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George was fuming. He just couldn’t understand how some people, more specifically Max fucking Verstappen, can be just so insufferable sometimes.
This time it wasn’t even something he did, just something he said, again.
That stupid nickname, Princess he said, to George, in front of cameras, with that stupid smirk of his. George honestly couldn't stand Max most of the time. He just wanted to make Max shut up for once, no matter how but that just seemed impossible with the way he could talk for minutes on no end.
George was already in his hotel room, his race went fine, P2 is solid and good points for the team. He just showered and decided to actually text Max about what happened, just because he wanted to know why Max seemed so obsessed with getting a reaction out of George.
He sat down on his hotel bed, back against the headboard, in his sweatpants, non-branded T-Shirt and a towel around his neck to catch the falling water drops from his chestnut brown hair.
George opened his phone, went to WhatsApp and opened Max’s contact.
George
What was that this afternoon?
Why did you call me ‘princess’ again? Honestly it’s annoying.
George hit sent and started waiting for a response, the response came a few minutes later.
Max
really? You’re still hung up on that?
Russell, it’s just a stupid nickname, no need to be so dramatic about it.
George
I’m not being dramatic, you’re just insufferable sometimes.
Why are you so obsessed in trying to get a reaction out of me?
Max
I just did, did I not?
I’d say you texting me is a pretty strong reaction, no?
Of course he’d say that, George thought, always wanting to be right.
George
Honestly, fuck you.
It was a stupid, petty and childish reaction. George knew that but he just had to say it for once.
Not that he didn’t mean that. He did. Max had been irritating that afternoon over nothing, which wasn’t exactly unusual. Max had a talent for getting under George’s skin without even having to do much, that bloody nickname did it every time.
He didn’t wait for a reply, just tossed his phone besides him on the bed and closed his eyes.
He waited. Three seconds. Four seconds. Then his phone buzzed, he let out a sigh and reluctantly picked his phone up again. Their conversation was still open, Max’s response glowing faintly in the dim lit room.
Max
go ahead then
fuck me
ain’t nobody holding you back.
What?, was all what George thought. He stared at the screen without blinking or moving a centimetre. He actually stopped breathing for a second.
George just sat there, phone in his hand, staring at Max’s last messages like he suddenly started typing in another language.
“I- what the fuck?”, mumbled George aloud.
He reread the messages, once, twice, trice. There was no possible way of interpreting that as anything else as what Max meant it.
George
I meant that as an insult.
Max's reply came in almost instantly.
Max
I know
still
George
…
You’d actually let me?
Max didn't answer right away this time, long enough for George to think he crossed an invisible line.
Max
yeah
George mental stability went out the window, he knows that Max is an attractive guy, everyone can see that or well George thinks that Max is an attractive guy but sometimes really just insufferable.
Max
why wouldn't I?
Yes, why wouldn’t he? Excellent question. A question George had no answer for.
For months, heck even years, George had been telling himself that whatever was going on between them was just rivalry. Irritation. Competition. Mutual dislike with an unfortunate tendency to become heated words thrown at each other though the press and social media. Contact during races.
That was all or at least George thought that was all. It had to be, right?
George typed back:
George
I don’t know. You seem like a top, not a bottom.
The moment he hit sent for that message George wanted to throw his phone out of the window and into the streets below.
Why had I said that?, George thought, Why had I even thought that?
The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Max
problem?
George let out a disbelieving laugh.
George
No, no...
He hesitated before adding:
George
Fits, actually.
There was, again, a pause from Max’s side of the conversation.
Max
really?
you seem like a bottom, lol
George stared at the screen, his mouth actually fell open.
“Oh, fuck off.”, he muttered to himself.
George
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Max
nothing
just, you seem more the type.
This conversation has gone completely off the rails, George rubbed a hand over his face, how had he ended up here? In a hotel room somewhere in the world, flirting with Max Verstappen through his phone. Max, his rival.
A few minutes ago he had been genuinely pissed at Max. Now though?
Now he was sitting in his hotel room having a conversation about something he had never once seriously considered before tonight.
At least he had not consciously thought about it.
That was George’s whole problem right now.
Because now that he said it, his brain had apparently decided to make up for lost time in 4K.
He could picture Max with him, too close, underneath him, falling apart, wrapping his arms around George's shoulders, George's hands at his waist-
Nope, he thought, I will not think like that about my rival, absolutely not.
George
You’re unbelievable.
Max
you started this conversation
George scrolled up their conversation and looked at his message. Right, he did start. Max had a point.
George
You were the one who answered with “fuck me”.
Max
and you haven’t actually declined
George froze at that, he stared at the message, at the ceiling, then back at the message. He could hear his own heartbeat, he was suddenly hot all over.
“Bloody hell…”
The typing indicator appeared again, Max was writing another message.
George was lost for words but before he could figure out what to say Max sent another message.
Max
that’s what I thought
nothing to say, Russell?
George laughed under his breath, everything about this was ridiculous. He should stop this, close WhatsApp, put his phone down, turn the lights off and go to sleep. Instead he stared at their conversation thread for another few seconds.
Max
room 219
That made George blink, what was that?, he thought.
George
What?
Max
my hotel room number
Max was serious, actually serious. George’s heart kicked hard against his ribs. He typed one character, deleted it, started writing again.
George
On my way.
Be there in five.
He sent it before he could change his mind. For a few seconds Max didn’t answer, then he typed:
Max
thought so
George stood up, looked down at himself, he was still wearing his T-Shirt and sweatpants, socks, towel slipping off his shoulders. Then he looked around the room, as if there might be someone supervising to explain what in the bloody hell he was doing. There was no explanation. Naturally. Why would there be?
He grabbed his phone and wallet, slipped on his slippers, picked up a thin sweater.
What am I doing?, he thought, Am I making myself look presentable for Max?
At the door, he stopped. This was insane, we hate each other, or at least we were supposed to, right?, George thought to himself with his hand at the doorknob.
He opened the door anyway. The hallway was quiet, too quiet in George’s opinion. He looked around to see if someone is out, there wasn’t, he was alone in the hallway. George continued towards the lift at the back of the hallway, he stepped in and pressed the button for floor two. Red Bull and Mercedes stay at the same hotel for once and this is what happens…
As the door closed, George looked at his phone one last time. Their conversation was still there, the entire thing, a fucking disaster compressed into a handful of messages. He shook his head.
“A few minutes ago…”, he muttered to nobody except his reflection in the lift wall,”Fuck. What am I doing?”
Had we even stopped fighting?, he asked himself, Maybe we hadn’t, maybe this was simply what happened when neither of us knew what to do with whatever had been simmering between us for months.
The lift dinged and the doors opened, he stepped out into the hallway. Room 219 was at the end of the corridor. George started to walk and for the first time all evening, he had absolutely no clue what he was going to say to Max when he got there.