#dbd&gm

Max had thought— 

Just. 

Who takes their fuckbuddy to Paris to tell them that they’re leaving to go to shitty Renault? 

Max knew—

She knows. Had known. That she is always loving Daniel more than he loved her. 

She would have thought that he didn’t love her, and that it was her being a stupid little girl with a crush like her father kept saying, but after Monaco—

Did he know in Monaco? As he moved above her, in her, with awed tears in his eyes, champagne or pool water making his hair extra curly, that he was leaving for Renault? 

Max had thought that was making love. Just like she thought this trip was the sign that they were—something. 

Something more. 

She should have known when he met her in Paris instead of driving from Monaco. 

He was meeting with sponsors, stupid French sponsors for his new, stupid French team. 

She takes another sip of her shitty canned gin tonic, staring out at the navy black beyond the train’s windows. They say it’s a nice train ride, if it’s not the middle of the night, and you’re not drinking and not not crying. 

Her phone lights up in the window’s reflection. It is of course Daniel. 

She needs to learn how to not pick up his calls. She needs to be better. Practice. Max is good at practicing. 

She’ll start now. 

The screen goes dark, then lights up again. 

It wouldn’t be the first time Max fucked up practice for Daniel. 

Maybe she’ll always be a fuckup when it comes to Daniel. 

She answers, and she listens to him rattle off excuses. She hates it. Hates him. Hates that he’s making her do this, promises to herself that she’s done, that this is it. 

And she hates, most of al, that he’ll make her break that promise. That she’s a silly little girl with a crush on a boy that she thought loved her. 

And she hates that he doesn’t. 

But she loves him, of course. More than all of that. 

She holds up two beers. Awkward and stiff, like she doesn’t want to be here.

Daniel raises his eyebrows. “What are those? Apology beers?”

She nods.

He shuts the door in her face.

Childish, but Daniel never claimed to be anything otherwise.

“Daniel!” He can hear her huff. “Fuck you, Daniel, I am trying to be nice and do the right thing, and you of course won’t even let me because you are a massive dick and will only listen to me if—”

“Jesus Christ,” he yanks the door open to shut her up. He doesn’t know what’s at the end of her sentence, but he’s pretty sure Max isn’t above saying if I’m on your dick.

Which is, like, true. But he doesn’t need the entire paddock knowing that.

“Can you be any louder?” He asks. He shouldn’t because if there’s one thing he’s learned about Max between being teammates and fucking around with her, it’s that she’s got the humor of a nineteen-year-old guy when it comes to sex jokes.

Sure enough, she opens her mouth, big pink lips stretching wide, and he rolls his eyes. “Save it, will you? I’m not in the mood to pretend to laugh at your jokes.”

Max’s eyes narrow. “At least are you going to let me in?”

“Why, so you can give me a shitty beer and tell me that it wasn’t really your fault?”

“Well, I was going to let you fuck my ass, but—”

The rest of the sentence is lost to the sound of blood rushing to his head, or out of it, and him grabbing Max by the arm and pulling her inside, the door of the motorhome slamming shut.

“Jesus Christ, Max, you can’t just say that.”

“Well,” she says, far too smug. “It got me inside.”

“Oh, so that was just a tactic?”

Max frowns. “No, I meant it?”

Daniel shakes his head, takes one of the beers from her hand, opens it on the counter, and downs half of it as he sits on his couch, legs sprawled wide.

He wipes his mouth. Max is staring at his crotch. “It won’t be nice,” he says. “I’m too pissed at you to be nice.”

“I don’t need nice,” Max says immediately. Haughty. She sets the other beer on the counter and walks over to him. Most girls would try to be sexy, but Max is incapable. But despite her clunky, boyish walk, she still fucking is.

She straddles his lap, just like he taught her. “And you, of course, are never nice anyway.”

Max is a fast fucking learner when it comes to sex. Half a year ago, she couldn’t even initiate a kiss, and now she’s nosing at his neck and grinding on his lap. She’s still, like, hella awkward with it. But her inexperience—it’s heavy. And fucking hot. He said he wanted to be her first everything, and Max is apparently content to let him have at it.

He captures those plush, bitten lips in a hungry kiss, shamelessly groping her ass in her ugly khaki shorts. He can’t resist—he smacks her ass once, hard, and she yelps into his mouth.

“I am upset with you,” he says. She’s still writhing against him. Kinky. Neat.

“I am sorry,” she says, breathless as she pulls away. Then she climbs out of his lap, gangly and ungraciously, and pulls off her shirt and sports bra in one go.

He’ll never admit it, but her tits do make him forget why he’s mad in the first place.

“Alright,” he says, standing. “You want me to fuck your ass?”

He grabs her hips and spins her around so her ass is flush against his mostly-hard dick. He grinds against her, and she moans as she nods.

God, another first. He’s high with the thought.