You sprawled across the hotel bed, hugging a pillow to your chest as Kika sat cross-legged beside you, scrolling through her phone. The Melbourne city lights flickered through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. It was the night before race day, and neither of you could sleep—too much excitement, too much gossip to catch up on.

Kika suddenly smirked, locking her phone and turning to you with a knowing look. “Alright, let’s talk about the real reason you’re restless.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

She rolled her eyes. “Charles.”

Your heart stuttered for half a second before you scoffed, trying (and failing) to play it cool. “What about him?”

Kika gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Mon Dieu! She’s actually pretending she doesn’t have the biggest crush on him.”

You threw a pillow at her, laughing. “I do not!”

She caught it effortlessly. “You do. It’s embarrassing at this point.” She tilted her head. “Just admit it, you’re obsessed.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

Kika cackled. “A little? Babe, you practically melt when he so much as looks at you.”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “He’s just… ugh, he’s so unfairly perfect. And the way he jokes around, the little smirk, his stupid hazel eyes—” You flopped back onto the bed, exasperated. “It’s not my fault.”

Kika wiggled her eyebrows. “You know, Pierre says Charles thinks you’re cute.”

You shot up. “You’re lying.”

She grinned. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

You grabbed another pillow. “Kika, I swear—”

She shrieked, dodging as you launched it at her, both of you dissolving into giggles.

“Okay, okay,” she said, catching her breath. “But seriously, you should do something about it. He clearly likes you.”

You bit your lip. “Or, I could just admire from a distance and spare myself potential humiliation.”

Kika shook her head. “Nope. Tomorrow, after the race, you’re talking to him. Properly.”