Interrupting our conversation, Laura quickly walks over to us and gives us a brief rundown of the schedule. I smile at her, giving her a reassuring nod to show I understand what she’s saying. Which I do, but I don’t think I like the arrangement of it all. First, we take candids, then we take teammate photos, and lastly (my least favorite of them all), we take photos with Mr. Donatello. That means I have to get close to him. I don’t like it. It’s already an uncomfortable situation when we’re five feet apart. That’s the perfect distance to keep calm, I feel like if I get any closer to the man, I’ll punch him in the face.
“Let’s start with Maria Alejandra first since she was here before the others,” I hear Laura yell.
After taking what feels like a million photos, it’s time to take teammate candids with Xavier. The photographer yells out different poses such as us facing each other with our arms crossed over our chest. Holding that stance I can’t help but laugh while looking into Xavier’s eyes. Trying to hold in our laughter just made us laugh harder.
The photographer yells at us to be serious and do the stance again, we try, but fail and burst out laughing again.
My head falls back as I’m wheezing and Xavier topples over trying to contain his laughter, but it isn’t working.
You can hear the barely audible gasping statements that we make consisting of “you” *insert snort “we have to be profession—”while another wheeze comes out. I already like him more than Mr. Donatello. Interacting with people can be dreadful but interacting with him is delightful.
After making our way through all of the shots rather slowly, it’s finally time for the candids with the team principal. I can tell he doesn’t want to be photographed, but he’s going to have to deal with it.
Just like we’ve been doing it this whole time.
He walks over to us and looks over at the photographer in question. Well, we all do, me looking more lost than the others.
“Allez,” the French photographer says while clapping his hands.
“I’m going to need Mr. Donatello in the middle, while the other two drivers are at his side, holding their helmets in their hands and facing away from him.” He pauses, releasing a dramatic breath.
“Mr. Donatello, if you could take off your jacket and cross your arms in the middle while doing a power stance that would be great,” he finishes. Looking over, I see Mr. Donatello take off his Elektra Motorsports zip up, showing his black tee underneath.
Holy fuck. I can’t think what I’m thinking right now, it goes against everything I stand for. But shit, his arms are other worldly. From all the times I’ve seen him in photos and the encounters we’ve had, he’s always had sleeves covering his arms.
But to see underneath all of that, wow. His tattoos go down his entire bicep, while some scatter his fingers. He’s definitely gotten bigger since his retirement. F1 drivers have to maintain a certain weight because it affects how the car performs, so most male F1 drivers—including Mr. Donatello, when he was racing that is—are on the slimmer side.
Mr. Donatello was on the slimmer side as well when he was a full-fledged driver. But now he’s far from that physique, he’s built. The ink caresses his skin so effortlessly, like his tattoos were made for him.
STOP. You despise this man.
But he is hot as fuck, it’s science and nothing more. Grabbing my helmet, I try to take my gaze off the eye candy because I refuse to ever let it slip that I think he is attractive.
My attraction to him changes nothing, I still loathe the man.
He walks back to the center and crosses his arms. Holy fuck! How are they so fucking nice looking? I swear to God, I hate myself right now.
Composing myself, I finally move into the pose that the photographer asked me to get into. He snaps a few shots before saying we’re done for the day.
Thank God.
Xavier slowly walks away while taking off his racing suit. He suddenly turns as he pulls his shirt over his head and faces me.
“Bye, Ale. I’ll see you tomorrow for practice.” He waves, a massive grin on his face, and walks out the door.
As I take my eyes off Xavier, my gaze reaches the outline of Mr. Donatello’s back. It’s not fair to the world that such an asshole has a body like that.
Putting his zip up hoodie back on, he freezes as he feels my eyes on him. Before he turns around, I make sure to switch my gaze from “you’re so fucking hot” to “I despise you.” I think it works because he returns the look.
He catches me off guard by stepping closer to me. Inch by inch, his long strides devour the floor beneath him. They are long, slow, and calculated. He’s only inches away from my face, and I can feel his breath brush against my ear.
He is so close.Too close.
“Don’t look too long at me with distaste,ragazza. It doesn’t matter if you stare at me like I’m the devil incarnate. Those pretty sea green eyes won’t forget when I really do make your life harder. You’re in the big leagues now, so buckle up,tesoro, because I don’t particularly like you either.”
As he walks off, he calls for his team with the wave of a finger. Before he leaves the room, he looks back at me with his masochistic smirk that I hate so much. To say I see red is an understatement.
The only thing I notice before he walks out the door are his hands. Those large, tattooed hands, with an array of rings on them. It’s so effortless, but so fucking hot.