It was one of those nights.

Bored, glowing, and dressed up for absolutely no reason except to remind yourself you could be. Your mirror selfies were hitting, and the lashes were lashing. Just to be stupid, you threw up a story captioned:

“Off-season wife material 🏎️ @MaxVerstappen”

You chuckled to yourself as you posted it, heart fluttering for a second not because you expected anything to happen. He probably got tagged in a hundred thirst traps a day. You were no one. Just a uni girl with a good winged liner and a late-night imagination.

You put your phone away.

And honestly? You forgot about it.

⸻

Until hours later.

Late. You were curled up in bed, your bonnet on, makeup wiped, hoodie two sizes too big.

Phone buzzed.

**DM request: Max Verstappen **

You blinked. Sat up. Froze.

You read it. Like a hundred times.

Max Verstappen: “Off-season wife material, huh?”

You stared.

He saw it. He saw it.

*You: “Okay that was a joke 😭 I didn’t think you’d actually see it.”

Max Verstappen “But you tagged me.”

You: “Yeah like ironically. You’re you. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Max Verstappen: “I notice. Especially when someone looks that good and calls herself wife material.”

You screamed into your blanket.

You: “Don’t hype me. I already can’t breathe rn.”

Max Verstappen: “Good. Means I’m doing something right.”

You sat there staring at the ceiling, heart pounding.

Then he sent another message.

Max Verstappen: “What’s your number?”

You panicked. Is he serious?

But then he sent again:

Max Verstappen: “Unless you were just joking. I get it if you’re not about that.”

You bit your lip, took a deep breath, and sent your number.

Ten minutes later, your phone lit up with.

Unknown Number: “Hey. It’s Max. You still playing around? Or can I call?”