It’s not like we’re together or anything. I don’t have feelings for him, and he doesn’t have any for me, and that’s okay.
But I’m starting to like him a little bit.
What monster have I become?
He is very sophisticated. Apart from his bad boy—more like—edgy man exterior, all his interests are so fancy. He only listens to classical music—mostly Beethoven—and it’s been established that he has a thing for art history.
He’s knowledgeable in most things, which can be incredibly frustrating. I talk about something, and he’ll always correct me. Can he let me be dumb for once? I personally think it’s the Italian in him, but I would never say that to his smug face. He’s lucky to be well-endowed and somewhat fascinating.
After our race in Texas, we went our separate ways. Because of a delay, the Mexican Grand Prix was held back a week. It turned our break of a few days to two whole weeks. The weird part is that all the other locations had already set back their schedules for a week or two before it was announced. I don’t really think much of it. After all, it means rest and more sleep. I still wake up every morning to get my workout in with my trainer, mostly resistance exercises to keep me lean. I love boxing. It helps release all the tension and shit on my mind. When I used to hate Luca, I happened to work out more than twice a day with a punching bag. I imagined it was him and it was thrilling.
Now, he has to be all bearable and everything and also have a magical dick and tongue.Which helps.
Looking at my outline in the full-body mirror ahead, I decide that I love the outfit I’m wearing. I put on a breezy tool dress with some silver jewelry and combat boots. I like it. It’s girlier than usual.
Today, I have plans to meet my best friend, Violetta, in El Zocalo. It’s the huge cathedral that sits in the middle of everything. It’s basically the center of Mexico City. The square is buzzing with noise and life.
I’ve always loved it there, and so does Violetta. I met her when I went to Acapulco for a tennis tournament she was playing in. She and I got along really well, and now we’re basically inseparable. Being a star-studded player, it helps that she travels for work almost as much as I do.
She is probably one of the best professional tennis players right now. Wimbledon is on her list of things to do this year, as it should be. She really is an incredible player. It’s cool having a best friend with a drive like mine, even though she is a little different. Being the observant person she is, her soft-spoken personality can come off as shy, but really, she just likes to observe a person before she converses with them, and that’s where we’re opposites.
I happen to say what’s on my mind, but it’s the perfect balance.
Both of us being Mexican professional female athlete besties. Walking out of my room, I pace down a couple of stairs, and reach for my keys. I press the elevator and wait for it to arrive.
VIOLETTA:Estoy arriba. Nos conseguí una mesa antes de que otro turista pudiera hacerlo.
ME:Ok. Estoy Subiendo.
Turning my phone off, I put it in my purse, and look up at La Palacio de Bellas Artes. It’s still one of my favorite things to look at in el centro de la ciudad. The orange, yellow, and black ombre basilica at the top makes it such a wonder. It feels so grand, like something you would see in France, which would make sense since it obviously has some European inspiration due to the Spanish colonization in the fifteenth century.
I turn away, walking to the Sears in the front of the palace. Walking in, I make it to the elevator that takes me to the terrace above. The café overlooks Bellas Artes. Violetta and I found it on YouTube when we were sixteen. Taking on our dreams, training every day, and coming here afterwards for coffee.
I make it to the designated floor, and see her blonde locks swing over her shoulder when she turns around to look at me. Her distinct style contrasts with mine. She loves color. Pastels and muted bright tones. She has an eclectic style, which I can assume takes some criticism from her two fashionable twin sisters, Cleo and Chanel.
I squeal as we hug.
“¡Siento que no te he visto en mucho tiempo!”
“Bueno, es porque no nos hemos visto,”she responds, our conversation continues in Spanish.
“True, but we do text every day.” I point at her and she smiles.
“That we do.” She reaches for a sugar packet in the middle of the table, pouring it into her coffee mug and swirls it around with one of those little wooden sticks. The waiter comes over to greet me, asking for my order.
“A black coffee please.” He nods, going over to the barista area.
“You and your tasteless concoction.” Her face turns into one of disgust.
“What? At least I don’t do drugs.”
“That I’m grateful for because you would be abusing the shit out of it.” I give her a judgemental look.
“So how have you been?” she questions while taking a sip of her coffee. I pause for a moment, not wanting to tell her about how I’m casually sleeping with my boss, who is also one of the world’s most renowned veteran F1 drivers.
“Good, how about you?” I touch her hand, hoping it will make her take this conversation swiftly away from its focus on me.
“Good. I still have to deal with my younger sisters coming to my apartment every day. Even though I moved out just to get away from both of them.” I laugh. “I remember the days when you thought that they were going to burn your closet down,” I point out as she groans. “Now that they can drive and know where my spare key is, I still worry about it to this day.” The waiter comes over with my coffee, setting it down in front of me. I nod and say a quick thank you.