Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
How long had it been since anyone had touched him like this? Three months, at least. Back before everything with his ex-girlfriend had started falling apart, before every embrace had become awkward, obligatory, and eventually nonexistent.
His entire left side was tingling where they were pressed together. Scott radiated heat, solid and reassuring, every slow breath a subtle reminder that someone was there. It should have felt intrusive. But it was oddly grounding, the steady weight against him quieting the restless energy that had been buzzing beneath his skin all afternoon.
He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until now.
“Still freaking out?” Scott murmured after a while, his voice soft enough that it blended with the low chatter coming from the television.
“No,” Cam admitted. “I think it’s working.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Scott said with a grin. “I’m pretty smart for a useless nepo baby.”
A reluctant snort escaped him.
Cam turned his attention back to the TV, though he wasn’t really watching anymore. The knot that had lodged itself between his shoulder blades after the mediocre Free Practice session had simply... dissolved. His breathing had evened out without him noticing, and the constant hum of irritation that usually lived at the back of his mind had faded into comfortable silence.
Weird.
Even weirder was the absurd urge creeping into his chest—the desire to slide an arm around Scott’s waist and tug him a little closer, erase the sliver of space that still separated them.
He resisted the urge. That would be ridiculous.
He was simply touch-starved. He’d forgotten that something as simple and uncomplicated as holding another person could feel like this—warm, easy, and oddly comforting.
Maybe he should look into getting a new girlfriend when he had the time.
***
Cam had thought it was just a one-off.
But he hadn’t known yet that Scott Palmer was the kind of person who would take a mile if he was given an inch.
It became a thing.
Cam wasn’t sure when the touching became something they just did. Maybe it was on Saturday morning, when Scott had wordlessly leaned into his side and propped his chin on Cam’s bicep as they watched Cam’s onboard from Free Practice. Scott asked questions about his car’s oversteering problems, and Cam answered them, deciding to ignore the way Scott was all over his personal space. It was fine. It meant nothing.
Later that evening, Cam was seated on the motorhome couch, his tablet balanced on his thigh as he studied the telemetry from qualifying.
At some point Scott strolled in. Cam had no idea why no one in the team had stopped him—the McLaren VIP pass probably helped, but it didn’t grant him unlimited access to the team’s hospitality unit.
“What are you doing here?” Cam said, glancing up from the tablet. “Who let you in?”
Scott grinned disarmingly. “Who wouldn’t let me in?”
When Cam rolled his eyes, Scott plopped down on the couch and stretched out on it. Then Scott’s socked feet tucked under Cam’s thigh.
Cam froze mid-scroll. He stared at the lap time glowing on the screen without really seeing it. Should he be allowing this? This was pretty weird, right?
But before he could open his mouth to tell the other man to cut it out, Scott murmured, “You were incredible there at the end. Didn’t expect you to snatch P3 after the horror show in Q1 and Q2.”
“It’s just P3,” Cam said dismissively, flicking a look at him.
Scott was lying with his eyes half-lidded, looking completely relaxed and comfortable.
His feet were still tucked beneath Cam’s thigh.
Cam returned his gaze to the telemetry, deciding not to comment on it. It would only make it weirder.
He had more important things to focus on anyway.
***
Cam strode toward his suite on Sunday evening, post-race adrenaline still fizzing faintly in his body.
Second place. It wasn’t what he had wanted. He’d wanted to win Silverstone. With the German Grand Prix out of the calendar, this was the closest thing to a home race Cam had. And he’d fucking lost. No matter how much he told himself P2 was a good result after the shaky start to the weekend, it did nothing to quell the dissatisfaction under his skin. He’d wanted more. The frustrating part was, he could have won if Hunter hadn’t driven the race of his life.
The door clicked shut behind him, and before he could even process the quiet of the suite, Scott appeared from his bedroom.
“You’re back already?” Scott said, blinking at him. “I thought you’d celebrate with the team longer.”
Cam scoffed. “It’s just a second place,” he said testily. “Not worth celebrating.”
“Okay,” Scott said, his voice laced with humor. “No need to bite my head off.” He stepped closer, his eyes soft. “Come here.”
Cam barely had time to raise an eyebrow before Scott’s arms slipped around his waist in a firm, grounding hug.
It felt so different from the quick hugs he was used to receiving in the paddock. Scott didn’t thump his back or shout congratulations into his ear. He just held on, one hand spreading warmth between Cam’s shoulder blades.