Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

Pretending

"I work with data."

He nodded, pretending to take it very seriously. "Spreadsheets?"

"Thousands of them. Numbers, graphs, a lot of pretending I know what I'm doing."

I took a slow sip from my glass, then turned to him with mock curiosity. "So tell me, Charles. What brings you to this fancy resort? Work? Is there a sand race I should know about?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and low. "A race on the beach? Now that would be something. Though I'm pretty sure my mechanics would have a heart attack."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why? Scared of a little sand?"

He gave me a look. "Sand and engines are not exactly best friends."

"Noted," I said, feigning seriousness. "You should warn your boss. Maybe switch to dune buggies."

He laughed again, then I leaned in just a little, eyes glinting. "So... do you know Max Verstappen?"

He blinked, caught off guard, then smirked. "Verstappen?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I think he's amazing. So fast. So focused. There's just something about him, you know?"

Charles tilted his head, pretending to be deeply offended. "Is this your way of telling me you have a type?"

"Well, when I think about Formula 1, he's the one who comes to my mind" I say looking at him and trying to keep a straight face.

Charles put a hand dramatically over his heart. "Wow. Wounded. Right here."

I fought back a laugh. "I mean, don't take it personally. You're charming and all... for a random guy I just met at the bar."

He narrowed his eyes, leaning in. "So, let me get this straight. I tell you I'm a race car driver, and your response is to fangirl over Verstappen?"

I shrugged, swirling the drink in my glass. "What can I say? The man's got skills."

Charles exhaled, feigning defeat. "Unbelievable. Here I am, trying to impress a stranger, and I'm getting outshined by Max."

"Any chance you could get me an autograph?" I smirked. "It's nothing personal. He's just... you know, Max."

Charles raised an eyebrow, dramatically placing his hand over his heart. "Wow, really?"

He narrowed his eyes, then took a sip of his drink, like he was reconsidering everything. "Well, now I'm wounded. Emotionally. Might need therapy."

I grinned, swirling my own glass. "How tragic. What brings you to a place like this, then? Healing your poor, bruised ego?"

He glanced at me, something softer in his expression now, though still in character. "Actually... I'm getting over someone."

I tilted my head. "Ah. A heartbreak."

"Sort of," he said, voice dipping a little. "We had... history. Years of it. Complicated, messy, loud. I think I drove her insane, and she-well, she made me feel things I didn't even know I was capable of."

I blinked once, caught off guard by how his words managed to land somewhere between honest and in-character. "Sounds intense."

"It was," he said. "Still is. I think I might be waiting for her to show up here, actually. Thought maybe, if I sat in this bar long enough... she might just walk in."

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite the ache building in my chest. "That's a very dramatic strategy."

He leaned in, lowering his voice. "What about you? What brings you here?"