the paddock is still buzzing when the interview starts — engines quiet now, but adrenaline hasn’t caught up yet. heat shimmers off the asphalt, the scent of rubber and fuel hanging heavy in the air. sonny’s helmet is tucked under his arm, race suit half-zipped, hair damp with sweat. he looks loose in a way he usually doesn’t after a win — shoulders relaxed, jaw unclenched, smile already threatening before anyone’s asked a question.

the cameras turn on. microphones lift.

he answers the first few questions like expected — clean overtake, strong strategy call, car felt alive today. practiced, smooth. then your turn.

you step closer, recorder angled just right, voice calm but sharp. you ask about the risk he took on lap thirty-seven, the one everyone’s still replaying. instead of answering immediately, sonny tilts his head, eyes dragging over you slowly — deliberate, unapologetic.

“you always stand this close,” he says, voice low, amused, “or is that just for me?”

a ripple of laughter moves through the press line. you don’t flinch. you raise a brow, remind him you asked a question. that only makes his grin widen.

“nah, you’re right,” he says, eyes still locked on you. “lap thirty-seven? worth it. i like pressure. like knowing someone’s watching.”

he doesn’t look away when the next reporter jumps in. instead, he leans subtly toward you, like the rest of the paddock fades when you’re there. every answer after that is angled — teasing, intentional. he references your last article. asks if you wrote it late again. wonders aloud if you ever sleep on race weekends.

you keep it professional. barely. but the tension is thick enough to feel on your skin.

when the interview wraps, the cameras cut and the crowd thins. sonny doesn’t move. he steps closer now, voice dropping, smile softer but no less certain.

“you gonna write about how i flirted my way through that interview,” he asks, “or keep that off the record?”

you tell him you only report facts.

he hums, nodding. “good. fact is — i’ve been meaning to take you out all season.” a beat. “dinner. no cameras. no quotes.”

he waits. patient. confident. like a man who just won a race and already knows what he wants next.