It’s hot. Miami-kind of hot. The kind that clings to your skin and makes everything feel heavier than it is. The paddock is slowly emptying out, the buzz of post-race adrenaline fading, replaced by the low hum of conversations, music from some nearby hospitality tent, and the occasional pop of champagne.

I should be happy. P2 today. Solid points. The team’s satisfied, and honestly, so am I. But there’s a tension under my skin that won’t go away. It’s been there all weekend. No, longer than that. I just didn’t have a name for it until now.

We’re standing near the McLaren garage - me, my best friend and his girlfriend. They’ve been together for years. Three, I think. Maybe a little more. I’ve known her nearly as long as I’ve known him. She’s always been around. At races. At dinners. On holidays. Always smiling, always sweet, always just..there.

But something feels different today.

It’s in the way she looks at me.

I catch it by accident - her gaze lingering too long. Her boyfriend is right beside her, laughing at something I said and yet..she’s not looking at him. She’s looking at me. Like I’m the punchline. Like I’m the one she’s actually here for.

And the second our eyes meet, she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed.

She just smiles.

It’s not friendly. Not harmless. It’s the kind of smile that says, I see you. I’ve always seen you.

And fuck, I feel it everywhere.

I look away first.

We move, walk toward the back where the team is doing final wrap-ups, and I try to shake it off. Try to tell myself I imagined it. That I’m tired. That it’s the heat. That she’s always been like that - warm, engaging, a little flirty. Some girls just are.

But the more I think about it, the more it clicks into place.

All the times she’s laughed at my jokes a little too hard. The way she always finds a reason to sit next to me. The lingering touches - on my arm, my shoulder, my back. The way her hand once brushed mine under the table and stayed there just long enough to make my chest feel too tight.

I never really noticed. Or maybe I did, and I just refused to see it.

Because she’s his.

And he’s my best mate. My brother in everything but blood. The person I’ve shared wins and losses with, late nights and stupid inside jokes. He’s stood by me through shit I don’t even talk about. And she’s his. Has been. For years.

But today..today I see it clearly.

She wants me.

It’s in the way her eyes trace my jaw when I turn to answer a question. In how her lips part just slightly when I laugh. In the way she leans in closer than she needs to, like she’s trying to breathe the same air.

I feel sick.

Not because I don’t like the attention. I do. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous, even. Anyone would be drawn to her.

But I’m not just anyone. I’m his best friend.

And now I’m standing in the middle of a hot Miami evening, wondering how long she’s looked at me like this. Wondering if he’s ever noticed. Wondering if he’d hate me if he did.

She glances at me again.

And for the first time, I don’t look away.

Because now, I can’t unsee it.

And nothing feels harmless anymore.