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1.
Charlotte Leclerc was standing in front of the large mirror in her bathroom, carefully adjusting the curve of the last curl by her temple. Her hair was unusually obedient today, framing her delicate little face to perfection. When she finally confirmed every strand was exactly where it should be, she picked up the hairspray on the counter and gave it a light spritz from a distance.
She was wearing an unmistakably oversized shirt, its soft cotton fabric clinging to her skin, the hem falling to mid-thigh. She’d rolled the sleeves up several times, revealing her slender wrists and a sliver of her lace-trimmed ruffled undershirt. On her lower half, she had on high-waisted wide-leg jeans, the soft material perfectly accentuating her cinched waist and the subtly rounded, perky curve of her hips. Her feet were in simple flat loafers—though if you looked closely, you’d notice a faint extra thickness to the insoles, her little secret.
It was her day off, no team schedule to follow, but she’d made plans for afternoon tea with a friend. Her choice of the oversized shirt had been deliberate: lazy and casual, with a hint of unplanned sexiness, exactly her style.
Her phone buzzed, Pierre’s name lighting up the screen. Charlotte hit answer: “Allô, Pierre? I’m ready, I’ll head out in a minute…”
Her voice rose naturally at the end, a hint of coquetry in it that she herself didn’t notice. Pierre seemed to say something teasing on the other end, and Charlotte’s green eyes—bright as new spring leaves—blinked innocently, a cat-like smile tugging at her lips unconsciously.
“Qu'est-ce que tu dis?” She drawled the words playfully. “I didn’t dress up on purpose… this is just something casual.”
Glancing at the mirror, she sucked in her waist slightly, admiring the soft folds the shirt fabric made at her hips. Perfect, it looked just right. After ending the call, she picked up a small clutch from the table and gave her makeup one last check—light, but it highlighted the sparkle in her eyes and the shape of her pretty lips. She tried to wink at her reflection, only to end up with a silly face that made her laugh out loud. Alright, winking was still a work in progress.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, in a luxury apartment near the Red Bull factory, Max Verstappen was tugging irritably at her thick golden hair. She’d just finished her morning workout.
She walked to the fridge, pulled out a Kinder Chocolate bar, broke off a piece, and popped it in her mouth. The rich sweetness calmed her down a little. Her trouble was with her place—her kitchen pipe had burst, flooding the entire living room, and the repairs would take at least a few days.
“Fuck,” she muttered, picking up her phone and scrolling through her contacts. She needed a temporary place to stay. Her eyes lingered on a few names before landing on Christian Horner. Maybe the team could help?
When the call connected, Max explained the situation in her usual blunt, to-the-point way. Christian hesitated for a moment, then made a suggestion that took her by surprise: “Hey, Max, don’t worry about it. I remember Charlotte, right? She’s got an apartment in the city, and the guest room’s always empty. She’s a great girl, I’m sure she won’t mind helping out. Want me to call her for you?”
Max froze. Charlotte Leclerc? That Ferrari driver, an absurdly pretty girl. They were fierce competitors on the track, and their off-track interactions were few and far between, but Max’s impression of the Monegasque was of someone always immaculately dressed, with a soft voice and crinkly eyes when she smiled. Living with someone like that for a few days?
She glanced at her wrecked living room and sighed. “…Fine. Thanks, Christian. Send me her number, I’ll talk to her myself.”
After hanging up, Max stared at the string of digits on her phone, hesitating for a moment. She’d never been good at these social situations, especially with girls like Charlotte—they always left her feeling out of her depth. But there didn’t seem to be a better option right now. She took a deep breath and hit dial.
Charlotte was on her way to the café when the buzz of her phone in her bag pulled her out of her thoughts. Seeing an unknown number, she answered with a hint of confusion: “Bonjour?”
“Hey, Charlotte. It’s Max. Max Verstappen.” A fast, gravelly voice came through the line, instantly recognizable.
“Max?” Charlotte’s voice was full of genuine surprise, her tone lifting unconsciously at the end. “I never thought it’d be you. What’s up?” A million thoughts flashed through her mind—their recent battles on the track, their interactions in front of the media… it wasn’t like there was any reason for a private call.
Max explained her predicament as concisely as possible, then mentioned Christian’s suggestion: “…So that’s the situation. I know this is a lot to ask, but if your guest room is really free, I just need a place to crash for a few days. I’ll move out as soon as the pipes are fixed. And I’ll pay rent, of course…”
Charlotte listened, twirling the hem of her shirt unconsciously with her free hand. Max Verstappen—the girl who was a ruthless demon on the track—was going to stay at her place? The idea alone was bizarre. She could picture Max, probably in her Red Bull team kit, expressionless, eyes sharp, just like she always was in the paddock.
But helping a rival in trouble seemed like fun. Besides, a little curiosity had been piqued deep in Charlotte’s heart. What was the notoriously short-tempered, tough-as-nails Max Verstappen really like in private?
“Mais bien sûr! Of course!” Charlotte’s reply was bright and enthusiastic, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “My guest room’s been empty forever, I’d be happy to have you! Do you know the address? Should I send you the exact location?”
Max fell silent for a second, seemingly caught off guard by how quickly she’d agreed. “…Thanks. I have the address. I’ll pack a few things and head over this afternoon, if that’s okay?”
“Perfect, come whenever you want~” Charlotte smiled. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
After ending the call, Charlotte stood there, a playful grin tugging at her lips. Her afternoon tea date had just gotten a lot more interesting. She’d need to head back early to get ready for her special guest.
Around three in the afternoon, the doorbell rang. Charlotte set down the vase she’d been arranging flowers in and hurried to the door. She’d changed out of her outing clothes into a soft knitted dress, still cinched at the waist, the hem hitting just above her knees, showcasing her leg line perfectly. She wasn’t wearing any shoes, her bare feet on the cool wooden floor.
Through the peephole, she saw Max Verstappen standing outside.
She looked different from what Charlotte had imagined. Max wasn’t in her Red Bull kit, but a plain black t-shirt that was clearly a size too big, the neck button straining slightly, hinting at the impressive curves beneath. She had on skin-tight blue jeans that left nothing to the imagination—her perfect waist-to-hip ratio, her long legs. A sliver of her ankle peeked out from the cuffs, and she was wearing simple sneakers. Two huge suitcases sat beside her, one of them clearly for training gear.
Charlotte opened the door, breaking into a wide, unreserved smile. “Max! Welcome, welcome!”
Max outside the door clearly hesitated for a second at the sight of her. She knew Charlotte was beautiful—it was no secret in the paddock. But in private, with no makeup (or what looked like no makeup) and a casual home dress, Charlotte had a softness that was a world away from the girl beside the track. Her curly hair fell loosely over her shoulders, looking fluffy, the kind of hair you just wanted to reach out and ruffle.
“Hey, Charlotte. Thanks again.” Max shifted her weight awkwardly, avoiding that too-focused, too-bright gaze.
“Come on in, don’t stand outside.” Charlotte stepped aside to let her in, watching her struggle with the two heavy suitcases. “Wow, those are so heavy! Do you need a hand?”
“Nope.” Max refused flatly, her arm muscles tensing as she lifted both suitcases in with ease.
Charlotte closed the door and followed Max, eyeing her back curiously. Max’s golden hair was tied up in a simple high ponytail, and from this angle, Charlotte could see the broad, but not overdeveloped, lines of her back beneath the t-shirt clearly.
“Your apartment’s amazing.” Max set the luggage down in the middle of the living room and looked around. The decor was classic Monaco—bright, modern, with green plants covering the balcony—nothing like her own practical, no-frills place.
“Thank you.” Charlotte said happily, walking over to her. “Shall I show you the room?”
The guest room was spotless, with its own en-suite bathroom and a window facing the courtyard, casting soft light across the space. Max nodded, clearly satisfied. “It’s great, way better than I expected.”
“I’m sure you’ll want to unpack. I’ll leave you to it.” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “There’s drinks and water in the fridge, help yourself, don’t be shy.” She nodded toward the kitchen.
“OK.” Max replied, her gaze drifting to Charlotte’s bare feet unconsciously. Her ankles were slim, her toes round, painted with a pale pink nail polish.
Charlotte felt her stare, and a faint, almost imperceptible flush rose to her cheeks. “I’ll let you get settled, then.” She said, turning and leaving the guest room, closing the door softly behind her.
Leaning against the closed door, Charlotte let out a quiet breath. Being in the same private space as Max felt strange. The woman’s presence was overwhelming.
Inside the room, Max let go of the forced calm she’d been holding onto the second she heard the door click shut. She looked around the room, so full of feminine energy, the air thick with a sweet, fresh scent—just like Charlotte’s. It was everywhere, making her heart race for no reason.
She walked to the window, trying to distract herself. Living with Charlotte Leclerc for a few days… this was definitely going to be one of the most challenging races of her career (maybe even her life).
In the evening, Charlotte was in the open-plan kitchen making a dinner salad. She’d decided to be the friendly, hospitable host, so she’d offered to make a simple dinner tonight.
Max stepped out of her room, fresh out of the shower, in a grey loungewear set—short sleeves and shorts, her damp golden hair falling over her shoulders.
“Need a hand?” Max asked.
Charlotte turned around, and her eyes lit up at the sight of her wet hair. “No, it’ll be done in a minute. Just sit tight.” Her hands didn’t stop moving as she chopped a tomato. “Oh, and do you have any food allergies or dislikes?”
“Nope.” Max sat down at the dining table, her gaze following Charlotte’s figure without her even realizing it. She watched her stand on her tiptoes to reach the olive oil on the top cabinet, the hem of her knitted dress riding up with the movement, revealing a sliver of her upper thigh.
Max looked away quickly, her throat going dry. She stood up and walked to the fridge. “I’ll get some water.”
“Sure.” Charlotte replied, her attention still on the ingredients in her hands.
Max opened the fridge, which was crammed with fresh fruit and vegetables, yogurt, juice, all neatly arranged. She pulled out a bottle of cold water, twisted off the cap, and took a long gulp.
During dinner, Charlotte tried her best to keep the conversation going, flitting from the weather to the movies she’d watched recently, to a new restaurant that had opened up. She always looked the other person in the eye when she spoke, her expressions vivid, occasionally puffing out her cheeks a little at Max’s short replies, then laughing it off, her eyes and brows bright with liveliness.
Max spent most of the time just listening, answering a few words every now and then. She found it hard to hold Charlotte’s gaze for long—those green eyes were too clear, too bright, like they could see straight into her soul. Her eyes wandered instead to Charlotte’s moving lips, or the curls that swayed slightly with her hand gestures as she talked.
“What do you usually do when you’re at home?” Charlotte asked, cutting into a small piece of cheese, curious.
“Gaming. Simulator. Movies.” Max listed, blunt as ever.
“That’s it? You don’t go to parties or anything?” Charlotte’s eyes widened, seemingly astonished.
“Rarely.” Max paused, adding, “Too loud.”
“Oh…” Charlotte nodded, thoughtful. “I love going out with friends. It’s so much fun when it’s busy and lively.”
After dinner, Max offered to do the dishes. Charlotte didn’t argue, leaning against the counter beside her, sipping sparkling water and watching her. Max washed dishes with the same efficiency and strength she drove with—all sharp, precise movements. Charlotte stared, a little dazed, as the water ran over her long, bony fingers.
“What are you looking at?” Max looked up suddenly, catching Charlotte’s gaze before she could look away.
Caught red-handed, Charlotte’s cheeks flared bright red, and she dropped her eyes immediately. “Nothing,” her voice was quieter. “I just… you look different from how you do on the track.”
Max turned off the tap, dried her hands on the towel beside her, and turned to face Charlotte. “How different?”
“You’re not as scary.” Charlotte felt her heart racing, trying to defuse the awkwardness with a joke. “You look really intimidating on the track.”
At that, the corner of Max’s mouth twitched upward, almost imperceptibly. “Do I?” She took a step closer.
Charlotte could see the fine fuzz on Max’s face now, and a tiny mole just above her upper lip. Her gaze drifted down unconsciously, to the open neck of Max’s loungewear, where her skin was smooth, her collarbone lines sharp and beautiful. And lower…
Charlotte snapped back to her senses, realizing where her eyes had wandered, and her face burned bright red, her ears turning pink too. She stumbled back a small step, her back hitting the cool cabinet behind her.
“I… I’ll go check the weather for tomorrow!” She all but fled the kitchen, her steps unsteady as she hurried to the living room, grabbing the tablet from the sofa and pretending to stare intently at the screen.
Max watched her flustered retreat, like a startled fawn, and shook her head. She touched the small silver stud in her right earlobe with her finger, the cold metal grounding her a little.
It was only the first day. She told herself.
Night fell, and the apartment fell quiet. After retreating to their respective rooms, Charlotte lay on her soft king-size bed, tossing and turning. Her mind was filled with images of Max— the tense line of her arms as she washed dishes, the overwhelming pressure of her presence when she’d stepped close, her unreadable blue eyes, the curves hidden beneath her clothes.
“Doux Jésus…” She buried her face in the pillow, letting out a muffled groan.
In the guest room, Max was equally unable to sleep. She rolled over, burying her face in the pillow, which smelled of faint laundry detergent, and sighed.
2.
Charlotte was woken up the next morning by a dull thudding sound. She blinked groggily, taking a moment to place the noise—it was coming from the guest room. Max was clearly doing her morning workout.
She lay in bed, not moving, listening to the rhythmic sounds of exertion, imagining the core exercises Max might be doing. The thudding stopped after about twenty minutes, and a little while later, she heard the sound of the shower running.
Charlotte finally dragged herself out of bed. She picked out a beige silk nightgown, light and form-fitting, and as she stepped out of her bedroom, she ran straight into Max coming out of the guest room.
Max was still in her grey loungewear, her skin dewy with sweat, like she’d just finished a grueling race.
“Morning.” Max said, seeing her.
“Good morning, Max.” Charlotte rubbed her eyes. “You already worked out? That’s early.”
“Habbit.” Max replied shortly, her gaze sweeping quickly over Charlotte’s body. The silk nightgown left almost nothing to the imagination. Max looked away awkwardly and walked to the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Sure, thanks.” Charlotte followed her in, watching Max operate the coffee machine with practiced ease.
The two sat at the dining table, eating a simple breakfast of cereal, yogurt, and coffee.
“Do you have any plans today?” Charlotte asked, stirring her yogurt with a small spoon.
“Nope. Was supposed to do simulator training, but now…” Max shrugged.
“Then why don’t we go out and explore?” Charlotte suggested. “It’ll be so boring cooped up at home all day. I know there’s a huge new shopping mall nearby.”
Max frowned. Shopping… it wasn’t on her list of hobbies. “I don’t really—”
“Come on, come on~” Charlotte cut her off, leaning forward slightly, her eyes blinking up at her. “Just keep me company? Shopping alone is so dull.” Her voice dragged on at the end, sweet and clingy like honey.
Max stared at the face so close to hers, the word no sticking in her throat.
“…Fine.” She caved in the end, picking up her coffee cup and taking a sip to hide her discomfort.
“Yes!” Charlotte cheered immediately, her smile so bright it was almost dazzling. “Go get changed, I’ll get ready too!”
An hour later, Charlotte stood in front of the full-length mirror in the hallway, doing her final checks. She slipped an extra insole into her loafers quietly, making herself look a little taller.
Max’s preparation was far simpler. She hesitated for a moment, then pulled out her go-to outfit—a navy blue Red Bull polo shirt.
The shopping mall was bustling, and Charlotte was clearly a regular, leading Max through the stores with ease. She browsed through all kinds of jewelry and perfume with great enthusiasm, holding up a piece of clothing to herself every now and then, then turning to Max: “Does this look good?”
Most of the time, Max just nodded, or gave a simple answer like “It’s fine” or “Looks good”. Her hands were stuffed in her jeans pockets, her strides long, and Charlotte had to quicken her pace to keep up.
In a brand store with a minimalist design, Charlotte’s eye was caught by a red dress. A true, vibrant red, a classic fitted A-line, with a modest neckline but an extremely cinched waist.
“That dress would look perfect on you.” Even Max couldn’t help commenting when she saw Charlotte holding it up. She could easily picture how stunning it would look on her.
“Really?” Charlotte lit up. “I’ll try it on!”
And Max was right—the red dress was made for Charlotte. She twirled in front of the mirror, a little shy, and looked at Max: “How is it?”
Max didn’t say anything for a moment. She stared at the girl in red standing in the light, like a flame suddenly ignited—bright, fierce, stealing all her breath. Charlotte’s curly hair fell loosely over her shoulders, a little messy, her green eyes glowing like two precious gemstones against the red fabric. She was innocent and seductive all at once, so stunning in that moment it was impossible to look away.
“…It’s great.” Max’s voice was a little gruffer than usual. She forced her gaze away from Charlotte, to the other items on the shelves, pretending to look at something.
Charlotte checked her reflection again, turning to the side deliberately to accentuate the curves of her body. “I’ll buy it then?” She tilted her head and smiled at Max.
Max nodded, still not looking at her.
After buying the dress, they passed a high-end lingerie store. The window was lined with all kinds of delicate, sexy lace lingerie. Charlotte stopped, watching with great interest.
“Want to go in?” Max asked.
“Mhm.” Charlotte walked in first.
The store was bathed in soft light. Charlotte wandered between the racks, picking up a set of pale purple lace lingerie and examining it closely.
Max stood beside her, her gaze drifting to the size tag on the lingerie by accident. She saw that Charlotte was holding a C cup, it seemed.
A friendly sales assistant walked over then: “Can I help you two ladies? You can try on any sizes you’d like.”
Charlotte was about to speak when the assistant’s gaze fell on Max, and she smiled, adding: “And for you, miss, we have plenty of larger sizes—all with great comfort and support.” Her eyes flicked politely over the noticeable curves beneath Max’s polo shirt.
An awkward silence fell over the store. A faint flush rose to Charlotte’s cheeks, and she glanced at Max surreptitiously, finding her expression unchanged—though her jawline seemed a little tighter.
“No, thank you.” Max refused coldly.
The sales assistant took the hint and left. Charlotte leaned in close to Max, her voice a soft whisper: “She meant your size is bigger.” She winked at her playfully, even if the wink was still a little clumsy.
Max turned to stare at Charlotte’s face, so close to hers. The girl’s warm breath fanned her ear, sweet and fragrant. Her gaze darkened, and she suddenly reached out and picked a set of extremely bold, avant-garde lace lingerie from the shelf beside them—edged with tiny metal studs, dangerous and alluring all at once.
“This,” Max held the lingerie out to Charlotte, “suits you better.”
Charlotte froze. “…Why?”
Max leaned in even closer, her lips brushing Charlotte’s ear, her voice so low only the two of them could hear: “Because you’d look irresistible in it.”
Charlotte’s face burned bright red. She hastily put the lingerie back on the shelf, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it would jump out of her chest. “…Let’s go look at something else!”
Charlotte was distracted for the rest of the trip. Was Max Verstappen really this forward in private?
To ease the strange tension—and because of their shared passion—Charlotte suggested they go to a high-performance car brand’s experience store. It had the latest models on display, plus classic racing car replicas and a history exhibit.
Sure enough, the second they stepped into the world of cars, the awkwardness between them vanished completely. They debated aerodynamic packages, engine layouts, suspension systems, standing side by side in front of the display cars.
“This diffuser design is really aggressive.” Max said, pointing to a part of the chassis.
“It is, but it’ll probably lose some downforce in the slow corners,” Charlotte continued, “though the traction out of the corners should be incredible.”
They stood side by side in front of a silver-grey sports car. Charlotte bent down to examine it closely, and Max stood beside her, one hand resting casually on the door frame, her arm forming a loose, almost possessive circle around her.
“Remember when you overtook me here?” Charlotte suddenly said, pointing to a historical photo on the showroom wall—capturing a wheel-to-wheel battle at a corner from a race a few years ago.
“I remember.” A clear smile tugged at Max’s lips. “You held the line too tight, left space on the inside.”
“That’s because I thought you’d go for the outside!” Charlotte stood up straight, retorting indignantly.
“Turns out your judgment was wrong.” Max raised an eyebrow.
“You’re impossible.” Charlotte glared at her.
As evening approached, they headed back to the apartment, their hands full of shopping bags. A day of spending time together had broken down the initial awkwardness and unfamiliarity between them.
That night, Charlotte knocked on the guest room door, holding a pillow and a blanket.
Max opened the door, and seeing her like this, looked confused. “What’s wrong?”
“My bedroom AC broke. It’s not blowing any cold air at all.” Charlotte said, looking pitiful. “Can I sleep with you tonight? The guest room AC works fine.”
Max stared at the girl standing outside the door, only in a thin nightgown, and fell silent for a few seconds. The guest room bed was a standard double, big enough for two people, but…
“Please, Max~” Charlotte pulled out her secret weapon, looking at her with those big, watery green eyes. “It’s so hot outside.”
“…Come in.” Max stepped aside to let her in, in the end.
After getting ready for bed, the two lay side by side in the dark. The bed felt a little cramped with another person in it.
“Max, are you asleep?” Charlotte whispered.
“Nope.”
“Can we talk?”
“About what?”
“Um… why did you want to drive go-karts when you were a kid?” Charlotte rolled over, facing Max.
“My dad was a driver.” Max’s answer was simple.
“Oh… I got into it because of my dad too.” Charlotte said softly. “And my godfather.”
A short silence fell.
“Do you ever feel really pressured?” Charlotte asked again. “With everyone watching you, expecting you to win.”
“Got used to it.” Max paused, then asked, “What about you?”
“I do too,” Charlotte’s voice was a little sad, “especially when you’re ahead of me. The pressure’s even worse then.”
This time it was Max who fell silent. After a moment, she said: “You’re really good, you know.”
The unexpected compliment left Charlotte stunned, and her cheeks heated up. “So are you.”
Another silence.
“Max.”
“Mhm.”
“Are we friends now?”
“…I guess so.” Max gave a noncommittal answer.
Charlotte didn’t seem satisfied with that, but she knew she couldn’t push it. She slowly moved her hand across the covers, toward Max’s side. Her fingertips brushed Max’s hand, which was resting by her side, gently, tentatively.
Max’s body tensed noticeably.
Charlotte’s fingers laid themselves over Max’s hand, softly. Max’s hand was bigger than hers, long and bony, the palms calloused from years of gripping a steering wheel—rough to the touch, but burning hot.
Max let Charlotte’s cool, soft fingers rest on her skin, saying nothing. Neither of them spoke another word.
She didn’t know how long it was before Charlotte drifted off to sleep, lulled by the warmth and the reassuring presence beside her.
But Max lay awake for a long time. She could feel the light weight of Charlotte’s hand on hers, hear the slow, even sound of her breathing beside her. The girl’s sweet scent wrapped around her, like an invisible net.
Slowly, she turned her hand over, lacing her fingers through Charlotte’s cool ones, and held her hand gently in hers.