careful about her safety in
public. But she supposes, as long as he’s by her side, no one would dare to try anything.

He stands and grabs her clutch from her hands, placing it on the chair. “I’m feeling a little risky
tonight.” He scrunches his nose as he says it and Osha can hear the frustration in his voice. It
sounds dangerous.

Again, a thrill. It snakes up her spine and ignites her core. “Alright,” she says slowly.

Suddenly, Leo grabs her wrist, the same wrist that’s currently clutching her g-string, and pulls her
away, towards the dancefloor. She looks back at Qimir, worry on her face, but he simply smirks,
knowing her secret.

He follows behind them closely, the four of them descending down the steps and into the thick of
the crowd. He can see that Osha’s nervous, casting him a glance whenever Leo puts his hands on
her hips and starts to dance.

The air is thicker down here, more wet, infused with alcohol and vaping fumes. Osha’s skin is
immediately dampened, the skin between her thighs slick with sweat, and she forces a smile at Leo
as they dance, knowing she’s going to have to be more clever.

Jecki doesn’t try to dance with Qimir, which is a relief to him at first, then he catches the eyes of a
couple of women nearby, and he grits his teeth together. By focusing all his attention on Osha—
someone he’s not supposed to be seen with in public—he’s forgotten that he’s actually a hot
commodity. Usually he’d scope out someone sober enough to enthusiastically consent, but messy
enough to not mind if he broke out the camera to film the sex.

Someone not like Osha at all, who still wears her insecurities like a shield, who still worries about
what people think, and who lights up at the lightest touch.

His eyes dart to a nearby bar and he slinks away for just a moment, purchasing another drink. This
isn’t like him, to be so aware of someone else’s needs and wants. It isn’t like him to put them above
his own.

Then he finds a place to stare at her without her seeing, and his anger slowly starts creeping back.
She took everything from him. And she did it on purpose.

And yet. He loves her. He loathes her.

It’s complicated.

He makes his way back to the others, not really dancing, but also trying not to let his eyes wander
away from her. If he can’t be with her publicly, if he has to keep up this act, then the least he can do
is be her bodyguard and look after her in other important ways.

Leo spots Qimir’s fresh drink and leans into Osha, whispering something in her ear. She whispers
back, and Qimir feels a desperation creep into his soul, pushing him to do something stupid. But
then Leo leaves, and Osha turns her attention to Jecki, her eyes darting to him with a tone of
mischief in them.

The two girls dance and Qimir’s eyes darken, focusing entirely on Osha as he sips his drink. The
whisky goes down more sour than usual, burning his throat. He hisses and moves even closer to
them as they laugh. Jecki is gesturing to a man behind her as though she’s trying to find an opening
to dance with him. Osha encourages it, facing away from Qimir.

Then Jecki is pulled away swiftly, spinning around to dance with the man and leaving Osha on her
own. Well, not entirely on her own. She turns around and Qimir has to catch her as her foot runs
into his. She didn’t know he was so close.

He warms, happy to finally have her to himself, and wondering if she obeyed his command. She
smiles in return, a little loopy from the heat and the alcohol. But then she starts to dance, and Qimir
looks around, all too aware of how this will look if she starts to grind on him.
And she would, if she didn’t have one thing on her mind.

Osha leans into him, looking at his lips. He puts his hand on her waist, either to push her away or to
pull her closer, he’s not sure. But when she is close enough to kiss him, she just laughs, the beat
drops, and she pulls away.

Qimir snorts, looking down to the ground and shaking his head. “You're a tease,” he says, loud
enough for her to hear.

Osha lifts her brow and her eyes look down to his pants. He raises a brow in return, confused. She
goes back to dancing on her own.

Then—he feels something in his pocket. She must’ve slipped in when he was focused on her
mouth. His hand reaches into his front pocket, finding damp, thin cloth.

“Fuck,” he says to himself. He wants to grab her, force her still as he uses her the way he needs to.
But he bites his lip instead, hard.

Leo comes back then, drinks in hand. He passes one to Osha, and Qimir slips away again, making
himself scarce. He moves back upstairs, wanting to inspect his loot, and trying to keep his distance
so it’s not obvious that he’s fucking crazy about her.

He finds his dark corner once again and slips the damp fabric out of his pocket. His brows raise,
then he smiles. A g-string that’s pink. Butterflies. A little wet with her arousal. Sexy and sappy, just
like her. He should've known.

Meanwhile, Osha keeps glancing upstairs. She can’t help it. The music is loud, and she’s enjoying
dancing, but what she really wants right now is Qimir. She wants his hands on her, his lips on hers,
and his cock inside her.

“Something wrong?” Jecki says loudly into her ear.

Osha shakes her head. “I want to check on—” Leo grabs her arm, pulling her close to him.

“Not so fast,” he says, leaning closer to speak in her ear, “I’ve been trying to get a moment with
you all evening.”

Osha looks up at him, feigning innocence. He is an attractive height. “I’m sorry. Why?”

He pouts. “Come on, Osha. Give me a chance, will you?” He tilts his head, licking his lips and
looking down at hers.

Osha’s eyes betray her and she looks at his for just a moment, prompting him to lean in just enough
to make contact. She turns her head at the last second, and Leo’s lips land on her cheek.

“Sorry,” he says, “I thought you wanted me to.” He smells nice, his bright, citrusy cologne filling
her senses, making her feel lighter, more carefree.

Osha silently admonishes herself. Of course she wants to kiss him. She’d kiss anyone who showed
her this kind of attention. Maybe the blog posts about her are right after all. Maybe she is a slut.
Maybe she just never got it out of her system.
And maybe it’s just a kiss—to make it seem like they’re actually dating. Maybe someone here in
the club will see or take a picture and the rumor mill will do what it does, establishing them as a
couple, just as Sol’s intended.

She places her hand on Leo’s chest. “I’m sorry—I do, it’s just…” A shadow above her begs to be
acknowledged, and she looks up to find Qimir’s dark silhouette staring at her from above. He rests
his arms over the railing, watching her intensely. She can’t read his expression. A dark specter, a
predator assessing its prey, she can barely make out his face at all.

Then Leo steals a kiss.

It’s quick, just a peck, but he uses those lips well, taking full advantage of her shocked state. Osha
doesn’t push him away. The dark specter fades for a moment as she contemplates kissing him back.

“Is this okay?” he asks. “Sorry it just feels like you’re distracted.”

Osha shakes off her dazed state and smiles. This is all a part of the plan. She’s supposed to be
dating him. Qimir knows this too.

So she grabs his shirt and pulls him closer, kissing him on the lips, once, twice, then pulls away.
Then she looks up, back at her specter, her predator, her shadow. He shrinks away, disappearing
into the darkness.

“I’ll be back,” she says to Leo, assuring him. He seems satisfied, taking a sip of his drink and
nodding, hiding his goofy smile.

Osha then makes her way back upstairs, passing Jecki on the way who is being embraced by a
handsome young Italian. She indicates she’s exactly where she wants to be, so Osha leaves her be,
looking up to the second level, the bouncer there at the top of the steps who won’t let anyone else
up except the four of them.

Then, she spots him, just a shadow standing near the restrooms. He tilts his head, gesturing to the
men’s room, then slips inside. Osha’s pace quickens. They’re alone up here, as long as Jecki and
Leo stay put. But it’s so risky.

But risky is fun.

She presses inside the restroom and is immediately engulfed by him. He grabs her like he’s staking
claim to her, breathing hard, holding her still.

“You’re mine, aren't you, Osh?”

Osha tries to kiss him but he pulls away. She sees the jealousy in his face—he wears it well. It
somehow makes him even more attractive. But she also sees the pain, the hurt, the confusion.

“I had to kiss him, Qimir,” she explains.

“No, you didn’t.” His jaw flexes and his hands tighten on her, one on her face and neck, the other
on her waist.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Say that you’re mine,” he says, not caring to hide his desperation.
“Hey,” she says quietly, taking his face in her hands and capturing his eyes. “You know I’m yours.”

Qimir doesn’t seem relieved to Osha. In fact, he seems more angry than before.

But Qimir is a mess. He knows she wanted that kiss. He saw the way she acted around Iris the night
he took her street racing. She wants to be touched, kissed, and wanted. He can give her that—but
it’s complicated, isn’t it? Because she’s greedy and she wants it when he can’t act on his desires.

So he decides, since he has her right here, right now, that he’s going to take what he wants. It’s only
fair. And she deserves it, for better and for worse.

He reaches down between her legs, grabbing her exposed cunt tightly. Osha gasps, hands grasping
at him in response. There’s some awkward shuffling as Osha tries to remove his pants, her back
pressing into the door behind her.

“You deserve to be punished,” he says, kissing her lip and biting it. “And you deserve to be
fucked.” His cock springs free, leaking with precum, and he kisses her again hungrily. “Such a
good girl, doing what I asked. Then a bad girl—such a fucking bad girl,” he spits out. He grunts,
lifting her, her back pressed against the wall as he hooks his arms under each leg, hands gripping
her ass.

He looks at her, searching for any sign that he should stop, but he’s not sure he could if he tried. His
cock brushes against her soaked folds and his hips roll impatiently.

“Please,” Osha says quietly, her voice weary.

Qimir presses himself inside her, letting her weight sink onto him, sheathing himself completely in
her cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” she says. It’s been too long since she’s had anything this big inside her. She wriggles,
trying to get used to his length and thickness. But Qimir’s already fucking her and she bites down
on her lip as each thrust stings a little less than before.

“Fuck, yes, baby, I got you,” he whispers. “I know you can take it, can’t you?”

Osha nods, holding onto him, arms wrapped around his neck.

“That’s right, baby, you can take all of me. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Osha can’t help the noises that escape her mouth. Especially when Qimir makes a pleased sound,
more like a growl, like he’s finally got her where he wants her. It makes her forget herself, makes
her feel like she’s just a bundle of nerves, wanting to be touched and held and pleased.

“Fuck yes,” he says in her ear. “You’re mine, Osha. You’re mine, and I’m taking what I want.”

She holds on tighter, fingers grasping his hair. “I’m yours,” she says, meaning it.

Qimir lets go of one leg, letting it fall back down to the ground, her heel clacking loudly as she tries
to keep herself up. But he wouldn’t let her fall. He’s got her, holding her close as he thrusts himself
inside her over and over again. His now-free hand moves to her braids, tugging lightly, forcing her
head back just enough so he can kiss her.

She moans in his mouth, then he sucks on her lip before saying, “Why do you do this to me?”
“Do what?”

“Make me feel like this.” His fingers clench around her jaw. “Like I need you… but I also want to
break you.”

Osha feels a surge of emotions well up inside her. He must hate her still, after what she did. And
yet…

“Then break me,” she says, barely getting it out.

Qimir’s thrusts become steadier, but harder, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the tiled
walls. She does feel as though she’s going to break now. His teeth rake across her neck, lightly
biting that sensitive spot. She moans, grasping him, wanting him even closer.

“Osha,” he mumbles into her skin, his hand palming her breast through her dress, then makes its
way up to her neck. He looks at her, holding her still as his grip around her neck tightens.

Then he says between his teeth, “Such a bad girl.”

Osha’s eyes widen as the pressure around her neck increases. A darkness envelops them,
impervious and suffocating, and Osha loses herself to the sensations created by him.

He is in control this time. He needs to feel as though he is in control. He needs to feel power over
her. She sees it, and she understands it.

Qimir grunts, not breaking eye contact, watching her so intensely as he shoves himself into her
before, finally, he empties himself inside her, cock spasming, filling her up even more. He lets out a
noise, breathy and relieved.

Then the post-orgasm clarity hits him like an F1 car hitting a tire wall at two hundred miles per
hour, making the scar on his back itch. A phantom pain that feels like a punishment.

“Shit,” he whispers, his grip finally loosening around her neck. He cups her face in his hands,
Osha’s other leg falling down. “Fuck, Osh, are you okay?”

He pushed her too hard. He did too much and she’s going to be scared now.

But then Osha smiles, just a little dazed. “Do I not get to finish?”

Qimir matches her smile then kisses her deeply. “Fuck, I thought I pushed you too hard.”

“I deserve it,” she says quietly.”

His hand replaces his cock, fingers shoving up inside her, slick with his cum. “No, no, Osh. You
deserve this .” He starts to fuck her with three fingers, his thumb rubbing over her clit as he does.
“My fucking little princess—you deserve to feel good.”

Osha steadies herself on his shoulders, head falling back against the door. He takes such good care
of her. Makes certain she’s eating right, sleeping well, makes sure her schedule isn’t too busy,
makes sure she’s constantly improving in her racing stats.

And what is she giving him in return? She can’t make up for what happened, not really. But she can
let him do what he wants to her. Besides, they both get something out of it.
“Oh, fuck,” she exclaims, feeling it start to build.

“That’s it, baby. The princess is going to come for me. Fuck, you’re such a mess—look at you.”

Osha turns her head to the side, to the mirror on the wall. Her dress is pushed up around her waist,
and Qimir is staring at her in mirror, watching himself fuck her with his fingers. Her lips part and
she yanks down the top of her dress with a hand, exposing a breast.

Qimir takes that as a sign to suck on it, and his mouth latches to her nipple, causing her to breathe
in sharply. He’s not being gentle. But he’s also not hurting her.

And Osha likes it. She likes it a lot .

“Oh god, I’m gonna come,” she breathes out.

Qimir sucks harder, nibbling on her breast, his hand moving more rapidly.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she moans, gripping his hair. Her whole body clenches around him, cunt squeezing
his fingers as she finally orgasms.

“Yes, baby, come for me.”

Osha’s hips buck against him, flowing through the waves of her orgasm. Her face dips into his
neck, hiding her noises there, and Qimir holds her close as she feels the last of the waves, her body
finally going limp.

Qimir leans over and grabs some paper towels from the dispenser, still holding her up and close to
him. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says quietly. “I wanted to take you to bed for our first time,
you just… Fuck.” He holds the towels awkwardly between her legs, then says her name to her
attention. “Osha.”

She tilts her head up at him, opening her eyes slowly. “Does that mean I get to see your place?”

“What?”

She takes the towels from him and wipes between her legs. “You said you wanted to take me to
bed. You mean your bed, right?”

“Or… A bed, at least.” He does up his trousers. “Why’d you have to go and make me jealous, huh?
This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t—”

He finally shuts up when Osha grabs his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I wanted
this,” she says, firmly. “I wanted you .”

He gulps and she can see the fear in his eyes and knows that she has more power than he’s willing
to admit.

“Next time,” she starts, “You can fuck me on a bed. Okay?”

He nods slowly, jaw flexing. “I don’t like this arrangement. You and Leo.”

“I know you don’t.”

Qimir twists his neck, rubbing a hand over his face and turning to the sinks to wash his hands. “I
understand though.”

“Do you?”

He nods, then turns to her, straightening. “I want a picture,” he says, tone turning playful.

“Of what?” She adjusts her dress, but Qimir pulls it back down, her breast spilling back out.

“Of this,” he says. “I want to save this moment—our first time.” He takes his phone out of his back
pocket and Osha covers herself slightly.

“No, like this,” he says, pulling her dress back up to her waist and coming around her so they’re
both facing the mirror. “I want to remember this mess. My mess.”

Osha bites her lip and lets her hands rest on his arm that wraps around her. She smiles shyly at the
mirror, Qimir’s face half hidden, turned into her neck as he snaps several pictures.

Another way for him to express his ownership of her, she supposes. Something that Leo doesn’t
have. But something about that makes her heart flutter.

Then, a fear sets in.

“Promise me this is never going to end up in anyone else’s hands.” She turns to face him. “If
something happens and I’m horrible or I say something or do something—promise me you won’t
use this against me.”

He frowns. “Osha, I would never intentionally hurt you. Besides…” He turns her around again,
fixing her dress as he looks at her in the mirror. “You could never do anything to make me that
angry.”

Because you already have, he thinks. And I still care about you, more than anyone I’ve ever met.

Osha has a similar, but darker thought: Because I already did, and you’re still trying to figure out
how you feel about it.

And both of them are right.

~~~

“Welcome to the Azerbaijan Grand Prix, where the air is hot, and the track is even hotter.”

“Gary, I think you forgot to mention something else that’s hot—things are certainly heating up
between Aniseya and Pesci. Those two crazy kids seem perfect for each other, don’t they?”

“Jay, I think we should keep this strictly about racing.”

“Right you are, Gary, right you are.”

“Now, the Azerbaijan Grand Prix is a street circuit, a Middle Eastern Monaco, if you will, but with
two long straights that are perfect for overtaking.”

“And I suppose Mr. Pesci is prepared to overtake Aniseya’s heart this weekend as well.”

“Jay.”

“Sorry.”

~~~

Osha reads an article on her phone prior to practice. Everyone else seems to be trying to escape the
heat, whereas Osha’s adapted well to Baku in September. She sits outside in the shade at one of the
many tables set up in the paddock, tapping the phone screen with her thumbnail.

They got pictures of her and Leo kissing at the club. Of course they did. Someone recognized them.
And this is the plan, of course, but something about these candid pictures being out there makes her
stomach sour.

“Hey, princess,” Qimir says, approaching her. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready?”

Osha shakes her head. “Sorry.” She stands, and Qimir puzzles.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” No reason to show him. It would just make him jealous all over again. “I’ll check in after
I’m dressed.”

“You don’t need me to—”

“No. I’m fine today.” She smiles at him. “I promise.”

Osha walks away, and Qimir’s mind races with what could possibly be the problem. He takes out
his phone and goes to search Osha’s name on the web.

It’s the first thing that pops up—pictures of the kiss. He swallows hard.

Then something strange happens. His phone gets hot in his hand, really hot. He drops it and it
clanks to the metal table. The screen goes back to the home page and he picks it up again, finding it
still almost too hot to touch.

“What the fuck?” he whispers. Then it cools, and everything seems normal again.

“Qimir!” Sol calls from the Saber building. “We need you.”

Qimir pockets the device and jogs back to the building, changing gears quickly, focused on the
weekend ahead.
 Tell me what you need
Chapter Notes

Added tag. A little angsty this chapter, sorry!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“I’m not sure about Sector Two,” Osha says to Qimir as they walk the paddock towards the Saber
building.

“Your times at the practice have only come under Mercedes and McClaren. The car can handle you
being a little more aggressive.” Qimir catches her eyes and winks.

Osha sighs. “And what about Turn Seven?”

“What about it?” His hands are in his pockets and he stops, turning to face her. She stops too and he
sees her concern. “Yes, there are other drivers who have better times on Sector Two. But it’s not
because of Turn Seven. The stats show you’re nursing your breaks on Five and Eight.”

“Because I’m gaining too much speed coming out of the first straight.”

“No.” He smiles. “It’s because—” He cuts himself off, seeing someone approach them. He narrows
his eyes at the man and his green and black jacket.

“Well look who it is,” Yord says.

Osha nearly jumps at his voice, spinning around to find Yord Fandar, ex-boyfriend and ex-
teammate. Though she’s not sure she should call him either of those things when he was never
really a boyfriend or a teammate in the first place.

“Kick Sauber?” Qimir huffs a laugh. “Though there’s no way they’re putting you in a seat. You’re a
reserve driver, I assume?”

“Yeah, well, at least I have a chance, unlike you.” Qimir tilts his head at him, smiling and
unphased. But Yord turns his attention to Osha. “I wanna talk.”

Qimir’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t want to leave her alone with him, but Osha nods to him and
gestures that she’ll be fine.

Once he’s walked far enough away, Yord faces her and starts, “You really like being used, don’t
you?”

“Excuse me?” Osha straightens a little. She doesn’t deserve this—especially from him.

“You know I used to feel sorry for you? Because you couldn’t be buddies with the other guys, not
really. They’re always gonna treat you different.”
“Make your point and go, Yord.” They’re beginning to attract eyes in the paddock.

“My point is that as soon as we started dating, people became interested in you. But that’s just
because I made you interesting. All for Sol’s grand plan.”

“What?” Osha’s face falls. What little composure she was holding onto is gone. But of course, she
should’ve known. Sol’s grand plans for her—make her likeable by creating a love story. It started
before Leo. It started with Yord.

“And ever since then, you’ve been sleeping around, taking advantage of that popularity.”

“Sleeping around? Yord, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He nods and smiles. “Right. I assume this is all part of the role you’re playing. Well let me tell you
something.” He leans in closer. “I’m not buying it.”

~~~

Qimir leans over Osha’s car and pats her helmet. “You ready?”

“Are you?” she responds, pulling on her gloves.

He squats next to her, looking her in the eyes. “Really, though. Everything okay? You seemed a
little distracted at the pre-brief.”

“I’m great,” she lies.

“I guess we’ll talk about it later?”

Her eyes shift to the wheel and back to him. “There's nothing to talk about.”

Qimir swallows, throat bobbing. Something is definitely wrong. But he can't push her, not right
before qualifying.

“Okay,” he says, “You got this, Osh.”

Osha nods and pulls the visor down over her eyes.

~~~

Osha tries to forget about it. It's just Yord. He's always been an insecure asshole. It's just
unfortunate that it took her years to figure it out. Years of trying to prove to herself and to everyone
—especially to him—that she was good enough to stand by his side, as both a teammate and a
partner.

But even when they became an item, it didn't last long. He knocked her back down constantly,
hated to share the spotlight with someone he deemed less capable. Whether that was because of his
conception of her talents or simply because he didn't think women were as capable as men, she
never could figure out why he kept pushing her down.

And the feeling of being pushed away, then crowded and suffocated by him—criticized by him—
comes rushing back all of a sudden.
“...been sleeping around… all a part of the role you're playing…”

Osha shakes her head of it. Thinking about this is a waste of time. She’s on the track, doing what
she does best. There are hundreds of people at Saber relying on her to get a good result. The
engineers, the mechanics, the pit crew, all the people who work on the software, the simulator, the
aerodynamics, the logistics. Not to mention just her personal team alone.

Okay, now she’s just being hard on herself for no reason.

“Come on, Osh,” Qimir says in her ears, “Remember your lines.”

Osha steadies her hands on the wheel and breathes. She doesn't respond, but she doesn't need to.
They have this thing now, where he just knows she's corrected, either from the video feeds or from
the stats.

“Good girl,” he says. A rush of warmth. Then, a pang of anger.

Why are all the men in her life treating her like she can't do this alone? Why are they so adamant
about controlling so many aspects of her life?

“Shut up,” she growls into her helmet.

Then, on the turn she's having trouble with, he speaks up again, “On the outside. Watch out for—”

“I can do this! Please!”

He doesn't answer.

Osha’s anger festers, gathering all the gunk inside that has nothing to do with this moment, or with
him. All the stuff Yord said. Leo thinks she’s someone she’s not. She’s definitely playing a role
with him, and he doesn’t deserve that.

She yanks the wheel on turn seven and her back end fishtails behind her. Correcting quickly, she
speeds up and attempts to make it up on the next turn.

Her mom used to joke that she does better when she leans on people. Whether it was schoolwork or
sports or hobbies, she’d always tell Osha that her struggles were because she was simply too
independent.

“We’re more powerful when we lean on each other,” she’d say.

Yeah, well, Osha doesn’t feel more powerful, does she?

Later in the race, with just ten laps to go, she still hasn't improved. It must be the tyres, or the rear
tail, or the gravel that someone dragged onto turn six when they went too far off-track.

She can’t take it anymore. The silence, the anger, the feelings inside her all bubbling up to the
surface.

Osha yells into the mic, “The car is shit! I have no grip!

“Do you want my help or are you just letting off steam?” Qimir asks.
“I want you to fix it!”

“There’s nothing to fix, Osh—you just pitted two laps ago. Your tyres are fresh and there’s nothing
wrong with the nose or the tail—”

“You're not telling me how to fix it!”

“You wanna fix it? You focus on your lines.” His jaw clenches. “You know this track, Osh. You
have perfect runs on the sim. You’re still nursing the brakes on—”

“The brakes are shit!”

Qimir yanks off the headset back in the pit and yells, “Walsh—take the mic! I'm done.”

~~~

They don't speak about it. Osha qualifies for position seven, Leo for ninth. It's not bad, but it's not
her best, and that makes her seethe.

She really shouldn't blame Qimir, but she has no one else to let it out on. They have a terse debrief,
and she avoids his gaze as she gathers her things and leaves the paddock.

Then race day arrives, and Osha is buzzing—anger and excitement and the thrill start to make her
jittery. She paces in her locker room, really wishing Qimir would stop by.

A ritual is what it needs to be. Sex before the race. They've kept it so secret so far, and Osha feels a
million times better when she's let out some steam before a race. In fact, they should've done it
before qualies the day prior, but Osha was in a weird headspace—is still in a weird headspace.

Sex is a decent cure-all, isn't it?

She pulls out her phone and texts him, “Locker room. Now.”

Qimir carefully enters soon after he receives the text. “Hey. What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?” She scoffs. “Seriously?”

“Osha, what's going on? I know something's wrong and you're not talking to me.”

That pang in her chest in reaction to his hurt just makes her even angrier. How dare he be the one
who feels hurt by her actions? Doesn't he understand what Osha's had to deal with this year?
Doesn't he see what she's dealing with right now?

She can see the light through the gunk that is still building up inside. It’s faint, but it’s right fucking
there.

And all she wants to do is to race and fuck.

Osha peels off her fireproof underlayers, yanking them off her body and throwing them to the side.

“What are you—?”

“What does it look like in doing?” she says. “I need you to fuck me.”
Qimir chuckles. “I actually don't think this is a good—”

“Then leave!” She can feel her face redden, can feel the heat start to spread from the
embarrassment. Here she is, nearly begging her boyfriend to fuck her and he's resisting?

“Osha…” He steps closer, his hand moving to her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I just think we
should talk this out beforehand.”

“We have no time.” She looks around, worried. Everything good and wonderful and real is
crumbling around her. The gunk is thickening.

Yord is right. She's just a slut, posing as an F1 driver. She doesn't deserve to be pampered or looked
after. She deserves to be controlled and contained. Otherwise, she'll do something stupid—like fuck
her race engineer prior to every race.

“Hey,” Qimir says, grasping her shoulders and leaning his forehead against hers. “I'm here. We
don't have to talk. Just… tell me what you need.”

Osha starts to undo his pants and Qimir bites his lip. He's not going to keep resisting her. There's
clearly something going on, but he's not going to get it out of her now. Their second time was
meant to be more special, especially considering how their first went.

But Osha needs this.

“Fine,” he says in a whisper. “Turn around.”

Osha does as he says, closing her eyes and focusing on his hands as they touch her, over her
breasts, squeezing, then down between her legs as he peppers her neck with kisses and nibbles. He
doesn't remove her bra or panties. He doesn't need to.

“Come on, princess, stick your ass out for me.” He slaps her ass lightly.

Osha complies, hands braced against the cold metal locker. “Please,” she begs, “I need it.”

“I know you do, baby.” He moves her braids, biting and sucking lightly on the spot between her
neck and shoulder. She's so warm and pliable, her skin soft and smelling like citrus and a natural
musk that's spent too much time around rubber and gasoline.

He loves it. He loves her.

His hand dips between her thighs, finding her not as wet as he'd like.

“Just do it,” she whines.

Qimir spits on his hand, then rubs it over his cock, already hard from the moment she started to
undress.

“Hold on baby, I got you.” He tugs her black thong to the side and presses in. It takes a moment. He
puts a foot on the narrow bench, giving him more leverage.

“Now, Qimir,” she demands through another whine.

“I'm trying,” he grunts. Then, unceremoniously, he's inside her. His cock scrapes at her inner walls.
“You sure you're—?”

“Shut up and just fuck me,” she mumbles, trying to push back against him, trying to fuck herself on
his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, watching her move. “Hold on, baby.” He grabs her hips and starts to fuck into
her in rough, hard thrusts. “Fuck, you're so tight.” It’s probably not a good thing right now, but it
still feels fucking fantastic.

Osha bites down on her lip, hiding the pain. She doesn't know what's wrong with her. Her mind is
messy, drowning in anything but arousal.

“Be mean to me,” she says. “Please?”

Qimir's had this request before. In fact, he's wondered if Osha would be up for it. He likes to play
this way, and it's even better that she's being explicit about what she wants, because he can really
do it right.

Qimir slaps her ass a little harder then leans into her ear. “Worthless cunt.”

Osha moans.

“You like that?”

She nods quickly, eyes closed, face pressed up against the locker.

“You like being my little fucktoy? Only good for one thing. That's right, Osha, you're no princess.
You're my fucking whore. And you like it, don't you? Because you're just a worthless slut, begging
for cock.”

“Uhuh,” she agrees. It's actually not far from the truth. “Just a slut. Oh, fuck!”

“Rub your clit, baby. I'm not gonna be nice and help you out this time.”

Osha drops her hand between her thighs and starts to rub.

“That's it. Just a fucking little cunt. Only good for one thing.” He grits his teeth together. It feels
good to be bad. It feels good to treat her this way—to use her. Just a little. After everything they've
been through, after what she did to him.

Even better to know that she wants it.

“Oh god,” Osha says, panting.

“Oh, fuck yes, Osh, that's my little slut. Beg me for my cum. Beg for it.”

“Please, give me your cum.”

“You want me to fill up your worthless cunt?”

“Yes, please!” She's whimpering now, and it sends Qimir over the edge in seconds.
“Fuck! Fucking. Little. Slut.” He throws his hips into her, hard, and Osha shudders and shakes.

Qimir holds her close as she goes limp. His cock twitches inside her, and he breathes hard against
her neck, arms wrapped around her tightly.

“You okay?” he asks, breath hot and wet.

Osha nods once, slowly. She manages a meek, “Yes,” and Qimir suddenly feels awful. It doesn't
sound like she's fine. Not at all.

He pulls away from her, confused and upset. “Did you get what you needed?”

Osha rushes over to the door to the toilet and answers, “Yeah. I'll be out in a bit.”

Qimir gathers himself before walking out of her locker room. He's not okay. She's not okay. And
they're meant to race in less than an hour.

“Qimir!” Sol calls from down the hall, causing him to nearly jump. But the old man couldn't have
seen him exit the locker room. No.

This is something else.

“What is it?” Qimir asks as they enter Sol’s office.

Back in Osha's locker room, she gets cleaned up and dressed. She doesn't know what she's going to
do about all of this. Maybe her sister is right about visiting with a therapist. It's just too
overwhelming to try to go through all this gunk and garbage inside—perhaps someone on the
outside looking in can help her sort it out.

Her phone buzzes on the bench and Osha picks it up. It's from Leo.

“Have you seen this?” he asks in text. “I thought it was AI but they're saying it's real.”

Osha opens up the article.

ANISEYA RACING ENGINEER PLOTTED TO SABOTAGE HER

updated 4:15

The Formula One Subreddit was buzzing this afternoon after an anonymous account posted what
appears to be a video of ex-Formula Two driver-turned-Race Engineer describing in detail how he
would sabotage rookie driver Osha Aniseya. The video, which has now received over three million
views in less than an hour, features Qimir De La Cruz, possibly under the influence of alcohol,
explaining the so-called plan to a group at a party. Although the sound level makes it difficult to
hear, and one could barely make out the Race Engineer in the darkness, Redditors quickly cleaned
up the audio and posted a transcript online.

De La Cruz: No, no. F*ck you, man. No. I wouldn't hurt her. I'd just [laughs], I’d just use her own
needs against her.
Voice 1: You're insane.

Voice 2: No, listen to him, he's got the whole thing figured out.

De La Cruz: I'm an engineer, right? Got the degree—in motorsports. So I'm thinking, why not
become a Race Engineer? In fact, why not become her Race Engineer?

Voice 1: But you couldn't get away with, like, sabotaging her car. There's no way.

De La Cruz: Nah, man. I wouldn't have to touch the car. You don't fuck with the car. You fuck with
the girl.

Voice 2: See what I mean?

De La Cruz: She's just a girl, like any of ‘em. And I can tell you, from what I've seen, she's the kind
to get so dickmatized, she wouldn't even care if all the red flags were there.

Voice 1: But then what? You dickmatize her, then you break up with her?

De La Cruz: Nah. She's not that kind of girl.

Voice 1: How do you even know so much about her anyway?

Voice 2: I'm telling you, he's obsessed. I think he just really wants to fuck her.

De La Cruz: I've done my research.

Voice 1: Fine, then what do you do? What's the final move?

De La Cruz: What would ruin any woman? Get her pregnant. End her career for good.

Voice 1: …

Voice 2: …

Voice 1: That's fucking dark, man.

The Saber Team could not be reached for comment.

Qimir stands in Sol’s office, frozen as the sound of his voice in the video is finally cut off. He was
so different then, so filled with anger and… lust. Back when his loathing had begun to evolve.

He had spent so much time with her, watching videos of her in interviews. But it wasn't to learn
more about her. No, it was because he just liked to look at her.

So it became an obsession, yes. A fucked up obsession to do something horrible to her under the
guise of a lover. Of course he was never going to actually do it. He never thought his CV would
 catch the eyes of anyone on any F1 race team. He had all but given up until Saber called him.

And by that time, he was enthralled more than anything. Curious. Attracted. He would never betray
her. Not even the Qimir in the video would dare to fool her. It was just a stupid, alcohol-fueled—

“I think you should leave,” Sol says.

“What? No, that was… That was forever ago. I wasn't even serious.”

“I don't care. It's out now. The damage has been done.”

“But Osha and I are—We’re a team, Sol. And a damn good one. I'm not going to just leave her.”

“It doesn't matter what you think is best. She's no longer your responsibility.”

Qimir bristles at that, then walks out.

“Where are you going?” Sol yells.

“To speak with Osha.”

But he doesn't have to walk far. Osha's standing there, in the hall. Her eyes are bloodshot, her
cheeks streaked with stains.

“Osha—”

“Leave. Please.” She gulps, then turns her back to him.

Qimir should run after her. He should explain everything, from the beginning. But it's all such a
fucking mess.

He turns back to look at Sol. “I'll leave, but just for today.” Sol simply crosses his arms, and
Qimir's jaw clenches. “That girl—she’s… She's worth more than you can give her, Sol. And you
know this. That's why you hired me. And I'm not here to fuck around. I never was.” He rubs his
face in frustration. “I pulled her out of the wreckage. That was me. I—” He bites down on the
admission, lets it sit for a moment before he says, “I love her.”

“You're not the only one,” Sol says quietly.

“But I'm the only one who can help her.” He swallows, then turns to leave.

They can drag his name through the mud all they want, he doesn't give a damn. Because he's only
ever had one goal since he joined Saber—to get her to a fucking podium.

And that hasn't changed.

No, he'll be back. Because she needs him and he needs her and they're not done yet.

Chapter End Notes

And no, Osha still hasn't seen what Qimir has under his shirt 😭
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!