#mv3

Max is always glued to y/n's side. He wants her to be with her all the time so y/n has to find ways to try and encourage him to be social just so she's not the only person on the planet that he interacts with outside of work.

"You should go." Y/n smiles while sitting with Max on his jet and on this occasion with Lando and Carlos catching a ride.

"You should come." Max follows up with his own smile. "We can be a team."

"That's us winning." Carlos comments since Max has dragged y/n to play padel before and she's possibly the best rival to have because she sucks.

Despite y/n dating multi-championship winning athlete, Max is not dating y/n for her athletic abilities. Or even her coordination, which reaches an all time low when she tries physical activity.

"Baby-"

"Please?"

Max is not ashamed of looking like he melts for his girlfriend in front of anyone so him begging her to come with him for something as small as a padel game isn't unusual.

Lando and Carlos don't even make comment about it.

"Fine." Y/n sighs earning a cheer from the two men who really just needed someone willing to go up against them. Y/n smiles looking at Max with a fond gaze. "You are ridiculous."

"On the bright side if we ever need to know where Max is, we just need to find him and he's right there next to you." Lando comments earning a grin.

-

Hosting a new years party was meant to be an opportunity to socialise and enjoy the night. Y/n had really tried to push the rule of only seeing each other at midnight for a kiss.

Max on the other hand thought y/n was genuinely joking when she said that. So he treated it as such. Instead following her around like a shadow while she tried to play the best host ever.

He did help her in that regard but only by being sent off to greet people and trying to get him to take drinks over. As if he was being purposely obtuse, but she knows he wasn't, he would do each assigned job promptly and he'd do it with her hand locked into his own.

Some people might honestly mistake Max's clinginess for anxiety or jealousy. But it's not that deep, it's just Max is always by y/n's side and he likes it that way.

"Max, baby. Do you not wanna see the boys?" Y/n asks softly when they move to get there own drinks.

"Yeah, we can go see them."

Y/n knows she should be grateful, she knows that there's plenty of men who would just kill for a man who loves on them the way Max loves on her. But she more so worries that other people think she's asking him to act like this or has acted in way towards him that makes him want to act like this.

Eventually midnight comes and her life is made easier than the other women that she can see rushing around to find their boyfriends who had somehow disappeared in the last 20 minute count down.

"I guess I should be grateful that you are always here so when I need you I don't have to go hunting for you...I can't wait to love you for another year." Y/n smiles as the people around them begin shouting for the final 10 seconds.

"I'm going to love you for so many years." Max grins and before y/n can make a comment about how he just had to one up her, midnight strikes and y/n is caught in the most amazing kiss that pulls the air from her lungs.

-

Y/n knew to an extent that people must've noticed that Max is walked like a dog by her.

But what really was a gift was fans making a compilation of her walking around in several locations, including the paddock and not being able to get a step away from Max unless he's practically dragged away from her by Rupert and even then they captured how he hugs her tightly and insists on three kisses before he will actually move.

It's actually become y/n's new favourite thing about Max's fans and equally it's become the bane of Max's existence.

Not that he's dare vocalise his complaint, mainly because seeing y/n so amused by it makes him happy even if she can tell he is getting sick of the Walk Em Like A Dog song.

"This will be a clip for later." Y/n grins as she feels Max latch onto her after walking into the paddock with her a few steps ahead of him after his pass wouldn't let him through on the first go.

"That's not going to change me." Max smiles before he squeezes her hand tightly then lifting it to his lips and kissing the back of it as he finally falls in rhythm with her walking though he is slightly behind her.

"Good. I like that I never have to come searching for you. You're always next to me-I'm going to tell your fans to make an edit to that song with all these clips they have of us." Y/n gasps in excitement making him groan playfully as they walk into the Red Bull hospitality. "I'm going to grab some food."

"I'm hungry." Max shrugs moving with her despite him having eaten way more than he should've for breakfast from the hotel while y/n hadn't felt like eating earlier. Especially since the food at the track is always so good in her opinion. The teams feed their employees well and there's a perk about being Max's girlfriend since he so often gets to put in special requests and she uses that for herself. Obviously making him request it on her behalf.

"Alright, baby." Y/n smiles lightly as they move to get some breakfast, and on this occasion the option of a beautiful topped acai bowl doesn't require her to make any special requests.

They get settled down together and y/n smiles feeling Max sitting close enough to her that he's touching her and she almost has to move away from knocking into him so much. But that would only be followed by him shifting to close the gap again so she accepts it and adjusts her eating position accordingly.

Your days were a blur of early-morning training, ice baths, strategy talks, and media that all asked the same question in ten different accents. Sleep was optional.

Your entire world had shrunk to a yellow tennis ball and the lines on the court.

So when Max suddenly stopped complaining about jet lag…

When he didn’t argue about time zones…

When he went suspiciously quiet before your final…

You just assumed he was busy.

Which he was. Just not in the way you thought.

You didn’t notice the way Max started asking strangely specific questions.

What time is your warm-up?

Which side do you usually sit on during changeovers?

Is your box on the left or right?

You answered automatically, barely thinking about it.

You went through your routine on autopilot, tied your shoes the same way you always did, nodded through last-minute reminders from your team.

The morning of the final you woke up calm, unnervingly calm, like your nerves had decided to save themselves for later.

Rod Laver Arena was already buzzing when you stepped out.

The crowd noise hit you like a wave, loud and warm and alive. You took a breath, bounced on your toes, and told yourself not to look up into the stands.

So of course, halfway through the first set, you did.

Not on purpose. Not really.

It happened after a point that should not have been yours a ridiculous rally and when the ball finally went long, the roar was deafening.

And cutting straight through it:

“COME ON!”

Your head snapped up before you could stop yourself.

There he was.

Max, leaning forward in his seat. Sunglasses on, jaw tight, elbows on his knees. The expression on his face wasn’t casual support.

Locked in.

When your eyes met, he realized he’d been caught.

Ready to fight someone if needed.

For half a second, he didn’t even try to hide it.

Then he sat back, crossed his arms, and gave you a look that clearly said focus.

You laughed under your breath and turned back to the baseline.

The cameras did not miss it.

He muttered things under his breath, you couldn’t hear them, but you knew exactly what they were.

From that moment on, Max stopped pretending.

“Too safe.”

“Move her.”

“Again. Do it again.”

Once, after you lost a point you shouldn’t have, he shook his head and took his cap off like he was the one who’d messed up the strategy.

Someone near him whispered something.

Max replied without looking away from the court.

“No, she’s got this.”

The commentators were having the time of their lives.

“And if you’re wondering who’s taking this just as seriously as the players,” one of them said, amused, “that’s Y/N’s boyfriend, Max Verstappen. Very… animated today.”

Animated was generous.

Watching.

At one point, you were pretty sure he stood up to argue with a line call before remembering he was not, in fact, part of your team.

And every time you looked up, just for a second, Max was there.

Calculating.

Absolutely refusing to relax.

Match point came.

You served.

The return clipped the tape.

The ball dropped dead.

For a split second, there was silence.

Then everything exploded.

Both fists in the air. Wide grin. Eyes bright in a way you rarely saw, even after wins of his own.

You didn’t remember dropping your racket. Didn’t remember laughing until your chest hurt. All you knew was that you’d done it, you’d actually done it, and when you looked up again, Max was already on his feet.

You lifted your hands toward him without thinking.

He pointed back like, yeah, that was you.

Backstage, chaos surrounded you, cameras, congratulations, noise, but the moment you saw him pushing through, it all faded.

He wrapped you up instantly, arms tight, solid, grounding.

“I nearly lost my mind,” he admitted into your hair.

You laughed. “You? Competing?”

“I was one bad call away from jumping the barrier.”

“Please,” you teased, pulling back. “You loved it.”

He smirked. “I did. But I’m never doing that again.”

“I’ve won championships,” he said slowly. “This was worse.”

***

Celebration dinners, laughter, champagne you barely tasted. At some point, alone in the quiet of your hotel room, Max sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, still buzzing.

You smiled. “Because you couldn’t control it.”

He glanced at you. “Exactly.”

You woke tangled together, his arm around your waist, your leg hooked over his like you’d claimed him.

You kissed him everywhere, lazily, like time wasn’t real, lips, nose, cheek, jaw.

“You’re going to make me late,” he murmured.

“You’re already late,” you said, kissing him again.

Your phone buzzed. Team meeting reminder.

You didn’t even look at it.

“What could they possibly say?” you asked. “I won.”

He laughed quietly. “You’re unbearable now.”

Eventually, he had to leave. Bags packed. Shoes on. Reality creeping back in.

At the door, he kissed you slowly, hands firm on your waist.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice low and serious. “More than you know.”

“I know,” you smiled. “I saw you almost fight a linesperson.”

He groaned. “Never letting that go, are you?”

The next morning, you woke alone and immediately reached for your phone.

Max:

I’ve officially lost my name.

Max:

Everyone’s calling me Y/N’s boyfriend.

Max Verstappen had a crush. 

A crush that was problematic because you worked trackside for Red Bull as one of his lead performance engineers. It was wholly inconvenient that he spent so much time around you but could never seem to ever work up the courage to actually do anything about it. Being flustered around someone was foreign territory for Max, the arrogance of being a 4 time World Champion that could drive the wheels off of anything with an engine translated well off the track. 

Usually. 

That seemed to have changed when it came to you. 

The first time he tries to ask you out, it’s late on a Friday night in Australia, the first race weekend of the season taking the wind out of everyone’s sails. He’d been in endless meetings peppered with exhausting media duties all day and finally, finally he was done for the day. All he had to do was find his car and get back to the hotel. 

On his way out, he spots you. 

A Red Bull backpack slung over one shoulder, hair tied up in was probably started off as a neat ponytail twelve hours ago, your body sagging against a light post in the car park. Your eyes were fixed on the phone in your hand, a frown turning down at the edges of your lips. 

Max is alone, the car the team had sent for him already idling for him 50 meters in front of him. 

“Everything okay?” He asks, stopping next to you. 

You startle slightly, having been so focused on your phone you hadn’t even heard Max come up next to you. 

Rolling your eyes, you slip your phone into your pocket, “I told everyone to go back to the hotel ahead of me thinking it would be easy to find an Uber.” You smile up at him and Max’s chest does this weird aching thing that only seems to happen when you speak to him. “I was wrong. I’ve had four rides cancel on me now.” 

“Ride back with me.” He hadn’t meant it to come out as blunt as it did, but his words seemed to get all jumbled up when you’re around. He shoves a hand through his hair, his cheeks flaming. “I mean, you can ride back with me. If you want.” He nods towards where a black SUV sits waiting for him. 

You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, expression uncertain. You’d worked at Red Bull for a few seasons now, first just at the factory in Milton Keynes but eventually, your star had shined bright enough for you to find yourself working closely with GP. You knew Max, had worked closely with him for 2 seasons now but this? This was something new that threatened to cross that professional boundary if you’d let it. 

The sun had been set for a few hours now, the track quiet and almost deserted. If you didn’t take Max up on his offer, you knew that you’d be waiting for an hour or even more for another ride share to finally agree to take you back to the hotel. After working a 12 hour day at the track, you were dirty, tired, and hungry. 

“Okay. Yeah, that would be great if you don’t mind.” 

Max shakes his head, his shoulders relaxing now that you’d agreed. He hadn’t said it, but he had been prepared to wait for you to find a ride if you’d refused his help. There was no way he was going to leave you alone, not in the dark at the track. 

“Of course not. I offered.” 

The drive to the hotel is quiet. Max is not good at small talk and you’re too tired to notice how fidgety he is next to you in the back seat of the SUV. It’s not awkward though. The quiet is comfortable, settling easily between you two. Max manages to a few questions in a nervous attempt to get to know you better and you answer, detailing what led you to working with GP at such a young age. 

By the time the car is pulling up underneath the hotel awning, Max is pretty sure his crush has ballooned into a full blown obsession. You’ve got a quiet confidence about you and you’re not intimidated by who he is, like younger team members can be. You treat him like anyone else, and seem to genuinely appreciate who he is as a person. 

The hotel lobby is quiet, a few people still sitting in the small restaurant that sits just beyond the concierge desk. Max opens the door to the lobby for you and you thank him, hiking your backpack higher on your shoulder. 

“Thank you for rescuing me.” You say, laughter teasing the edges of your voice. “I learned my lesson for next time, don’t wait too long or else you’ll need to be rescued by a knight in a Formula One car.” 

Max chuckles, low and affable. “I’m glad I was there to help.” 

For a moment, you both just stand there, something unspoken and heavy hanging between you. The way he’d felt so comfortable with you in the car just moments before replays in Max’s head. He doesn’t want you to go quite yet, doesn’t want to be out of your presence any time soon. His mind works overtime, trying to figure out a way to extend this time with you. Would it be inappropriate to ask you to dinner? Maybe just a drink? You hadn’t really flirted with him at all but then again, Max was not the best when it came to reading other people. 

His mind races, trying to come up with something smooth to say. 

Your cheeks flush and Max clears his throat, running his hand through his hair. “Have you had…” He starts, finally finding the words behind his tongue but he’s interrupted by someone shouting your name. 

You startle a little, reluctantly pulling your gaze away from the way he’s looking at you. One of the engineers is crossing the lobby towards you, grinning, eyes pinging back and forth between you and Max. 

“You made it back!” Your coworker says when she reaches you. “A bunch of us are going next door for food, fancy joining us? You too, Max! You’re more than welcome to join us as well” 

You sigh, gaze sliding away from Max somewhat reluctantly. “I’m actually exhausted, Gabs. I think I’m just going to head up to my room and order some room service. 

Max shakes his head, chest tightening. He was glad he hadn’t asked you to eat with him because he doesn’t know if he’d survive being turned down by you in front of someone else from Red Bull.

“I’m beat too.” He claims quickly before taking a step towards the elevator. “See you ladies tomorrow.” 

You lift a hand to wave and watch quietly as Max retreats to the bank of elevators across the marbled lobby. “Thanks again for the ride, Max!” You call before heading towards your own room. 

The silence that settled in the hallways of the Red Bull factory in Milton Keynes late at night was something that Max craved. 

With how fast he lived his life, he lived for those rare nights where he lost track of time in the sim only to emerge to find the entire factory completely empty and tucked in for the night. It felt like he could think straight for the first time all day, after being forced to sit through media duties, cameras in his face, and endless engineering meetings. 

The quiet hallways were a refuge that Max always found himself lingering in when he found himself in their presence. 

He walked down what he thought was a deserted hallway in the engineering wing of the factory. Every office light was off along with most of the overhead lights. Only a few emergency lights that always stayed on burned a low, glowy yellow this late at night. Max didn’t have any reason to be there anymore but he also didn’t really want to go back to the empty flat that Red Bull kept for him when he wasn’t in Monaco. 

As he made his way towards the front of the building, Max noticed there was a beam of bright light spilling out into the hallway, an office door still thrown open and music floating out into the otherwise silent building. 

He stops dead in his tracks when he realizes who it is who is still here this late at night. 

That office that was still open? It was yours. 

Max’s memory flickers back to Australia, when he’d nearly worked up the courage to ask you out that night before the race. In the time since, he’d been unable to manage to get you alone for more than five seconds but now? This was another opportunity presenting itself to him and he refused to let it slip away again. 

He drew in a breath, straightening his spine as he started towards your door. He was about 10 feet away when he heard your soft signing along to the Noah Kahn song floating out of your laptop speakers. 

For a moment, you don’t see him standing in the doorway and Max enjoys the time he has to simply observe you, your hair tied up in a haphazard bun, glasses perched on top of your head as you lean forward to stare daggers into the second monitor that sits on your desk. There’s a small pinch between your brow and it takes Max all the strength he possesses to not walk over and smooth it out with a brush of his thumb. 

He clears his throat softly and you startle at the sudden noise. 

“Max!” You breathe, leaning back in your chair and clutching at your chest. “I didn’t know anyone was still around.” 

Max chuckles, low and throaty as he shakes his head, “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just saw your light on and thought I’d check into make sure everything was okay.” 

You blow out a breath, reaching up to shake out your hair from the elastic that had been keeping it somewhat tame at the crown of your head.

Max’s pulse stutters at the way your hair tumbles down in thick waves over your shoulders. 

“I didn’t realize it was so late.” You say, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your palms. “I’ve been looking at telemetry from the last three years at Spa for,” You check your watch and whine, “Six hours now. I can’t figure out how the McLaren’s are so quick out of the low speed corners. It just doesn’t make sense.” 

“Well, it’s nearly two in the morning, why don’t we leave the McLaren mystery for tomorrow? Spa is still three weeks away anyways.” 

You sighed but stood up from your chair, stretching your arms high over your head. All thoughts eddied straight out of Max’s head when a strip of bare skin appeared between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your Red Bull polo. 

“You’re right, I should call it a night before I go crosseyed permanently.” 

“I’ll walk you out to your car.” He offers. 

“You don’t have…” You start but Max cuts you off with a shake of his head. 

“Don’t start, I’m walking you out to your car. It’s too dark outside and it’s too late for you to be wandering around outside.” 

You peer up at him, seemingly trying to decide if you’re going to argue with him or if it’s worth the fight. After a moment, you bend down to pick up your bag and shut down your computer, “Fine.” 

Your twin footsteps echo off the walls as you and Max walk slowly towards the employee car park at the back of the factory. You chat quietly about weekend plans, the upcoming race weekend in Austria, plans for the off weekend coming up. It’s casual and feels easy, the conversation that flows between you two as the factory sits in quiet observation. 

Max pushes the doors open, holding them open for you before you grin up at him, a quiet thanks falling from your lips. You pause, shivering in the windy English night. It’s not cold, not really, but the breeze is strong enough that it’s somewhat uncomfortable out without a jacket on. Max has to restrain himself from running his hands up your arms to warm you up. 

“My car is that way.” You say, tilting your head in the opposite direction of where Max’s car is. “I think I can make it from here.” 

Max knows he’s running out of time. He’d been unable to gather the courage quickly enough in Australia, he didn’t want it happening again. But suddenly, the words just couldn’t make it past the back of his throat. He palms at the back of his neck, clearing his throat as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. 

You seem to sense something is on the tip of his tongue so you don’t move but then the wind picks up, howling through the tree branches above your head. A spatter of rain soaks your bare arms and you shiver again. 

“I’ll watch you from here then, make sure you get in your car alright.” Max says into the quiet, seemingly losing all of his nerve. 

You blink a few times, caught off guard by his words but you don’t know what else to say so you just nod, “Thanks for walking me out here, Max.” You pause, chuckling a little as you hike your bag up onto your shoulder a little higher, “You’re always coming to my rescue lately.” 

Max blushes, ducking his head at the praise, “It’s starting to rain, you should get to your car before the sky opens up.” 

“Goodnight, Max.” 

Max’s chest squeezes, his cowardice ringing in his ears. “Night.” 

It always seemed to rain in Spa. Without fail, at least one session during the weekend when they raced in Belgium seemed to be plagued with rain in some capacity. This year was no exception. Qualifying had been delayed for nearly three hours now, the track being far too dangerous to allow the cars to venture out. The FIA seemed to remember the disasters that had plagued the track when they pushed the envelope too far so they were airing on the side of caution today. 

You were alone in the engineering room, everyone else had wandered out over an hour ago. There was nothing to get done now, not really. All of the strategies had been decided, run plans mapped out and fuel loads for the race calculated already too. Now it was just a waiting game, something that you didn’t handle well. 

The nerves from the rain-soaked track grated at you, the replay of Lando’s crash back in 2021 playing over in your head.You knew crashes were expected in Formula One, but it didn’t make it any easier. Not when this very track had also claimed a life before in the rain as well. 

Being at Spa in the rain always made you anxious. 

And when you were anxious, you studied data. You tried to sooth the jagged edges of your nerves by planning for everything, giving Max the most options even though you knew he could probably drive this track with his eyes closed in the middle of a hurricane. You didn’t care, having some sort of control over the chaos that rain always brought to a qualifying round was the only way you’d make it through the day. 

You didn’t even notice the door swing open, your focus was so fixed on the laptop screen in front of you. 

Max had noticed you weren’t at lunch with the rest of the engineering crew and had come looking for you, two sandwiches and a Diet Coke in his hands. Ever since that night in Milton Keynes, he’d started swinging by your office whenever he was at the factory late at night. It had become somewhat of a tradition, him walking you to your car late at night. 

He still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask you out though. 

“Thought I’d find you in here.” He murmurs quietly so as not to startle you. 

You lean back in your chair, closing your eyes, “I’m too anxious to eat.” 

Max sits down next to you, pushing the sandwich and Diet Coke in your direction anyway, “You need to eat though.” 

You roll your eyes, “You sound like my mother.” 

A smile tips up at the edge of his mouth, “She sounds like a smart woman.” 

Quiet settles over the room as you open the bottle. Max just watches, content to make sure you’re actually going to put something in your stomach instead of pretending to eat just to appease him. 

“I hate rain races.” You say finally as you unwrap the sandwich, grinning slightly when you see he’s brought you your favorite: turkey and Swiss with mustard and pickles. “They make me anxious.” 

Max’s gaze softens. He knew how closely you guarded your opinions at work, knowing that being a woman in a ‘man’s world’ didn’t allow you space for admissions of ‘weakness’, even if he knew many engineers felt the same way. 

He allows himself to scoot incrementally closer to your chair, resisting the urge to reach out and cover your hand with his though. “Well if it makes you feel any better, racing in the rain is when I feel most at home.” 

Your eyes slide over to his, “It’s not your ability I’m worried about. There are 19 other cars out there that aren’t nearly as good as you are in the pouring rain. I don’t like knowing all 20 of you are at risk out there.” 

Max shakes his head, “Hazard of the job when you spend lap after lap driver over 300kph.” 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” You grumble, biting into your sandwich. 

Max smirks, “It sounds like you’re worried about me, schat.” 

You go still at the nickname, your face heating. Max swallows down an apology, choosing to pretend like he’d meant to let the term of endearment slip from his lips. 

You blink at him, setting your sandwich down as you turn to face him, “Of course I’m worried about you, Max.” 

The air in the room thickens, the tension that always seemingly simmers just beneath the surface with you two bubbling over. 

Max clears his throat, unsure of where to go with this. He’s been biding his time with you ever since his second failed attempt at asking you out. Was now the right time? It felt right but at the same time, you were both at work. Would it be unprofessional to do it now? In the engineering room? Over stale sandwiches and Diet Coke? 

“There you two are!” Laurent pokes his head into the engineering room. 

You jolt away from Max so quickly, you nearly topple out of your chair. 

“The FIA just announced the green flag for qualifying will be in thirty minutes! We need you both out here.” 

You stand, grabbing the last half of your sandwich and Diet Coke, “Of course, Laurent. We’ll be right out.” 

Max stands, frustration burning at the back of his throat. “I’ll go get changed.” 

Winning races was expected when you went to work for Red Bull. You’d become so accustomed to watching Max cross the finish line in first over the years you’d worked trackside, it was strange for you to watch him finish anything lower than off the podium. 

The win this weekend though? This win felt different. With GP at home with his wife that weekend, another engineer had taken his place but Max had really relied on you that weekend. You’d begun providing him with tire data mid-session during the practices, track updates, and post-session meetings as well. 

It felt like you had taken a step up that weekend and now, as you watched Max climb out of the car behind the P1 placard, you felt something in your chest tighten. This win felt more like it was really yours than any other win before. 

Max’s helmet comes off and he’s over to the team at the barriers right away, his eyes going straight to you. He grins, nodding at you before turning away to say something in Laurent’s ear. Laurent gives him a strange look but slowly nods before his gaze dances over to you. Your face heats, knowing that Max was saying something about you before anyone says anything. 

Max is off to the cool down room and before you even make it back to the garage, your team principal corners you. 

“Max has requested that you accept the constructors trophy on the podium this weekend.” 

You freeze mid-step, blinking rapidly as you try to process what Laurent has just told you. 

“What?” 

Laurent smiles warmly. Compared to the team that Christian had run in previous years, you much preferred the frenchman who was quick to compliment and even quicker to reward a job well done. “He says you were instrumental in our win this weekend and frankly, I agree. He’d like you up there with him on the podium.” 

“I…well…Are you sure the team wants me to go?” You stutter, completely unable to form a complete sentence. 

“Just say yes, it’s a great honor.” Laurent pats you on the shoulder before gently turning you towards the doorway where Max had disappeared through with Lando and Oscar. “Through that door, just tell the FIA representative that you’re going to be accepting the constructors trophy and they’ll take care of the rest.” 

The next few moments are a blur of sound and chaos, with you doing your best not to appear totally overwhelmed. Max sees you walk through the door as he waits with Lando and Oscar just outside the podium. He sees the wide-eyed, almost terrified look on your face and takes a step towards you on instinct. 

“It’s okay,” He tries to reassure you. “It’s not as scary as it seems up there.” 

You frown, “You’ve done this a few times. There are millions of people who are about to watch me get doused with champagne.” You pause, the color draining from your face, “I saw what you and Lando did to Hannah when she was up there last time, I’ll kill you both.” 

Max tips his head back, a laugh rumbling through his chest as his shoulders shake. “She said she smelled like champagne for a week.” 

“Okay, I changed my mind, I’m not going up there.” You grumble, taking a tentative step back. 

“Okay! Oscar, you’re out there first!” The FIA official shouts and you jump, your palm covering your fluttering heart. 

Max grins at you manically, “Too late to back out now!” 

“Lando, your turn!” 

And then it’s just you and Max. The FIA official instructs you to follow Max out after he’s announced and tells you where to stand and suddenly you find yourself on the podium standing off to the side behind Max, Lando, and Oscar. 

The crowd cheers so loud you struggle to hear the announcer over the PA system, everyone delighted to see another Max Verstappen win. You watch from your spot as the trophies are handed out and then take a step forward when the constructors trophy is presented to you. 

The entire thing is a blur and you do your best to take in every moment, knowing that this could be the only time in your career that you’ll end up on the podium representing your team. The cheers of the crowd sends shivers down your spine, hearing the Dutch national anthem is like a second homecoming for you, and then you’re watching as the boys in front of you set down their trophies and reach for the champagne. 

You’re still struggling with the cork on yours as Max walks right over to you, swirling the bottle around in his hands as an evil smirk overtakes his face. 

“Don’t you dare, Verstappen!” You shout, but it’s useless.

Cold champagne covers your hair before you have a chance to dart away from Max. He’s laughing so loudly it’s all you can hear as you finally get the cork off of your champagne bottle and do your best to return fire. Off to the side, you hear Lando and Oscar chuckling as Max pours his entire bottle over your head. 

“I’m going to murder you!” You shout, but there’s laughter at the edge of your voice. 

Max’s cheeks are flushed as he watches you, eyes sparkling as you drown in champagne. The first thing he’d thought of when he’d crossed the line that afternoon was how much you’d stepped up in GP’s absence this weekend. He had thought about pushing for you to be his race engineer in GP’s place but knew that wasn’t possible. 

Not yet anyway. 

This was second best though. Watching how proud you were when you’d been handed the constructors trophy. How you tried to appear annoyed when he’d sprayed the champagne in your direction while secretly loving every moment of it. 

It was everything that he’d wanted it to be. 

The ceremony is over as quick as it starts and before you know it, you’re stumbling your way off the podium and back into the quiet hallway. Lando and Oscar wander off to change quickly before the press conference but Max dawdles, hoping for a quiet moment with you. 

“So, how was your first podium ceremony?” He asks, handing you a towel that had been meant for him. 

Your dry off your face, laughing as you blink away the champagne from your eyes. “Quite the experience. I feel like you targeted me out there though.” 

Max shrugs, trying to play it cool, “I wanted to make sure you got the full experience.” 

You snort, “Oh, I got the full experience all right. No one is going to want to sit next to me at dinner tonight because I’m never going to get the smell of champagne out of my hair.” 

“I would…” He says quietly and the air in the small, cramped hallway shifts. 

You blink, cheeks heating at the implication of what he’d just said. 

“I mean…” Max stutters. “If we were all to go out to dinner, I’d sit next to you even if you did smell like champagne all night.” 

You smirk, enjoying the way he squirms under your gaze. “Oh? Is that so?” 

“Max! We need you in the presser! Come on, you’ve got to change!” Rupert calls from the end of the hallway, a dry race suit in his hands. 

Max’s shoulders slump. “Be right there.” He calls. 

You toss your towel at him before shaking your head, “Go on, race winner. You’ve got other things to do besides sit next to me and my smelly hair.” 

Max frowns but turns away. He’d gotten so close that time. So close to asking you out finally and once again, the moment is stolen. 

If you had one vice in the world, it was caffeine. Any time Max stopped by your office during the day when he could manufacture an excuse to be there, he’d never see your desk without at least three mugs of coffee in various states of consumption. You were never without a to-go cup in the paddock on those early trackside mornings either. 

It took Max a little longer than he liked to figure out your coffee order. It seemed as if you were never ordering the coffee, the coffee was just magically always in your hands. He had been tempted to ask around but felt that was a little too obvious, even for him. But once he overheard you bragging to one of the mechanics that you’d had the most delicious cinnamon vanilla latte the other weekend at some small cafe on the outskirts of Milton Keynes, Max committed the fact to memory. 

The next time he was at the factory, Max stopped at the cafe he’d overheard you gushing about and ordered you the latter you’d been gushing about along with a slice of the same banana bread he’d spotted on your desk a week earlier. It had been a few weeks since your podium appearance and he hadn’t managed to make it to the factory since, so Max was quite nervous when it came to finally seeing you. 

He walked down the crowded corridors, hoping no one would ask why in the world he was carrying a large to-go cup of coffee when he was very much a Red Bull in the morning guy. 

Your door is thrown open and he can hear the music floating out of your office before he even gets within 100 feet of it. It was a busy Tuesday morning and there was no race that weekend so he knew you’d be in full prep mode for when you had to travel next week for a race in North America. 

Max props a shoulder against the doorjamb and watches you for a moment, your gaze fixed on your laptop. You’ve got a pencil in your mouth and a slight frown tilting the corner of your mouth downwards. 

“You look very locked in for 9am on a Tuesday.” He says after a moment. 

You startle but lean back in your chair with a smile on your face when you see it’s Max standing in the doorway. “Just going over some tire data for the race next weekend.” 

“Well, hopefully you can take a break. I come baring presents.” Max sets the large coffee cup and paper bag down on your desk before pushing it towards you. “Cinnamon vanilla latte and banana bread for my favorite performance engineer.” 

Your eyes light up. How in the world had he known your order? “From Kennington Lane Cafe?” You ask incredulously, leaning forward to pick up the cup. 

Max nods, something in his chest tightening at the look of absolute delight on your face. 

“That place is clear across town, Max! You didn’t have to.” 

Max shrugs, “I know you’ve been staying late prepping for the race next week. I wanted to make sure you knew how appreciated you are by everyone on the team.” He inhales, stealing his courage for what he was about to do next. “How much you mean to me too.” 

Your expression softens. This was a Max that not many people got to see. The softer side, the more private side that he saved for people who had earned his trust. After working closely with Max for the past several years, you were honored to realize that you’d been taken into that circle and were one of the people that he trusted. 

You take a long sip of the hot liquid, your eyes falling closed. 

Max nearly loses his mind when you moan quietly. “Oh, Max, that is so good.” You look at him then, not missing the way a blush has crept up his neck and stained his cheeks. “Thank you.” 

Max clears his throat, pushing the paper bag towards you too, “I got a slice of banana bread too, I thought you might like it.” 

“Their banana bread is my favorite. They roast the walnuts before the put it in the batter. It’s heavenly.”  

A comfortable silence blankets the room as you push a piece of bread towards Max to try. 

He swallows thickly, knowing that he finally has another opening to ask you to dinner tonight. 

“Listen, I was wondering…” He starts and you look up at him expectantly. 

“There you are! Max, GP is looking for you.” Rupert pops his head into your office. Max grips the edge of the chair he’s sitting on so hard, his knuckles turn white. “He needs to talk through some things before your sim session this afternoon.” 

Max shakes his head, “I’ll be right there.” 

You stand from your desk, “I have a meeting to get to anyway. Thank you for the coffee and treat, Max.” You smile at him warmly, “I appreciate it!” 

Max watches helplessly as you make your way in the opposite direction of GP’s office. 

The heat of the Italian sun baked the cobblestone bricks beneath your feet, the haze of the summer sun sizzling a tan into your skin. It was summer break, a two week mandatory shut down where everyone in the factory was forced out of the office. Usually, you didn’t venture far from your flat in Milton Keynes, even for summer break but this year was different. 

You were staying with a few friends from university in a villa just outside of the little Tuscan village where no one spoke a word of English and the pasta was always freshly made. Most days you’d spent lazing around the pool that sparkled underneath a sky so blue you never wanted to leave but you’d felt restless this afternoon.

Your friends had gone on a winery tour an hour south of the villa. You weren’t a huge wine drinker, so you’d passed on the trip and opted for a walk into town. The canvas bag at your side was full with ingredients to make the most delicious summer pasta later that night as you wandered down the cobblestone streets. 

The heat was relentless and you were thankful that you’d chosen a light linen skirt and airy cotton t-shirt to wear today. Anything else would have felt oppressive. 

Ducking into a quiet little bookstore that was tucked into a shadowy little alley, the bell above the door announces your arrival. The ancient store smells like paper and ink, the darkened aisles a perfectly cool respite from the summer heat just outside the walls. 

You greet the shopkeeper in stilted Italian before wandering towards the back of the shop. Soft jazz plays over a scratchy radio behind the counter in the otherwise silent shop. It feels like you’re the only one in the entire world in the back of the shop and your shoulders relax as little as you wander deeper into the bookstore. 

As you round the corner, heading towards the cookbooks that are all in Italian, you startle realizing you’re not alone. A tall figure stands at the end of the aisle, dark blonde hair falling over the man’s face when he ducks his head to peer at the book he’s holding in his hands. 

“Max?” You say before you can even think of a better approach. 

Max’s head snaps up so quickly at the sound of your voice, a smile immediately spreading across his entire face. “Of all the places in the world to run into you.” He murmurs, chuckling slightly at the serendipity of it all. 

“I’m surprised you’re not out on your yacht somewhere in the south of France or something.” You tease lightly, taking a few steps towards him. 

Max closes the book he’d been examining, turning his full attention to you. “That’s next week.” He says with a wink and you roll your eyes. “I’m here with my sister and her family. We usually rent a villa for a week or two in the summer.” He takes a step towards you, “I’m glad to see you’re taking a well earned vacation as well.” 

You blush at how close he is to you now. You can smell his cologne, something woodsy and earthy that you’ve never noticed before. His sky blue cotton polo and khaki shorts are the perfect summer uniform, showing off a more relaxed side of Max that you rarely see at work. 

“I’m staying with a few friends from uni just outside of town.” You say by way of explanation. “They’re on an overnight winery tour and I’m more of a sparkling water kind of girl, so I was just going to have a quiet night in by myself.” 

Max peered down at you, his pulse fluttering at the way you smiled up at him. He’d known you for a while now, had missed so many opportunities to get closer to you that it was almost maddening. There had to be a reason the universe had put you two in the same tiny bookshop in the same tiny Italian town at the same time. He couldn’t ignore it, not when he’d been searching for this kind of chance for what felt like ages now. 

Your breath catches in the back of your throat at the way Max is looking at you, like he’d been thinking about you just before you’d turned the corner and he couldn’t believe you’d just appeared out of thin air. You couldn’t deny that you were attracted to the driver but you hadn’t really allowed yourself to go down that road too often because of the entanglements it could cause at work. 

But now? Here in this tiny little town in the height of summer where you both had nothing else going on? It almost seemed like it was meant to be, this random meeting. 

“I don’t supposed you’d like some company tonight then?” Max asks quietly, his voice husky in a way that has goosebumps pebbling your skin. 

You blink, something warm curling itself low and golden in your belly at the way he’s looking at you. “I did buy everything to make this spicy pasta dish I read about in one of the villa’s cookbooks tonight. I’ll have more than enough for the both of us.” 

Max’s eyes flare with pleasure. He’d tried this so many times over the last year and here it was, the moment finally slipping into place in the most unexpected way. “It’s a date then.”