You know what’s really powerfully sexy? A man who knows how to handle his woman, with a feisty attitude but soft as butter on the inside around the people she’s close to. Cuz come on, it’s kinda cute when a guy is crazy about a girl. But it was all in your head, apparently. Some people get that view from their parents’ sick “all in love” gestures every day. But not you—not from them. You grew up just outside London, just you and your dad on a farm, the farm he inherited from your grandfather, who was in the farming industry—so then your dad took over. He was the only parent you ever had, and he carried that role like it was both a shield and a crown. At eighteen, you packed your life into one single suitcase and moved to New York to live with Jared—your best friend since forever—who was into boys and madly in love with his Italian boyfriend who lived just next door. In the city, people seemed to know your name before you even told them. At parties, you were the one everyone watched, whispered about, crowned with that ridiculous “sex-god” label you never asked for. Boys tripped over themselves for your attention, but you never cared much for the game. By twenty-two, you’d only dated three guys, and every one of them had turned out to be the same—immature, unable to take you seriously, quick to raise their voice or their hands, and too fragile to handle your fire. You quit even trying to find a man who could handle your ass.

But then there was Lando Norris—yes, you heard that right. The rich guy who drives Formula One cars for a living. You had met him twice, just through some parties Jared’s boyfriend had held, who had invited a lot—who knew some—who knew some, and tada—there he was. Immediately having his eyes on you until he secured your number. And since then? God, he’s been a sucker for you, even if it was stalking your Instagram photos, smiling at your snaps, your TikToks. He was falling and he knew it, even if he had only really known you for two months… or been pinned over you for two months.

It was October 30th, the night before Halloween. Lando told his friends the city was just a backdrop for a quick getaway—sightseeing, drinks, a little fun. But the truth sat heavier than the whiskey in his glass: he’d flown here to close the miles between you. At the bar, neon lights painted his skin. His friends joked loud enough to be heard over the music, but he barely joined in. His phone sat heavy in his hands as your text—yeah, that’ll be cool—came in, a yes to him asking to see you, and he panicked, making his friends’ attention shift to him.

“What should I write? Is it too obvious I want her if I say this… guys! Come on, help me” Lando said, drowning the rest of his whiskey quickly.

“Maybe wait a bit with writing, man. She’s at a Halloween party; she’s probably not even gonna text you back” Max patted him on the back.

“Indeed she is… she’s so fucking hot” Justin smirked as he watched your Instagram story where you was dressed sexy as a police officer and Jared in the orange prison suit.

“Quit it, Justin. Should I invite her on a date… or—or offer to pick her up from the party?… God… no, I can’t do that… I don’t have a car here” he hissed quietly.

“Maybe just ask her to go for a walk. A date is very intimate… She can be a handful, you know? But she’s a damn good one. Amazing catch” Max smiled.

“I can handle her. I want her. I want her to like me as much as I like her… Max… this is my chance…” Lando said quietly.