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Hungary race weekend, 2016.
Thursday. Three days before the race. Expectations from the media are higher than ever on Thursdays. Of course, there was qualifying on Saturdays. That time of the week was popular among the fans more than anything. Max had been in Formula One a little over a season, yet he could already feel the light drain from his eyes every time the race weekend came around. Maybe he was being a little dramatic.
The only things that gave Max pleasure in the sport were wins, of which he only had one, and the exhilarating experience of going far above street limits. The media duties could give him reputation too, he guesses. But, likability doesn’t get you a championship. Max had picked up on that early on. No matter how nice he was on camera, in writing, or in person, it would never balance the aggressive nature of his driving.
He arrived in the paddock for media day. Scanned his badge and pushed through the turnstiles, made his way to his driver’s room, and he waited for the first event of this already hellish day to begin. Christian Horner seemed unfazed by Max’s arrival between the DNS in Austria and the DNF in Britain. His team principal reminded him of his father. The disapproving, sometimes angry, looks on both men were identical—almost uncanny.
Max messed around on his phone for most of the day. The device was successfully hidden under and behind numerous tables and seats. Journalists didn’t take him seriously often, didn’t direct many questions towards him, didn’t even look in his direction. He felt a bit worthless, only completing the tasks assigned in fear of the stewards.
By the end of the day, he felt tired and worn. Despite the small amount of effort. However, he had enough kindness left in his heart to stop a toddler from straying away from their mother. All packed up and ready to leave, he stepped in front of the young girl and crouched down to her level, looking around for a parent before meeting her eyes.
“I’m Max, should we go find your parents?” The girl speaks up with an enthusiastic “yes, please!”
It doesn’t take long for Max to find the child’s worried-sick mother. She stood to the left of him, a frantic expression plastered on her beautiful face. If Max were in any other situation, he would’ve become flustered at just the sight. Perhaps the adrenaline had overpowered his teenage hormones this time. That would be a first.
The dark-haired woman rushed over to her daughter, checking for any marks or scratches on her youthful, lightly freckled skin. She kissed her daughter’s head a few times, pulling her into a hug. The woman picked her daughter up and faced Max. He felt like the air had just been knocked out of him.
“Thank you for looking after her,” she holds her child in her free arm, other one extending out to Max’s, “I’m Kelly.”
He took the older woman, Kelly’s, hand and shook it gently. Around the paddock, she used to be a bit of a star. The daughter of three-time Formula One World Champion Nelson Piquet. The birth of her daughter, Penelope, and the separation from her ex-lover, Daniil Kvyat, had caused Kelly to take a break from the media for a while. Max, despite not ever meeting her, was thankful she was back. Even if it was for selfish, shameful reasons.
“So, you’re the mommy?” Max smiled at her, using setting-appropriate language for Kelly’s daughter. She didn’t want to admit how her stomach twisted and blood ran hot at the nickname. It ran straight north and, especially, south. The title had never hit her quite like this. It was just a word. Yet, she wanted to hear it become the only thing Max could say. Kelly struggled to remember Penelope was still in her arms.
“I am, yes,” She looked over at her daughter then back at Max, “say hi, Penelope.”
☆
Max had achieved his second win that Sunday in Hungary. The podium felt better than the first. Champagne hit his tongue and, despite the sickly sweet taste, he enjoyed the celebration more than anything. In the back of his mind, he was happy he drove well for that gorgeous woman he met earlier.
His team was front and center in the crowd, team principal looking up at him with pride. Kelly was in the back of the large group, difficult to see due to the distance between her and Max. They made eye contact. It should have been awkward, but Max’s smile widened. The only thing better than this would be taking her back to his hotel.
Christian Horner was usually all about business. He was an extremely professional person. In the present day, he loved his job too much to make a stupid mistake. Max assumed he was too high on the win when he suggested throwing a party.
What stopped Max’s hesitation to the question was the possibility of Kelly being there. He wasn’t much of an exhibitionist, more of a voyeur like most men his age, but the idea of taking Kelly in front of everyone excited him. Before fully processing the thought, he enthusiastically nodded towards Christian.
☆
Three hours into the party, Max lost track of how many gin and tonics he had. He was yet to spot Kelly, despite actively looking for her. Max expressed worry to Daniel, who responded with half-assed reassurance, “I’m sure she’s just fashionably late. Y’know how those influencers are.”
Daniel’s words did little to soothe his worries.
Just as he was about to lose hope, he spotted Kelly walking through the door. She was without Penelope. Come to think of it, it would be inappropriate if she was.
Max didn’t want to act like a complete virgin and greet her. He had to be nonchalant about this; he couldn’t blow it. Although, he’d like her to blow him. He shook his head to get the thought away.
He’d go about this casually, try to “accidentally” run into her.
His plan went horribly wrong. Max ends up spilling his drink all over Kelly while turning a corner. Fuck, he should’ve been more careful, he should’ve checked, he should’ve just never come. Kelly helps him out of those immediate thoughts with a yelp.
“Watch where you’re going, dickhead,” Kelly doesn’t see who ran into her, she’s too busy trying to… wipe the drink off of her? Max doesn’t question the logistics.
“I’m sorry, Kelly. I didn’t see you,” Oh, she knows that voice, “Max!”
Kelly is still annoyed, just hiding it better in front of the driver. She was interested in him, sure. And, of course, she wanted to have sex with him. She would just prefer to fuck his wallet instead. The motives were unclear to Max.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were some miserable person who runs into others for no reason,” she jokes. It’s not very funny.
“Close.”
☆
Kelly keeps getting Max drinks. Every time, he asks for gin, and every time, Kelly gets him something stronger. By the time he notices, he’s too drunk to care.
Eventually, she starts pouring drinks into his mouth.
“Come on, Maxy,” she coo’s at him, “Just one more for mommy.”
Max would cringe. Anyone would. He just doesn’t have the right muscles working to make a face. He drinks as much as Kelly deems necessary, swallowing without question.
☆
By the end of the party, it’s light outside. Many people are drunk, passed out on the floor. The more responsible are gone, probably hung over in the comfort of their own home.
Kelly is helping Max clean up the place, she’s just not doing much cleaning. She almost feels bad watching Max trip over chairs, tables, and his own feet. Almost.
Max feels everything at once when Kelly starts fondling him through his pants. He doesn’t register the thrusts he’s making into her hand, or the soft, raspy whimpers that come out of his mouth. She gets disgusted with his urgency.
Getting tired from the hard work of standing there and looking pretty, Kelly sits down on the dirty, beer-stained couch, hand lazily kept on Max’s crotch. She doesn’t even want to be doing this anymore, really. Kelly prides herself in being a philanthropist, so she keeps her hand pressing and scratching.
Max keels over, hand on the arm of the sofa, just barely thrusting into Kelly’s hand. “Ma- M..mm..” Max mutters, face red and sweaty, “Kel… Kels-“ Nothing exists right now. Nothing but her hand and his dick.
“What’s it, Max?”
“Mommy,”
Max says it as a question, not exactly as a moan. Kelly laughs and presses the heel of her palm harder against his pants. Max cries out the term again before having his first drunken orgasm, collapsing onto the arm of the couch. His wrist bends, snaps, and he rolls onto Kelly.
She scoffs and groans, poking Max’s semi-conscious body. Sick of this behavior, she sloppily pushes him off.
Kelly leaves the house a mess, bargaining with herself. He deserved it, he’s like all the others. He’ll forget. He’ll forget, he’ll forget.
It’s his fault for looking like that.