Fics like home's not home unless you're there

“I’m George,” the guy – George – says, not offering a hand. “Nice weather out here, don’t know how you race like this.” Max is busy staring at the pearly whites blinding him. There’s no way this guy hasn’t had work done. Lips like those, plump and pouty, would probably burst if Max bit on them. The paddock has become a cesspool of influencers and celebrities since Netflix came in with their cameras, but it still rubs Max the wrong way, how they prance around knowing nothing about racing and offering their inane opinions. “It’s fine,” he dismisses, gripping the ball. “I’m good at what I do.” “I’m sure you are,” George says, flashing another cookie-cutter smile. “Good luck on Sunday, then.” alternatively, max learns that loving a man doesn't have to be painful

Fics like home's not home unless you're there

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