A SECOND CHANCE MAY BE TOO HOT TO HANDLE
They say there are no second chances, and for Lily Onassis, ever since she walked away from Formula World driver Max Becker, she's considered this true. Instead of a glitzy, glamorous life on the auto racing...
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LILY
The good news is, Max drives so well during qualifying the next day that he achieves pole position, which means for the race he'll be first on the grid.
The bad news is, we'll probably have to sleep together again tonight so he'll win the actual race tomorrow.
Or is that bad news?
I keep pondering this in the hours after Max's blistering qualifying laps. Watching him was pure joy, poetry almost, for people like me who love the sport and the art of driving. He handled every curve, hugged every wall, with a deft touch. Even Dad called me afterward, overjoyed; he watched it from his hospital room.
Esteban came in third on the grid, so the team is in a cautiously optimistic mood as we head to that afternoon's press conference.
"You nervous?" Esteban asks me. He's so young and new in the sport that at thirty-one, I feel practically ancient next to him. We're walking with Tanya and Max into the press center on the track.
"A little. You?"
Esteban grins. "I love this part."
I wish I had his enthusiasm. This is the part I've been dreading. So far, everything's gone as planned, and I've been largely able to stay out of the public eye. But as is typical after qualifying, each team goes before the press and submits to a round of questions. Usually it's my incredibly quotable dad here in the press room with Jack and the drivers.
We're all clustered in a closet-like room next to the press center, waiting for another team to finish up their media conference. Max tugs at my sleeve, and motions with his head to step to the back so we can talk.
"You're sure about this?" he asks in a low voice, sending a hum of desire through me. Despite our intimate sleeping position last night, we hadn't so much as touched in a sexual way, but the tension remains — at least on my part.
Maybe not on his, a fact I was trying not to dwell on. He'd bounded out of bed early this morning and left without a goodbye. I'd pretended to be asleep as he slipped out of the room. Didn't want to make it any more awkward than it already was.
"I'm good. Really."
"If there's anything you don't want to answer, I'll step in, okay? I know how to get the press off my back." Max is an expert at that. A glare and a two-word answer are all he needs to shut conversation down. I've watched him do it a hundred times.
"Thanks. But I'm okay." It's almost embarrassing to be this inept in front of the media, and surely Max thinks I'm ill-equipped.
"Okay, it's time," Tanya calls out, and we all file into the main room.
It's packed, lined with cameras and photographers from around the globe, and at least a dozen print reporters. My stomach coils into a tight knot. Maybe I'm not ready for this.
