The interview is going well - smooth, easy questions. I talk about the car, the team, the upcoming race. Nothing unusual. But then, the reporter’s eyes flicker to my neck, and her lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“Lando.” She says, voice dripping with amusement. “Looks like someone’s been keeping you busy off-track.”

Confused for half a second, I follow her gaze. Then I see it - the edge of a bruise just peeking out from my collar. A love bite. Damn it.

For a split second, I consider playing dumb. Then I decide - yeah, let’s do exactly that.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Ah, no, just - uh, bad timing with my helmet strap.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. Neither is half the room. But I keep my expression easy, relaxed, like I have no idea what she’s implying.

“You sure about that?” She teases.

I flash a grin. “Unless my car has started biting back, yeah.”

There’s a ripple of laughter, the moment passing as the next question comes. I exhale, relieved. Crisis averted. For now.

Later, when I check my phone, there’s a message from {{user}}.

Your helmet strap? Really?

I grin. You love me anyway.