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“P7, man. We’ll take it.”
Colt groaned, slumping against the steering wheel as he drove past the grandstands along the waterfront. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he grumbled. “What the f-”
“Language, Colt. We gotta cut down on those fines. FIA isn’t pulling punches. You saw what Russell got hit with after that stunt in Canada.”
He made a face, dragging a gloved hand down the front of his helmet as he continued around the track, tailing the orange of a McLaren ahead as they all paraded back to the pitlane. “What the fudge was that?” He shouted. “Felt like I was driving a boat. I had no grip, no power. Is this the same car I was driving in FP3?”
The radio crackled to life again as his brother sighed in his ear. “Apparently, we had some minor tweaks to the suspension and ride height. Proved effective with Verstappen.”
“Did Dan sign off on it?” Colt asked, rolling his eyes. “I thought I was clear when I said everything goes through him.”
“Copy. Dan signed off on it.”
“I told him not to touch the setup!” He shouted as the car came to a stop. He tore his gloves off as his mechanics rushed out, bringing the car back into the garage as he disconnected the steering wheel, handing it to one of the mechanics.
“Don’t give up hope,” Ryland announced. “Albon might’ve been impeding you in the hairpin; it’s under review. It’s in the steward's hands now.” He paused as Colt pushed off the headrest and jumped out of the car. “Speaking of Williams. Both Sainz and Albon have been taking their sweet time getting out of your way on push laps all weekend. Multiple blue flags for both of them.”
Colt raised an eyebrow as he pushed his helmet off over his head, his blond hair matted down with sweat, even darkened a few shades. He tugged his earbuds out and jogged across the pitlane, coming to stand beside his brother and squinting at the screen, reading over the telemetry data. “Williams?” He asked.
“I mean,” Ryland shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he chewed on the end of his pen, “it’s Monaco. There’s hardly any overtakes in this race for a reason. But Williams has been impedeing you more than anyone else on the grid, any clue why?”
He glanced over at the pitwall, seeing a familiar flash of platinum blond hair among them and scowled. Colt ran a hand through his hair, trying to return it to it’s usual, effortlessly messy look before his media duties as Ryland followed his glare, before turning to give him a deadpan look. “You cannot seriously-”
“If it’s Williams who’s been impeding me, she has something to do with it,” Colt muttered.
Ryland elbowed him in the side. “You expect me to believe Moreno is going out of her way to arrange Sainz and Albon’s run plans to mess with you? For no reason? Potentially jeopardizing her career?”
The Red Bull driver narrowed his eyes. “Hardly for no reason.”
“See, you keep saying that and then you never elaborate.”
“I shouldn’t have to.”
He shook his head. “Let me put this a different way. You believe that Williams’ chief strategist, Jody Moreno-”
“Why do you know her first name?”
Ryland continued as though he’d never spoken- “is altering Sainz and Albon’s run plans to specifically target you and mess you up?” Colt nodded, and Ryland pinched the bridge of his nose. “Has it ever occurred to you that you share a garage with a four-time world champion who missed out on his fifth title by two points last season?”
“Still two points.”
“If Leclerc had overtaken Norris in Abu Dhabi, Verstappen would have five titles while his teammate is still chasing his first win,” he pointed out, poking Colt in the chest.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side? Something about the bond between twin brothers?” Colt countered, resting his hands on his hips as Ryland rolled his eyes.
“I’m your race engineer here, Seavers. You should be glad. GP’s way meaner than I am.”
Colt wasn’t paying attention, having set his helmet down next to Ryland’s water bottle and slipped out of the upper half of his coveralls, wrapping the arms around his waist as he felt the sun beat down on him. He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at the Williams pitwall. He saw another flash of that all too familiar blonde hair, tied back into a neat bun with a pencil poking through it.
She turned, leaning back out of her chair and shot the driver a smirk, but before he could move, he felt Dan’s hand on his shoulder. Colt turned, already opening his mouth as Dan winced. “Look man-”
“Didn’t I say not to fuck with my setup?” Colt interjected, grabbing his helmet and tucking it back under his arm.
“Those tweaks found Verstappen sixth tenths, the call came from above me,” he explained, resting his hands on the driver's shoulder as Colt shook his head. Dan quickly glanced at Ryland, who offered him a shrug. “P7, though, not half bad. Basically guaranteed points tomorrow.”
Colt ignored him, eyes fixed on Williams Chief Strategist, and before Ryland and Dan could stop him, he was moving towards her. She was twirling a pen between her fingers, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she continued analyzing data from the engines and tire degradation, and seemed to be completely oblivious at he approached.
“You wanna- WHAT THE HELL?!” Colt yelped as she whipped around on him, pen already trying to jab into his thigh. “Jesus Christ! I was trying to be civil-”
“Why the hell are you coming over here and sneaking up on me on my own pitwall!?” Jody snapped, clicking her pen closed as she crossed her legs, eyes narrowed.
“I wanna talk about how your drivers spent the entire weekend slowing me down,” he retorted, crossing his arms and eyeing the pen suspiciously.
She raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“You heard me-”
A laugh escaped her as she shook her head. “No, I did. I can’t believe you think I’m altering Sainz and Albon’s run plans just to fuck with you-” Colt grimaced as she slid out of her chair, getting right in his face- “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to be here? You drive for Red Bull, you’ve heard what people say about Hannah, and need I remind you what your ex-Team Principal was up to?”
He blinked. “In my defence, the only reason I didn’t deck Horner as soon as that came out was because I was still in F2.”
“I’m sure that would’ve gone platinum on Drive To Survive, Netflix would have adored it,” she deadpanned, waving her pen in the air as Colt continued to watch it closely. She snorted. “You’re scared of the pen now, aren’t you?”
“I am not!”
“Aww, American Red Bull boy Colt Seavers is scared of a Brit and a pen, you’re adorable,” she teased, tucking the pen into her hair. “Also, on your accusation, are you aware that you share a garage with Verstappen? Why the hell would I waste my time meticulously planning Sainz and Albon’s run plans specifically to fuck with you when I could take Verstappen out instead?”
He glared at her silently.
“Exactly.”
He rolled his eyes. “So you don’t deny manipulating their run plans to fuck with us?”
“Again, why would I do all that work to fuck with you, who has yet to get himself a race win when I could be messing with the four-time world champion?” She raised an eyebrow. “Riddle me that, Seavers.”
He paused, staring at her, eyes tracing the few loose strands that fell across her face. Colt felt his heart start to pound inside his chest, harder than it ever had during a safety car restart or taking it flat out through Eau Rouge at Spa. Oh no.
“This,” he paused, “is your form of revenge somehow.”
“You have such an inflated sense of self-importance. I do not understand how your race engineer can stand you.”
“He’s had twenty-six years of practice.”
She snapped her fingers. “Right. You’re twins.”
“How did you-”
“I could lie and tell you it’s the whole storyline that surrounds you whenever you race on your home soil. Colton Seavers and his twin brother-” she waved her hand as she sarcastically recalled the headlines posted on the F1 instagram- “the power duo of Red Bull. The scrappy young American kids who climbed the ladder together.”
Colt’s eyes didn’t leave hers, for reasons other than wanting to stare her down. Not that he’d ever admit that. “Or?”
“Your brother actually makes quite pleasant conversation, I was surprised,” she revealed with a teasing smirk as Colt raised an eyebrow.
“Why,” he laughed breathily, “were you talking to Ryland?”
She shrugged. “Sabotage.”
“Are you trying to recreate Spygate?”
Jody shook her head, reaching up to pat him on the top of his now fluffed-up blond hair as he ducked away. “Would you believe me if I told that your brother happens to be, how would you Americans put it-” she chewed on the end of her pen- “fine as hell?”
His face flushed a bright red, probably akin to the scarlet livery of the Ferraris. That pounding of his heart now traveling into his head as his throat ran dry. “You-” he squeaked before clearing his throat nervously. “You are aware that Ryland and I are identical twins, right?”
“I would disagree.”
Colt scoffed nervously, trying to fight the blush that was continuing to darken across his face. He choked on his next words, letting out a hacking cough. “We are. I’ll introduce you to my mother in Spain if it’ll clear that up.”
“I’m already meeting your parents? You haven’t even bought me a drink yet.” She smirked as Colt’s brow furrowed. “A little out of order, wouldn’t you say?”
“You say that like you want me to buy you a drink,” he shot back, sucking in a breath as Jody’s eyes flicked between his face and his helmet. He shifted uncomfortably as she dragged her gaze up from the race suit tied at his waist back to his face.
“Maybe I would,” Jody mused, absently studying her nails. “For comparison's sake.”
“Comparison's sake?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Well, if you and your brother really are so similar-”
“Mention my brother one more time, Moreno. I dare you,” he seethed as Jody grinned a little too proudly.
“Well, for one,” she said sweetly. “Ryland actually calls me by my name. Not ‘Moreno’, it’s kind of refreshing. Makes me remember that not all men are cocky, arrogant, Red Bull drivers who march down the pitlane to tell me that I am distracting them.”
Colt’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. “I did not- you aren’t- I- You are not distracting me,” he sputtered. “That’s ridiculous. If you think I have an inflated sense of self-importance, while you’re implying that I am being distracted by you, you’re-” he threw up the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet- “you’re insane.”
“Then why did you come down here, Seavers?”
“Because your run plans for your drivers were getting in the way of my driving, which was making it incredibly hard to do anything effective during my sessions. I got stuck back in P7 while my teammate is P2 and I was on for P5 or higher.”
“‘Incredibly hard to do anything effective’” Jody quoted as she wiggled her fingers. “Sounds like a lot of words to say that my run plans were distracting you.”
“That is not-” he dragged a hand down his still sweaty face with a groan- “that is not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
“No, it wasn’t!”
Jody shrugged, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Sure sounds like it,” she muttered, just loud enough for Colt to let out a sigh.
“Jesus Christ, Jody-”
She nearly choked. “You actually know my first name?” She asked incredulously.
He glared at her. “Entirely against my will. You can blame Ryland for that.” Colt shook his head and muttered. “I need a drink.”
“You have a race tomorrow,” she reminded him as he let out another groan. “Otherwise, I would invite you out. Your brother says you have a taste for spicy margaritas.”
“What exactly were you talking to my brother about?”
She waved him off. “There’s a bar that team staff tend to go to while all of you drivers get shitfaced in the clubs after the races. They make a particularly strong spicy margarita. Great for making bad decisions in case you crash out of the race around the final turn. Looks like the tarmac is fucked over there.”
He eyed her skeptically. “You seem, uncharacteristically worried about my wellbeing.”
“I am about to sit in a strategy meeting for four hours to ensure my drivers get points and if you throw it out the window by causing a late safety car, I assure you, you are going to want something in your system to soften the blow.” She pressed a piece of paper to his chest and then turned sharply on her heel. “See you around, Seavers. Do not be the reason I rip my hair out on Sunday.”
He stood, slightly slack-jawed as she crossed the pit lane, retreating into the garage. He finally shook himself out of his stupor, returning to the refreshing shade of his side of the garage as Ryland and Dan studied the monitors. Colt set his helmet down with a thud as he raised an eyebrow at his twin brother. “Were you gonna tell me you went out with Moreno?”
Ryland’s glasses nearly flew off with the force of his spin. He snorted. “Are you kidding me? I didn’t-” he blinked- “I saw her when I was getting coffee this morning. Talked to her a bit, very cordial.”
Colt raised an eyebrow. “What exactly did you talk to her about?”
“You, actually,” Ryland recalled. “I dunno, she seemed interested in you a bit. Why? She say something?”
He felt his hand close around the paper Jody had given him earlier, and tucked it into one of his pockets as he scoffed, ruffling his twin brother’s hair as he looked at the data from the session. One of his mechanics came by, setting his phone next to his helmet as Ryland reviewed tire temperature data aloud to both of them. Dan nodded intently while Colt half-listened, typing in the number that had been scribbled on the paper.
I know the best spot for spicy margaritas in the area, and it’s better than whatever you were saying. Sunday evening?
Just as he went to tuck his phone back in his pocket, he heard the familiar notification chime and glanced down at the message.
No wonder the stewards always ding you for jump starts if you’re this quick. Sounds like a date.