#dan ricciardo imagine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

f14fun · 2 months ago

Text

A Cowgirl's Stars, Stripes, and Speed (!black-!cowgirl-!singer x dr3) (C1)

synopsis: in which case y/n, a bold African American country singer, crosses paths with Daniel, a charming Australian Formula 1 driver, both tipsy and unwound by the night.

prose + smau (20.6K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩z profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

author's note: i desperately had to write a daniel ff, because a) the austin grand prix is nearing and b) i'm terribly sad about his sudden departure. daniel, we all love you so much and wish the best for you! remember to #fea (f' 'em all) <3

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Austin, Texas had nothing on me.

The dingy little bar — well, to me it was dingy because it was the family bar — was dimly lit, with neon signs casting a faint, almost ghostly glow across the weathered wooden walls. The low hum of chatter mixed with the clink of glasses, and even though it was nearing midnight, the place had only gotten busier. Crowds swayed to the twang of a fiddle in the background, boots stomping across the sticky floor. Outside, the summer heat still clung to the air, making the inside feel close and hazy, like the walls were holding in the laughter and stories of the night.

I’d played more shows here than I could count, my boots leaving their mark on the same stage where my granddaddy used to strum his guitar. Most nights felt predictable, but this one felt different, like the air was charged with something I couldn’t put my finger on.

I wasn’t much for Formula 1 — Texas rodeos and horse racing were more my speed — but I knew every year when the race came through Austin, our little bar saw a wave of tourists eager for a taste of country. And tonight, as I leaned against the bar nursing my bourbon, the buzz of unfamiliar accents swirled around me, a reminder that the city had filled up with people from all over the world, looking for thrills in the dust and heat of Texas.

"Y/N, baby, why don’t you get up there and play a few songs?" my mom said, wiping her hands on a towel as she leaned over the bar. Her voice was soft, but that familiar nudge was behind it — the kind that never really left room for much argument.

I hesitated, swirling the last bit of bourbon in my glass. “I don’t know, Mama... it’s packed tonight,” I replied, glancing around at the sea of faces — mostly tourists, loud and unfamiliar. “Besides, they’re not here for me. Just here for a taste of Texas, right? A rodeo queen, not a country girl with a guitar.”

Mama raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You’ve got more than a taste of Texas in you. Those folks would be lucky to hear what you can do. You know that.”

I sighed, feeling the weight of her words settle in. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to play — hell, I’d been singing since I could talk and playing guitar since I was old enough to hold one. But growing up Black in a part of Texas where faces like ours weren’t the norm? That always added a little extra pressure.

Even though our family had earned our place here, built up the bar and our name through years of hard work and music passed down through generations, it never really felt like the eyes watching me were just listening to the music. They were measuring us.

But over the years, we’d carved out a space for ourselves. This bar wasn’t just another honky-tonk; it was ours, The Dusty Rose, and people knew us for more than the color of our skin. Mama’s voice, my granddaddy’s songs, and the family’s grit had earned us some respect in this town. Enough that people came back, year after year, to hear us sing, drink our whiskey, and pretend for a while that we were all part of the same big Texas story.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight, with so many new faces and voices in the crowd, I wasn’t sure I had the courage to step up. I glanced down at my guitar leaning against the wall, its strings worn and familiar, waiting for me like it always did.

Mama’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Y/N, you’ve got the talent and the heart. Don’t let anyone else tell you different. You’re gonna get up there and remind them why they keep coming back.”

I wanted to believe her, I really did. But I wasn’t sure if tonight was the night to take on the weight of all those eyes.

I took a deep breath, running my fingers along the worn edge of my glass before setting it down with a soft clink. “Alright, Mama,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Guess it’s time to remind these folks why The Dusty Rose has lasted this long.”

Mama smiled, that proud, knowing smile she always gave me. I stood up, the familiar click of my cowboy boots echoing on the wooden floor, a steady rhythm that matched my heartbeat. Without another word, I slung my guitar over my shoulder, the weight of it settling comfortably against my back, like an old friend. The crowd was a blur of faces as I walked toward the stage, my pulse steadying with every step.

As I stepped up, I saw Orville already seated behind his drum kit, twirling a stick between his fingers with that lazy confidence of his. His bright blonde hair stuck out in every direction, his face splashed with freckles that made him look like a mischievous kid, though he was older than me by a good ten years. He looked up, grinning wide. “Well, I’ll be damned, look who’s finally decided to grace us with her presence. You plannin’ on singin’ or just standin’ there lookin’ pretty, Y/N?” he teased, tapping his snare for effect.

“Could do both, Orville,” I shot back, my nerves melting a little under the familiar banter.

To the right of him, Clyde was leaning over the keys, his cowboy hat tipped low over his brow. With a name like Clyde and a deep Southern drawl that stretched out his words for days, he was about as country as they came. He looked up at me with a slow nod. “Ain’t no time like midnight for a little serenadin’, huh?” he drawled, cracking a toothy grin. “Folks gonna think you’re singin’ ‘em to bed.”

Then there was Gus, seated on the stool, strumming a lazy rhythm on the bass. He had a scruffy beard, worn jeans, and the kind of build that said he spent just as much time on a ranch as he did on stage. Gus tilted his head and gave me a half-smile. “Late night’s when the magic happens, darlin’. ‘Sides, these tourists don’t know country music 'til they hear it this time of night.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. The boys had been with me long enough to know my patterns, and teasing me for wanting to sing so late was their way of easing my nerves. We’d known each other since grade school — back when Orville was the kid who drummed on lunch tables, Clyde would belt out country tunes during recess, and Gus would pluck at strings made of rubber bands, pretending he had a bass in his hands. Now that we were twenty-two, somehow, we still hadn’t split up. Through all the ups and downs, we stuck together, always finding our way back to this stage.

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, strumming a few soft chords to tune my guitar, “you all just wait. We’re about to remind this bar why they keep coming back.”

Orville gave his drums a little roll, Clyde’s fingers hovered over the keys, and Gus plucked the bass with a steady beat, all of them waiting on me to start. It was like second nature, this rhythm we shared, a connection built over years of shared songs and late-night jams.

I took one more deep breath, feeling the energy of the room shift toward the stage, my nerves steadying under the soft glow of the spotlight. Time to show them what The Dusty Rose was really about — and remind myself why we never gave up on this.

I stomped my boots on the worn wooden floor, the solid thud cutting through the clamor of the bar. A few heads turned first, followed by more, until the low murmur of voices quieted down after a couple of cheerful whistles and claps from the regulars.

I stepped up to the mic, adjusting the strap of my guitar on my shoulder. “Hey y’all,” I started, my voice carrying over the room. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Y/N. I’m a small singer-songwriter, born and raised right here in Austin.”

Before I could say another word, Gus chuckled from his spot behind me. “Small, my ass. She’s an enigma, and she’s selling herself short, y’all!”

The room rumbled with a few laughs, and I felt the heat rush to my cheeks as I blushed, turning around to swat him gently on the shoulder. “Gus, you’re lucky I don’t throw my boot at you,” I teased, shaking my head before turning back to the crowd.

“Alright, alright, don’t listen to him,” I said with a smile. “I wanted to play a song tonight that’s a little personal. One I wrote not too long ago... when I found my boyfriend — who, funny enough, was also in the band — cheating on me with my best friend, who used to sing backup vocals.”

A few sympathetic murmurs rose from the crowd, and I could see people shift in their seats, intrigued. “Yeah, it was a mess,” I continued, smiling despite the sting of the memory. “Johnny and Carrie — yeah, those are their real names, y’all — are long gone now. They didn’t just break my heart, they broke the band up too.”

I glanced at Orville, Clyde, and Gus, the ones who’d stuck around. We’d been through hell and back, but we never let anyone tear us down. “But we bounced back. And so did I,” I added with a grin. “This song’s about all that, and how you pick yourself up when the people you trust let you down.”

The room was still, eyes fixed on me as I raised my guitar, fingers poised over the strings. “So, here’s one I like to call Blue.” I stomped my boots once more, giving the boys the cue to kick in. The first slow, mournful chords filled the air, and as I started to sing, the bar held its breath, waiting for the heartache in my voice to tell the rest of the story.

I took a deep breath and let the first notes roll off my tongue, the familiar melody filling the room as my fingers danced across the strings.

"Blue, oh, so lonesome for you Why can't you be blue over me..."

My voice lingered in the air, soft yet steady, as the boys followed in perfect harmony. The crowd had settled into the mood, quiet and still, as if they, too, were feeling the heartache threaded through the lyrics.

"Tears fill my eyes 'til I can't see Three o'clock in the mornin' Here am I, sittin' all alone..."

As I poured myself into the song, my gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when I spotted him. A ruggedly handsome man leaning against the far corner of the bar, his stubble-covered jaw catching the dim light just right, giving him an air of mystery. He had a full head of curls peeking out from under a cowboy hat that didn’t quite fit the way a Texan’s would. He might have been trying to blend in, but it was obvious he wasn’t from around here.

The way he carried himself — that casual yet calculated way of sitting, like he was at ease but somehow apart from it all — made me wonder who the hell he was. Something about him tugged at my attention, even as I sang the words that had been pulling at my heart for months.

"Now that it's over I realize Those weak words you whispered Were nothing but lies..."

My fingers faltered for the briefest second, but I recovered quickly, shaking off the distraction and forcing myself back into the song. Whoever he was, I wasn’t about to let some handsome stranger throw me off my game. Not tonight.

I kept going, but the thought of him lingered at the back of my mind, the heat of his presence warming the room just a little more than it had been before.

The gentle rhythm of Gus’s bass hummed through the room, a steady heartbeat that matched the soulful sway of the song. Each note he plucked seemed to cradle the sadness in my voice, grounding it in something deeper, something raw. Clyde’s fingers danced over the keys, soft and mournful, adding a kind of sweetness to the pain, like the last lingering memory of something you loved but had to let go. Orville’s light taps on the drums gave the song its slow, steady pulse, holding everything together in a rhythm that felt like the ticking of time, dragging me back through memories I’d rather forget.

"Blue, oh, so lonesome for you Why can't you be blue over me..."

The melody wrapped itself around the room, and I could feel the audience sinking into the sadness with me, the song casting a spell over the bar. I was in the zone, letting the music take over, but that rugged stranger in the corner was like a stubborn note I couldn’t shake. His presence tugged at me, even with the sweet sorrow of the keys flowing through the air. He wasn’t watching me like the others; he was studying me, eyes dark under the brim of that cowboy hat that didn’t quite belong.

As my voice rose for the next line, I couldn’t help but glance his way again. His stubbled jaw was clenched like he was thinking hard about something, but there was a glint of something else — maybe curiosity — in his eyes. It unnerved me and fascinated me all at once, the way he didn’t quite fit in, even though he was trying to. And those curls, barely contained by the hat, told me he wasn’t used to this kind of scene. Not here, not in Texas. Not in my bar.

"Now that it’s over I realize Those weak words you whispered Were nothing but lies..."

The bass thudded low, pulling me back into the music. Gus knew just when to make it heavy, the vibrations running through my chest like the ache of an old wound. The keys lifted the sorrow just enough to make it bearable, Clyde’s touch delicate but deliberate. Together, we made the heartache sound beautiful.

But no matter how much I tried to drown myself in the song, I kept catching glimpses of him. The stranger, leaning back casually, his body language saying he was here for the ride, but his eyes telling me there was more to him than that easy posture.

The lyrics fell from my lips, but my mind kept wandering to the question burning in the back of my head: Who was he?

As the final chords of the song rang out, the bar was quiet for a moment, letting the last notes settle before a soft wave of applause rippled through the crowd. I smiled, feeling a strange mix of relief and adrenaline, my heart still thudding in my chest. The boys gave me a few approving nods — Clyde even tipped his hat — and I turned back to the mic, clearing my throat.

“Well, uh, that was a little somethin’ I wrote not too long ago,” I said, feeling the warmth of the stage lights on my face. “If y’all liked it — or if you’re just in the mood to be sad for a bit — it’s out on Spotify, Apple Music, SoundCloud, or whatever platform folks are using these days,” I added with a grin. “I promise, I’ve got some happier stuff too. Probably should’ve started the night off with one of those, huh?”

A few chuckles broke out from the crowd, but one laugh stood out — low and warm, rolling through the room like a wave that hit me square in the chest. It wasn’t like the others. It had weight, something that settled in my stomach and made it twist in a way I wasn’t used to. Almost instinctively, I looked toward the sound, and there he was — the stranger in the corner. His cowboy hat was still tipped low, hiding just enough of his face to make him even more intriguing, but it was the way his eyes locked on mine that made me freeze.

His grin was lazy, like he had all the time in the world, and there was something about the ease of it that made my heart skip a beat. In the soft glow of the bar, it felt like the entire place faded into the background. For a split second, there was nothing but me and him, his gaze holding mine with an intensity I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just that he was watching me; it was like he saw me, past the stage, past the song, and right into that vulnerable place I tried so hard to guard.

And then, just like that, I became a complete mess. Heat rushed to my face, my skin prickling under the spotlight, and I felt my grip on my guitar falter. “Uh, yeah… so, anyway... that’s me,” I stammered, my voice coming out shaky, the words tumbling over each other as I tried to make a coherent sentence. I could feel the blush creeping up my neck, no matter how hard I willed it to stop, and I quickly looked away, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

But it was too late. The boys behind me noticed — of course they did. I could practically feel Gus grinning at my awkwardness, and Clyde was trying to suppress a chuckle. Orville tapped out a light rhythm on the edge of his drum, clearly enjoying my flustered state. I fumbled with the strap of my guitar, my hands suddenly too shaky to be of any use, my mind still stuck on the way that stranger had looked at me.

I’d performed hundreds of times, faced crowds far bigger than this one, but something about that single moment — that one look from him — had knocked me off balance. My pulse was still racing, and the heat in my cheeks refused to fade. He was just a man, I reminded myself, a guy sitting in the corner of a bar. But it didn’t feel that simple. It felt like he’d peeled back a layer of me in that one glance, leaving me bare under his eyes.

And as I fumbled my way off the stage, trying to get my act together, one thought kept running through my mind: Who the hell is this guy, and why is he making me feel like this?

I cleared my throat and leaned back into the mic with a grin, letting go of the last song’s weight. “Alright, y’all,” I started, flashing a playful smile, “that last one was for all the folks who like to sit and think about their exes at 2 AM — you know who you are,” I added, getting a few chuckles from the crowd.

“But this next one? It’s a little different. We’re gonna turn things up a notch. It’s got a bit of rock in it, so feel free to sing, cry, scream, yell—whatever your heart needs. And if you wanna dance, well, don’t hold back. Just don’t blame me if you’re out of breath by the end!”

The crowd laughed, and I winked. “This one’s called Indifferent, but don’t let the name fool you—it’s anything but.”

I strummed the first few chords, letting the energy shift in the room, and the boys picked up right behind me, Orville giving the drums a little more punch, Clyde leaning into the keys with a rock edge, and Gus keeping the rhythm solid with his bass. I was about to really get into the groove when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him.

The stranger — cowboy hat and all — stood up from his seat, shaking his curls free as he made his way toward a group of people who had started to sway with the beat. And then he started dancing. And I mean really dancing, not just swaying but full-on, carefree moves, like he didn’t give a damn who was watching.

I couldn’t help it — a laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I almost missed a chord as I watched him. He was good, I had to give him that, but there was something about the way he moved that told me he was trying to get my attention. The way he’d glance over every so often, like he wanted to see if I was watching — and yeah, I was watching.

The more he danced, the more I giggled, barely keeping my voice steady as I kept singing. His cowboy hat bobbed up and down as he spun around, clapping along with the beat, and I could tell he was putting on a show, just for me. My eyes met his again, and he shot me a grin, all cocky and playful, making my heart skip a beat.

I shook my head, trying to focus on the song, but the sight of him — carefree, handsome, and definitely showing off — made it hard to keep my cool. My voice caught just a little as I sang the next line, and I could feel my face heating up again, but this time, I was more amused than flustered.

Oh, he’s trying to impress me, I thought with a smirk. And I couldn’t lie, it was kinda working.

I leaned into the mic, my voice steady as I sang the next line, feeling the shift in energy from the crowd.

"I see your truck and I don't give a—"

Before I could even finish, the crowd roared in unison, screaming out the word I didn’t have to sing. “FUCK!” Their voices echoed off the walls, a mix of laughter and rebellion, and I grinned wide.

But the loudest voice? That came from him.

“FUCK!” he yelled, right along with the crowd, his grin even wider now as he danced like no one was watching — except everyone was. His cowboy hat tipped back as he threw his arms up, and I swear, he looked like he was having the time of his life.

I couldn’t help it — I laughed, nearly missing the next line as I watched him throw himself into the moment. My cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so hard, but I kept going, feeding off the energy around me.

"And it don't make my heart skip a beat," I sang, almost giggling through the words, but his eyes were on me again, catching mine as he clapped along with the beat. His dancing had turned into full-on jumping now, and I could see a few others joining in, all feeding off his wild, carefree energy. He was having a blast, and even though I was up on stage, I felt like I was right there with him, swept up in the fun.

I saw him glance at me again, this time with a playful wink, like he knew exactly what he was doing. My heart did that weird little flip again, and I almost tripped over the next verse, the heat creeping up my face once more.

He’s definitely showing off now, I thought, trying to keep my focus on the music. But I couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped as I strummed through the chorus. His dance moves might’ve been reckless, but they were working. The crowd was loving him, and so, apparently, was I.

I sang the next line, my voice steady but my heart racing a little faster as his grin widened, his eyes locked on mine. I wasn’t sure what got into me, maybe it was the way he looked so carefree, so unbothered by the world around him, or maybe it was just the thrill of the moment — but before I could stop myself, I tilted my head toward the stage, beckoning him with a playful nod.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but that grin of his never wavered. The crowd cheered him on as he took a few exaggerated, swaggering steps toward the stage, his cowboy hat tipped back and curls bouncing with every step. I laughed, my own confidence rising, and held out my hand as he made his way up.

He took it, and in an instant, we were standing side by side, the crowd going wild as we started to sway together in time with the music. His hand found its way to the small of my back, and I could feel the warmth of it even through my shirt.

The moment felt... electric.

We kept swaying, his towering frame almost comical next to mine, but somehow it worked. His eyes never left mine, and for a split second, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. The music kept going, but everything else seemed to blur into the background. I could see the playful glint in his eyes, the way he seemed to be daring me to look away — but I didn’t.

He leaned down just a bit, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke, his voice low and teasing. “Not bad for a country girl,” he said with a wink.

I giggled, blushing like a schoolgirl as I tried to keep my cool. “Not bad for a guy who’s clearly not from around here,” I shot back, but my voice wavered just a little, betraying how much his presence was throwing me off.

We kept swaying, our bodies moving in perfect rhythm, the lights catching the gleam in his eyes as we held each other's gaze. He towered over me, but I didn’t feel small — not with him, not in this moment. It felt like the rest of the world had faded away, and all that was left was the two of us, swaying together under the soft glow of the stage lights.

I took a deep breath, trying to refocus as the music carried me back into the song, but it wasn’t easy. His presence behind me was impossible to ignore, like he was right there, even though we weren’t touching anymore. My skin tingled with awareness, and I could feel the heat rising to my neck, warming me from the inside out. We were both tipsy, the drinks and the night making everything feel a little looser, a little more charged. But the way he was standing so close—his warmth practically wrapping around me—made it harder to concentrate.

"I'm indifferent, I'm just livin' When your mama calls, I'm reminded you exist And I wish that she didn't 'Cause all my 'give-a-damns', they've already been given..."

My voice stayed steady, but I could feel my heart thudding faster with every word. The crowd was clapping along, some of them singing the lyrics back to me, but all I could think about was him. I knew he was still behind me, standing tall, his presence so strong I could almost feel it on my skin.

As I sang, my breath caught just a little when I felt him shift closer, the slightest brush of his arm near my shoulder. It was nothing, really, just a subtle movement, but it sent a rush of heat up the back of my neck, making my pulse race. My voice wavered for just a second, and I bit my lip, hoping no one noticed how distracted I was.

But I knew he did. I could feel his gaze on me, even though I couldn’t see him.

I played a few more songs, each one building on the last, the energy in the room rising with every note. The crowd was alive now, swaying, clapping, and singing along. I felt a rush of adrenaline pumping through me, the nerves from earlier completely gone, replaced by this wild confidence I hadn’t felt in a long time. The music was in my veins, lifting me up, and for the first time all night, I felt completely at ease on stage.

But even with the thrill of the crowd, my thoughts kept drifting back to him. I could feel his presence in the room, like a constant hum just below the surface, and every time I caught a glimpse of his curls or that easy grin from across the bar, my pulse quickened.

As the final chord of my last song rang out, I stepped away from the mic, feeling a surge of applause wash over me. I grinned, tipping my hat to the crowd, but my eyes were searching for him. And then, there he was, standing near the bar, his gaze locked on mine. The cheers of the crowd faded into the background, everything else becoming a blur as I zeroed in on him.

Before I could even believe it, my feet started moving. It was like my body had a mind of its own, dragging me toward him before my brain could even catch up. Each step felt like I was crossing some invisible line, the adrenaline still coursing through me, making me feel bold, invincible.

I wasn’t thinking about anything else but the way his eyes held mine, steady and sure, as I made my way across the room. It was like gravity was pulling me toward him, and I wasn’t about to fight it. Before I knew it, I was standing right in front of him, close enough to catch the faint scent of cologne and the hint of whiskey on his breath.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the heat rising to my face again, but I wasn’t about to turn back. Not now. He gave me that same lazy grin, tipping his hat just slightly as his eyes twinkled with amusement, like he knew exactly what I was feeling.

I opened my mouth to say something — anything — but the words got stuck somewhere between my head and my heart. All I knew was that I wasn’t leaving this bar without knowing who the hell this guy was.

He looked down at me, that lazy grin spreading wider as he tipped his hat back just a bit, giving me a full view of those mischievous eyes. “Well, if I knew your singing was that good, I would’ve pretended to break my heart a long time ago,” he said, his voice low and teasing, with just a hint of an accent that wasn’t from around here.

I blinked, caught completely off guard, and then burst into a laugh I hadn’t expected. “You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that to get a song out of me,” I shot back, still feeling the heat in my cheeks but trying to keep my cool.

He chuckled, leaning in just a little, close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off him. “Lucky for you, I’m not lookin’ to break any hearts tonight — just thought I’d make an impression.”

My heart skipped a beat as our eyes met again, and before I could help it, I smiled. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job of that,” I muttered, trying not to trip over my own words.

He straightened up, giving me a playful wink. “Well, I aim to please, darlin’.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling bolder than I had all night, and shot him a smirk. “You look like you love me,” I teased, the words slipping out with more confidence than I thought I had. The line from that song was on the tip of my tongue, and it felt just right for the moment.

His grin widened, and for a split second, he looked like I’d caught him off guard. But then he leaned in just a little, his voice low and smooth. “Well, maybe I do,” he said, the teasing tone still there but with just enough seriousness to make my heart skip.

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing as I met his gaze, my smirk fading into something softer. “Careful,” I replied, my voice quieter now, “you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

He chuckled, that lazy grin still in place. “Maybe I like the sound of that.”

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes at him with a playful smirk. “I saw you lookin’ me up and down from across the room,” I teased, raising an eyebrow. “You weren’t exactly being subtle.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he leaned a little closer, clearly enjoying the banter. “Subtle’s never been my strong suit,” he shot back, his voice low and smooth. “But hey, can you blame me? You were up there making it pretty hard not to look.”

I bit my lip, fighting back a laugh as I shook my head. “You got a lot of nerve saying that out loud, you know.”

He shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. “Just calling it like I see it. You’re the one who beckoned me up here, remember?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to keep my composure, but I could feel the heat in my cheeks again. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not subtle either.”

He tilted his head, giving me that same cocky grin. “No complaints here, darlin’.”

I laughed, shaking my head at his audacity. “Alright, mystery man, you’ve been charming me for the last few minutes, but you haven’t even told me your name yet.”

He leaned back slightly, tipping his hat with a playful glint in his eyes. “Name’s Daniel,” he said, his accent wrapping around the words just right. “And you, miss, have definitely made this night a lot more interesting.”

“Well, Daniel,” I replied, giving him a once-over just like he had done to me earlier, “I think the feeling’s mutual.”

I raised an eyebrow, still grinning as I asked, “So, where’s that accent of yours from? I know it ain’t local.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before answering, “Perth. Australia.”

I blinked, genuinely surprised. “Australia, huh? Never been there before.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. “Heard it’s nice, though. Beaches and all that.”

Daniel nodded, his grin widening a bit. “Yeah, we’ve got the beaches. But it’s more than just that. You should visit sometime, I’d make a pretty good tour guide.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Oh, I bet you would,” I said, trying to imagine what it would be like to visit a place so far from Texas. “Sounds like a whole world away from here.”

“It is,” he admitted, his eyes locking on mine again. “But I reckon you’d fit in just fine.”

I tilted my head, feeling a smirk pull at the corner of my lips. “Oh, you think so? I’m not exactly the ‘surf and sand’ kind of girl. I’m more boots and dirt roads.”

Daniel chuckled, his gaze still holding mine, like he was seeing straight through the sass and into something deeper. “I dunno, I think you could rock the Aussie lifestyle. Maybe even swap those boots for some thongs,” he teased, leaning in just enough to close the space between us a little more.

I blinked, the word catching me off guard, and then burst into laughter. “What the fuck are thongs?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You Aussies have some weird ideas about footwear.”

Daniel paused for a second, then laughed, realizing his mistake. “Oh, right... over here, thongs are something else entirely,” he said, his grin turning a little mischievous. “In Australia, they’re just flip-flops. But I like where your mind went.”

I felt my face flush, a mix of the whiskey and the sudden innuendo hitting me all at once. “Well, maybe you should clarify next time,” I shot back, trying to sound confident despite the warmth creeping up my neck. “I was starting to think you had some very bold ideas for this first conversation.”

He smirked, leaning in just a little closer. “Trust me, if I wanted to make a bold suggestion, I wouldn’t be talking about footwear.” His voice dropped low, teasing, as he let the words hang between us.

My heart skipped a beat, and I fought the urge to stammer. “Well, good to know,” I managed to reply, my voice quieter now, my gaze locked on his. “But for the record, boots are staying. Thongs or no thongs.”

He chuckled, the laughter low and warm, and I could feel the space between us shrink even more. “Noted,” he said, his eyes twinkling with that same playful spark. “But if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here to help you pick the right pair.”

I smirked, shaking my head, but before I could respond, he tilted his head, still grinning like he had a whole world of charm left to unleash.

“Well, if I can make it out here to a bar in Texas, maybe one day you could try Australia. I’d personally make sure it’s worth your while.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused by his confidence. “Big promises, Daniel from Perth. You must think pretty highly of your tour guide skills.”

He shrugged, a playful glint still in his eyes. “Just sayin’, you might find there’s more to life than boots and honky-tonks. Besides,” he added, his voice lowering slightly, “I’d make sure you’d never forget it.”

My heart skipped a beat, his words sending a rush of warmth through me. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck again, but I wasn’t about to back down. “Careful now,” I replied, my voice soft but steady, “I’m not so easily impressed.”

Daniel grinned, tipping his hat slightly as he leaned back. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to work a little harder then, won’t I?”

I grinned at him, crossing my arms as I leaned against the bar. “You’ve got a lot of confidence, Daniel from Perth. But I’ve been around enough smooth talkers to know when someone’s bluffing.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to keep the playful tension in the air. “Bluffing? I don’t bluff. Just telling it like it is.” He motioned to the bartender. “Let me prove it to you. First round’s on me.”

I laughed, shaking my head but not protesting as the bartender slid two drinks our way. “Fine, I’ll bite,” I said, taking the glass. “But I’ll have you know, Texans can hold their liquor, and I’m not easy to out-drink.”

Daniel’s grin only widened. “Oh, I’ve got my work cut out for me, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

We clinked our glasses together, and before I knew it, the drinks were flowing just as easily as the conversation. Time seemed to blur, the crowd around us fading into the background as we swapped stories and traded teasing remarks. My guitar, once my only focus of the night, now sat forgotten against a pole near the bar, its case propped up and covered with old stickers and layers of chipped paint from the years of wear. But I didn’t care.

“Okay, I have to ask,” I said, my words slightly slurred from the whiskey but still full of curiosity. “How does a guy from Australia end up here, of all places? Texas isn’t exactly next door.”

He took a long sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. “Racing,” he replied simply, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “I travel a lot for it. Came for the Austin Grand Prix. Thought I’d stop by a local bar, get a feel for the place. Lucky me, huh?”

I felt the warmth from the drinks spreading through me, loosening me up even more. “Racing, huh? So, what, you’re like a big-time driver?” I teased, nudging him with my elbow.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Something like that. But tonight, I’m just a guy trying to keep up with a Texas girl who’s got a pretty good whiskey tolerance.”

I grinned, feeling the heat in my cheeks and not just from the alcohol. “Well, you’re doing alright so far. But don’t think a few drinks and a smile are gonna get you off the hook that easy.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Daniel said, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down my spine. His eyes held mine for a moment longer than I expected, and I could feel my heart race a little faster.

We laughed together, leaning in closer, drinks in hand, the weight of the night slipping away. The bar around us blurred into the background, as if it didn’t matter anymore — just the two of us, the warmth of his touch, the easy rhythm of our conversation, as natural as the music I’d been playing hours ago. Our hands brushed more often, his arm finding its way around my shoulder, his fingers trailing down my back in moments that felt casual but were charged with something more.

Before I knew it, we were touching more than talking — my hand resting on his arm, his thumb grazing the small of my back. The buzz of the alcohol had me feeling light, and every time his fingertips lingered a little longer, a blush crept up my neck. I could feel the heat of his breath as he leaned closer to whisper something that had us both giggling again.

The next thing I knew, we were stumbling out of the bar, calling an Uber, the cool night air doing nothing to shake the warmth between us. The ride was a blur of drunken laughter, our legs pressing against each other as his arm wrapped snugly around my waist. The city lights flew by in a haze, but all I could focus on was the way his touch made my heart race. His grip on me tightened, pulling me closer, and I was too drunk and too tipsy to even pretend not to blush.

Then, suddenly, we were back at his hotel room. The door clicked shut behind us, and we both broke into a fit of giggles, stumbling inside like we were sneaking in after curfew. His arm never left my waist, and I couldn’t stop the butterflies in my stomach as he pulled me against him, the warmth of his body sending a shiver down my spine.

“Shhh,” I whispered between giggles, trying to stifle the sound, but it was impossible when he looked at me with that boyish grin, like he was having the time of his life.

“Quiet was never my strong suit,” he whispered back, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke, sending another wave of heat through me. I blushed even harder, barely able to keep my composure as he pressed his forehead against mine, his hand resting on my hip like he never wanted to let go.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, every inch of me aware of his body so close, his touch gentle but firm, like he was holding back just enough. His breath was warm against my skin, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along my side, and the more he touched me, the more I felt my resolve slipping.

I let out a soft, nervous laugh, trying to shake off the tension building between us, but it only made him grin wider. “You’re really bad at this whole ‘quiet’ thing,” I teased, my voice barely above a whisper as my hand slid up to rest against his chest. I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palm, and the closeness of it all made my own pulse race.

He chuckled softly, his hand tightening just slightly on my hip. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to stay quiet when I’m this close to you,” he murmured, his voice low and full of something deeper than just the alcohol. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything else fell away. It was just us, standing there, barely holding it together in the haze of the night.

Before I could think about it, I found myself leaning in, my breath catching as his lips brushed against mine, soft and teasing. It wasn’t a full kiss — just the faintest touch — but it sent a jolt through me that made my knees weak. I blushed again, harder this time, but I didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

Instead, he smiled against my lips, his hand sliding up from my hip to gently cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “You’re blushing again,” he whispered, and I could hear the teasing note in his voice.

“Shut up,” I mumbled, but there was no hiding the heat in my cheeks or the way I was leaning into him, my body betraying how much I wanted to be close.

We started kissing, and the night blurred together, in a mess of liquor, sticky kisses, and well what do you know, my guitar lay upright against a chair, watching the entire thing.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

I didn’t know where the fuck I was.

I blinked, staring up at a ceiling that definitely wasn’t mine, with sheets that smelled way too expensive for my budget. My head was pounding like I’d been hit by a freight train, and as I tried to roll over, something — no, someone — stopped me.

That’s when I felt it.

An arm. A very muscular arm. Draped over me like we were starring in a rom-com, except I definitely didn’t remember signing up for this role.

I squinted around the room, trying to piece together the disaster that was my life. My shirt was flung haphazardly across a chair, my boots were tipped over near the door, and... was that his cowboy hat sitting on the dresser? Oh god.

Oh god, no.

And then it all came rushing back — the whiskey, the dancing, the flirting, the thongs conversation. And then, as if on cue, the faint sound of an alarm started buzzing on his phone, because apparently this guy sets alarms like a responsible adult after a night of drunken debauchery.

“Well, shit,” I muttered under my breath.

I lay there, trying to pretend I was still asleep, or dead, or invisible—any of which would be preferable to dealing with the fact that I had absolutely no idea what to do next. Daniel’s arm was still heavy around my waist, his slow, steady breathing telling me he hadn’t woken up yet.

Okay, Y/N, just stay calm. Maybe he won’t even remember… Or maybe you can just ninja your way out of this without waking him up.

I carefully, carefully shifted my leg, inching toward freedom, but the moment I tried to move, Daniel stirred. His arm tightened around me slightly, and I froze, heart pounding in my chest like it was trying to break free and escape the situation without me.

Please don’t wake up. Please just keep dreaming about kangaroos or whatever it is Australians dream about...

But then I felt him shift again. This time, he let out a low, sleepy groan. Oh god. He was waking up. I could feel the warmth of his breath against the back of my neck, and my entire body went stiff, like maybe if I played dead, he’d just go back to sleep.

But nope.

I heard him take a deep breath, and then his groggy voice cut through the awkward silence. “Morning, darlin’.”

Shit.

His voice was raspy, deep, and far too casual for someone who had a front-row seat to my current state of oh-my-god-what-have-I-done. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the ground to just swallow me whole, but apparently, the universe didn’t grant those kinds of wishes.

I cleared my throat, still trying to stay as still as possible, like maybe if I didn’t move or respond, this entire moment would cease to exist. “Uh… morning,” I finally muttered, my voice betraying me with a nervous crack.

I could feel him shift behind me, and then — to my absolute horror — he pulled me in closer, his arm still firmly wrapped around my waist. Great. Now I’m spooning a guy I barely know, and I don’t even have a shirt on. What a stellar life choice, Y/N.

“So… how’re you feelin’?” he asked, his voice low and way too smooth for a guy who probably didn’t have a hangover.

How am I feeling? Like I’ve just woken up in a rom-com, except the comedy is my life falling apart, I thought, but instead, I just blurted, “Fine. Totally fine.”

My face was heating up again. I was like a human tomato at this point. I could feel him smiling behind me, like he was enjoying the fact that I was internally combusting.

“You don’t sound fine,” he teased, his voice dipping into that playful tone that I was beginning to realize was very dangerous for me.

I finally turned my head just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. He had that messy bedhead look going on — the kind that shouldn’t be attractive but somehow was, and that damn lazy grin hadn’t left his face.

“Listen,” I said, trying to inject some semblance of control into my voice, “we’re just gonna pretend like none of this happened, okay?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, sending a shiver down my spine. “You mean the part where you dragged me back to my room, or the part where you kept giggling every time I tried to be quiet?”

My eyes widened. “I did not drag you back here!”

“Yeah, I think the Uber driver might disagree with that,” he replied, his grin widening.

I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. “I cannot believe this is happening.”

“You and me both, darlin’,” he said, chuckling again as he gave my waist a playful squeeze. “But I gotta say, I’m not exactly complaining’.”

I let out a nervous laugh from under the blanket, but inside, I was mortified. I wasn’t the type to have one-night stands—like, ever. The last time I had one was three years ago, before Johnny and I started dating. And even then, I’d sworn it off because of how awkward and weird the whole thing felt afterward.

And the last time I’d had sex? Six months ago. Six. I wasn’t even sure how I managed last night, let alone with someone as confident and charming as Daniel. I didn’t do this. I wasn’t that girl who woke up in a stranger’s bed with her shirt somewhere across the room and no memory of how she got there.

I peeked out from under the blanket, feeling my face burning hotter by the second. “I just… I don’t do this. Like, ever.”

Daniel propped himself up on one elbow, still grinning like this was the most entertaining morning he’d had in a while. “Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me. You seemed like a pro last night.”

My eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god, don’t say that,” I groaned, burying my face back into the pillow. “This is so embarrassing.”

He laughed, his voice softening just a little. “Hey, no need to be embarrassed. We were both tipsy, had a good time, and now we’re just... waking up. Happens to the best of us.”

I peeked out from the pillow again, trying to gauge if he was just messing with me or being sincere. But the easygoing look on his face hadn’t changed. He didn’t seem fazed at all, while I was over here spiraling.

I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the chaotic thoughts running through my head. Okay, maybe I could play it cool too—pretend like I wasn’t freaking out. But as I shifted under the blanket, trying to figure out how to extract myself from this mess, I felt a sudden, horrifying realization.

No bra.

I stiffened, my eyes darting around the room, desperately trying to remember where the hell it went. My shirt was across the room, but no sign of the bra. Oh god.

I glanced at Daniel, who was watching me with that amused grin still plastered on his face. He noticed the moment I realized it—of course he did. His grin widened, and before I could even attempt to form a coherent excuse, he raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, “Looking for something, darlin’? Because I’m not sure it’s gonna walk back over here on its own.”

My face turned beet red. “I—uh—this is just…” I stammered, covering myself with the blanket more securely, like that would magically undo everything.

He let out a chuckle, clearly enjoying every second of my mortification. “Don’t worry, your shirt’s over there, and I think your bra… well, it might’ve decided to take an extended vacation,” he teased, pointing toward the floor, where it lay crumpled in the corner like some sort of defeated symbol of my night.

I buried my face in my hands, laughing despite myself. “This is so not how I thought my night would end,” I mumbled through my fingers.

Daniel leaned in, still grinning like the cat who got the cream. “If it helps, I think you handled yourself pretty damn well for someone who doesn’t ‘do this,’” he teased, his voice full of playful charm.

I groaned, unable to stop the embarrassed laughter bubbling out of me. “Oh my god, stop,” I muttered, half laughing, half dying inside. But there was something about his laid-back attitude, the way he wasn’t making this feel weird or awkward, that made me feel just a little better.

At least one of us was good at handling this kind of thing.

I couldn’t stop laughing now, even though every cell in my body wanted to melt into the mattress and disappear. But Daniel wasn’t letting up, his teasing coming in waves.

“You know,” he said with a grin, “I’ve heard of people losing their dignity after a night like this, but you managed to misplace your bra too. That’s impressive.”

I rolled my eyes, still hiding my face in my hands. “Oh, ha ha, very funny. Maybe I’ll just stay under this blanket forever.”

He chuckled again, sitting up slightly and stretching, looking way too comfortable considering the situation. “Can’t say I blame you. This bed is pretty damn nice. But I’m starting to think you’re just stalling because you don’t want to leave me.”

I shot him a glare, trying to smother the blush on my cheeks. “I’m not stalling. I’m just… regrouping.”

“Right,” he nodded sagely. “Regrouping. Take all the time you need, darlin’. I’ll just be over here, admiring your tactical approach to gathering your scattered clothing.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, finally throwing the blanket off and clumsily scrambling out of bed. My hair was a mess, and I was pretty sure I looked like I’d just survived a tornado, but I was determined to reclaim some shred of dignity. As I stumbled over to where my shirt lay crumpled across the chair, Daniel’s voice piped up again.

“Wow,” he said, a little quieter this time, and I turned to see him watching me with an entirely different look—more serious, though still with that glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I gotta say, you’re even more beautiful in the morning.”

I paused, my hand halfway to my shirt, and felt my heart do a little flip. “Really?” I asked, trying not to sound too flustered as I glanced at him.

He nodded, that easy smile still on his face but softer now. “Yeah. Really.”

I stared at him for a second, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks again but in a different way this time. There was something about the way he said it, so casual and genuine, that made me stop caring so much about the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Well,” I said, finally grabbing my shirt and pulling it over my head, “you’re not too bad yourself… for someone who’s spent the night making terrible jokes at my expense.”

Daniel laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I can’t help it. You make it way too easy.”

I shook my head, still smiling, as I gathered the rest of my things. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talking. I’ll be sure to remember all of this next time I decide to ‘misplace’ my bra.”

Daniel grinned, watching as I gathered up the last of my things, still laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Well, if you ever need help finding it again,” he said smoothly, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at me with that lazy smile, “you might wanna give me a way to contact you.”

I paused, looking over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you’re slick, huh?”

He shrugged, giving me an innocent look that was anything but. “Just thinking ahead. In case you lose any more important items in the future… like your phone, your hat—hell, your sense of direction, since you clearly needed help last night.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing. “You really think I’m gonna fall for that?”

He tilted his head, flashing a charming grin. “Darlin’, you already fell for it.”

I let out an exasperated sigh, but there was no denying the grin on my face as I grabbed his phone from the nightstand. “Fine, I’ll put my number in your phone. But if I get any messages about lost bras, I’m blocking you,” I teased, typing my number into his contacts and tossing the phone back to him.

He caught it effortlessly, grinning as he glanced down at the screen. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, winking. “Unless you’re the one sending me a distress call next time.”

I shook my head, smirking as I turned toward the door. “You wish.”

“Already do,” he called out behind me, his voice playful and teasing, but with just enough sincerity to make my heart skip a beat as I left the room.

As soon as I stepped out of the room and into the hallway, I let out a long breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. Relief washed over me, but so did the heat rising up my neck and into my cheeks. Holy hell, I actually survived that.

I stood there for a moment, my heart still racing from the whirlwind of the morning. Daniel’s playful smirk, his damn smooth lines—it was all still buzzing in my head, and the fact that I’d somehow managed to walk away with my dignity (mostly) intact felt like a miracle.

But then I caught sight of myself in the mirror at the end of the hallway. Oh no.

I was a mess. My hair looked like it had been through a windstorm, and my shirt from last night was wrinkled beyond repair. The smudged mascara under my eyes was giving me a whole new level of “walk of shame,” and I couldn’t help but cringe at my reflection.

This is what I left the room looking like? Oh, great.

I quickly ran my fingers through my hair, trying to smooth out the wild tangles and make myself look at least halfway decent. I tugged at the hem of my shirt, trying to straighten it out, but no matter what I did, it still screamed “last night’s mistakes.” I wiped away the smudged mascara with the edge of my sleeve, doing my best to clean up the damage.

My cheeks were still flushed from the sheer embarrassment of it all, and no amount of quick fixes was going to change the fact that I had just walked out of a guy’s hotel room looking like a hot mess. I bit my lip, shaking my head at myself in the mirror, my heart still pounding in my chest.

“Well, this is a look,” I muttered to myself, giving my reflection one last, exasperated glance before squaring my shoulders and heading for the elevator. Just get out of here, Y/N. Fast.

I smoothed my hair down one last time, took a deep breath, and headed toward the elevator, praying no one else in the hallway had witnessed my tragic attempt at post-hookup self-repair. The faster I got out of this hotel, the better. I was already pressing the elevator button repeatedly like I could summon it faster through sheer desperation.

Come on, come on…

Finally, the doors slid open, and I practically leaped inside. But the universe had other plans for me, because standing right there, already in the elevator, were Carrie and Johnny.

My heart stopped. I almost crapped my panties.

Carrie, my ex-best friend. Johnny, my ex-boyfriend. Of course they were here. Of all the elevators in this damn hotel. My stomach dropped as the realization hit me like a freight train, and suddenly I was right back in the middle of the heartbreak they’d both caused, except this time I looked like I’d just rolled out of a frat party.

I stared at them, my mind racing, wondering if I could somehow reverse time and avoid stepping into this death trap. But it was too late. I was standing there, and they were looking at me. Johnny’s eyes flicked up and down, taking in my rumpled clothes and messy hair. Carrie’s smile faltered, and her eyes widened, like she was realizing exactly what kind of morning I was having.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

“Y/N?” Carrie’s voice was soft but laced with that familiar fake concern. “Wow, it’s been a while.”

Johnny just stood there, staring, that stupid, unreadable look on his face. He didn’t say anything, but the awkward silence hung in the air like a thick cloud.

I forced a tight smile, trying not to visibly cringe. “Yeah, well... things have been... busy.”

The elevator doors closed with a quiet thud, sealing me in with them. It was, without a doubt, the longest elevator ride of my life. I could feel Johnny’s eyes on me, that same calculating gaze that used to make me second-guess everything I said. And Carrie? She had that look on her face—the one that said she was definitely going to gossip about this later.

I stared straight ahead, willing the elevator to move faster, trying to breathe through the tension. Every second felt like an eternity, the silence only broken by the soft hum of the elevator as it slowly, agonizingly descended.

My mind raced. Of all the mornings to run into them, this had to be the one where I was dressed in last night’s wrinkled shirt, and my hair looked like it had gone to war with a curling iron. The fact that I’d just come from Daniel’s hotel room made it worse. Much worse.

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck again, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment over Daniel. It was from pure mortification.

Finally—finally—the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to the lobby. I didn’t waste a second. “Well, this has been… fun,” I said, voice tight, and bolted out of the elevator like my life depended on it.

Behind me, I could feel their eyes still on me, and I could practically hear Carrie’s voice in my head already: Did you see Y/N this morning?

Kill me now.

As soon as I stepped out of the elevator and into the hotel lobby, the reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart dropping into my stomach. Oh no. No, no, no.

This wasn’t just any hotel.

This was Carrie’s hotel. Her family’s pride and joy. The one I had spent countless summer nights in when we were best friends, long before everything fell apart. Out of all the hotels in Austin, Daniel had to be staying at the one owned by Carrie’s family.

I groaned internally, my mind reeling. Of course, this was how my morning would go. The universe just loved to test me, apparently. I could already imagine Carrie’s smug little face, probably telling her family all about how I’d been seen leaving some guy’s room at her family’s hotel, looking like a mess. And Johnny—ugh, Johnny—had been right there to see it all, too. The two of them were probably plotting how to make this even more humiliating for me.

I felt my cheeks burn again, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. It was from sheer frustration. Out of all the places Daniel could have stayed, this had to be the one. What were the odds?

I shook my head, trying to compose myself, but the realization only made me want to crawl under a rock even more. Not only did I have the most awkward elevator ride in history with my cheating ex and ex-best friend, but now I was in their territory. This was their turf, and I just walked straight into it with no idea.

This day just keeps getting better and better, I thought bitterly, glancing around to make sure neither of them had followed me out of the elevator.

I glanced back at the lobby, memories flooding back from when Carrie and I used to run around this very place, pretending we were in some grand adventure. Funny how things had changed. So much for avoiding drama.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

yourusername

liked by user1, user2, and 10,289 others

yourusername: t-3 days until my sophomore album "The Cowgirls, Guns, & Horses" comes out, can't wait for everyone to hear it #tcgh

user1: i'm wayyy too excited for #tcgh i just know ts is too good

user2: everyone say amen for y/n for dropping out of uni to bless us with amazing music

user3: yeah it's literally crazy too , like she was going to be an engineer and literally quit her last year...😦😦

user2: it's lowkey sad but AT LEAST WE HAVE MUSICCC YASSS

user4: guys...did we see her on twt last night w a certain someone....

user5: wait no??!?! hello please fill me in on the tea 📖

user4: basically some op saw her in a bar with a shit ton our tourists, turns out one of them was non other than F1 DRIVER DANIEL RICCIARDO

user5: THERES NO WAY???

user6: wait who's that... i'm so out of the loop for pop culture guys... 😭😭🙏🏽

user7: he's this super famous formula one driver (drives fast cars in weird shaped circles) from australia and he LOVES the country

user8: yeah... he wears a cowboy hat so much its kind of goofy

user9: yeah and allegedly, SOMEONE SAW THEM GO SOMEWHERE IN A CAR TOGETHER 😃💃🏻

user10: DAMNNNN @/yourusername.... was the d fire 🔥🚒🧯

user11: @/user10 LMFAO GTFOOO

user12: wait so i know this album is gonna be lowkey sad but like what if she pops up w some suprise songs about daniel's cowboy...

user13: i'm DEAD what if she actually reads the comments

user12: i would simply pass tf away!!

danielricciardo

liked by user1, user2, and 109,110 others

danielricciardo: Save a horse, ride a cowboy #austingp

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

I slid into the backseat of my Uber, letting out a long, frustrated sigh as I slumped against the door. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, but I waved off any small talk with a quick, “Rough morning.”

As we pulled away from the hotel, I scoffed, shaking my head at myself. Did I seriously just spend money to Uber to and from a booty call? The thought made me cringe. Out of all the impulsive decisions I’d made in my life, this one was quickly climbing the ranks. I mean, come on—Ubering to a random hotel was bad enough, but having to ride back in shame after? That was a whole new level of poor life choices.

By the time the Uber pulled up to my house, I was already mentally preparing to face the walk of shame into my own home. I quietly slipped inside, trying to be as stealthy as possible, when suddenly—

“Boo!”

I jumped a mile high, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest as my younger sister, Maddie, popped out of nowhere, grinning like a cat who caught a canary.

“Jesus, Maddie!” I whisper-yelled, clutching my chest. “What is wrong with you?”

Maddie raised an eyebrow, eyes immediately trailing up and down my disheveled outfit. “Uh, is that the same thing you wore yesterday?” she asked, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk. “Did you... seriously just come back from—”

I slapped my hand over her mouth before she could finish the sentence, my eyes wide. “Shh! Keep it down!” I hissed. “We are not having this conversation out here.”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, but she nodded under my hand, so I let her go. I grabbed her wrist and dragged her down the hall, sneaking into my room like we were plotting a heist. Once inside, I shut the door behind us and turned to face her, arms crossed.

Maddie sat on the edge of my bed, looking way too pleased with herself. “Spill,” she said, not even bothering with a polite lead-in.

I groaned, rubbing my temples. “Fine. But you cannot tell anyone.”

She mimed zipping her lips and leaned in, ready for the juicy details.

“So…” I began, pacing the room. “Last night was a complete disaster. I ended up—well, you know—at some guy’s hotel room.”

Maddie’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? You? Miss ‘I Don’t Do Hookups’?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered, flopping down beside her on the bed. “I don’t even know how it happened. We were drinking, flirting… one thing led to another, and next thing I know, I wake up in his bed.”

Maddie let out a low whistle. “Damn. And?”

“And…” I sighed, running a hand through my tangled hair. “It gets worse. Guess who I ran into on the elevator this morning?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh no, who?”

“Carrie. And Johnny,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

Maddie’s mouth dropped open in shock. “No way. You ran into both of them? At the hotel?”

I nodded miserably. “Yup. Turns out the hotel I was in? Carrie’s family’s hotel. Of course.”

She gasped dramatically, covering her mouth. “Oh my god, Y/N, that’s… that’s awful but kind of hilarious.”

I shot her a glare, though a small smile tugged at my lips. “Yeah, hilarious for you maybe. For me? Literal nightmare.”

Maddie giggled, clearly enjoying the chaos of my morning. “So, did they say anything?”

“Not really. Just awkward stares and Carrie’s fake concern. The whole thing was a disaster. I swear, I am never doing this again,” I said, shaking my head.

She grinned, nudging me with her elbow. “Never say never. But hey, at least you’ve got a hell of a story now.”

I groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Trust me, I could’ve done without this particular story.”

I stared at the ceiling, still trying to process the absolute train wreck of a morning I’d just experienced, when Maddie’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“So, who’s this mystery guy you hooked up with?” she asked, nudging me again with a smirk.

I bit my lip, hesitating. Should I even say it? It felt surreal—like it wasn’t even real life—but what the hell, I was already in deep. “You’re not gonna believe this,” I muttered, sitting up and bracing myself. “His name’s Daniel. Daniel Ricciardo.”

Maddie’s jaw dropped so fast I thought it might hit the floor. “WHAT?!” she practically screamed, her eyes going wide with excitement. “THE Daniel Ricciardo? You slept with Daniel Ricciardo? As in F1 driver Daniel Ricciardo?”

I blinked, confused at her over-the-top reaction. “Uh, yeah? I mean, he said he’s a driver or something, but... I don’t really follow racing, so I didn’t think much of it.”

Maddie grabbed my shoulders, shaking me like I was the one losing my mind. “Y/N, are you serious? How did you not know who that was? He’s super famous! Like, ridiculously famous!”

I blinked, completely taken aback. “Wait, what? Famous famous?”

Maddie rolled her eyes, like I was the most clueless person on the planet. “Yes, famous famous! He’s one of the most popular Formula 1 drivers in the world! You know, the sport where they race the fastest cars? And, uh, hello, the Austin Grand Prix is in like five days! How do you not know this?”

My mouth dropped open as I tried to wrap my brain around what she was saying. “The Austin Grand Prix? You mean that thing that brings in all those tourists every year?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Maddie threw her hands up in the air, looking like she couldn’t believe my ignorance. “F1 is huge, Y/N. There are races all over the world, and Daniel Ricciardo is, like, one of the biggest personalities in the sport. People love him. He’s been racing for years, and he’s known for being super charismatic and... oh my god, you really didn’t know?”

I shook my head, completely floored. “I mean, he did say something about racing, but I didn’t realize it was that kind of racing. I just thought he meant, like, NASCAR or something.”

Maddie smacked her forehead. “Oh my god, you’re killing me. F1 is way bigger than NASCAR! It’s like the most elite motorsport in the world. And Daniel’s been racing for some of the top teams. How did you not realize you were with an actual celebrity?”

I stared at her, my mind reeling. “So, you’re telling me I just… slept with a world-famous driver and didn’t even realize it?”

Maddie nodded emphatically, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Yup! And honestly, I’m a little jealous. I mean, Daniel Ricciardo, Y/N! He’s a big deal! Girls all over the world would kill to be in your position.”

I groaned, flopping back onto the bed, my hands covering my face. “Oh my god, I cannot believe this. I slept with a celebrity, and I didn’t even know it. What is my life?”

Maddie giggled, clearly having way too much fun with this. She flopped down next to me on the bed, her grin as wide as Texas. “Girl, don’t even stress. You’re a celebrity now too! You and Daniel Ricciardo? That’s some next-level, power couple stuff right there.”

I groaned louder, pressing my palms against my face. “Maddie, stop. I’m not a celebrity. I’m a girl who just had a really, really embarrassing one-night stand.”

She nudged me with her elbow, smirking. “Nah, you’re thinkin’ too small, sis. Just picture it! You’re up on stage with your guitar, singin’ your heart out, and Daniel’s out there in the crowd, front and center, lookin’ all fine and proud of his lil’ cowgirl.”

I rolled over onto my side, staring at her in disbelief. “Maddie, please. You’re daydreamin’ way too hard right now.”

But she wasn’t even listening, lost in her own fantasy. “Y’all could be, like, the ultimate couple. Country singer and an F1 driver? Hell, people would eat that up! He’d be all, ‘This here’s my gal, Y/N,’ and you’d be sittin’ there in the paddock, rockin’ those fancy hats like a boss. Shoot, you two would be in all the magazines!”

I shot her a look. “Maddie, we’re not even dating. It was one night, and I barely knew who he was until five minutes ago.”

She waved her hand, brushing off my concerns like dust off a pair of boots. “Psh, technicalities. I’m just sayin’, y’all could make waves. You’d be the talk of Texas and everywhere else too. Like a regular old-fashioned Bonnie and Clyde, but with less crime and more racin’.”

I laughed despite myself. “Yeah, sure. A cowgirl and a race car driver. That’ll be the day.”

Maddie wiggled her eyebrows. “Hey, you never know! Y’all could be splittin’ your time between the racetrack and the rodeo. And if anyone can pull off being a celebrity couple, it’s my big sis.”

I sat up, shaking my head but unable to keep the smile off my face. “You’re ridiculous.”

She grinned wide, leaning back on her elbows. “I know, but tell me I’m wrong.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to push away the ridiculous idea. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Maddie’s wild daydreams weren’t entirely out of reach.

Just as Maddie was about to launch into another wild daydream about me and Daniel conquering the world, there was a sharp knock on my door.

“Y/N? Maddie? What are y’all doin’ in there?” my mom’s voice called out from the hallway.

My eyes widened in horror. “Oh, crap,” I whispered, looking down at my crumpled shirt and yesterday’s jeans. No way could Mom see me like this. Not after last night.

Maddie, ever the quick thinker, jumped up, eyes wide. “You gotta change! Quick, or she’ll know!”

I scrambled off the bed, frantically grabbing the first pair of sweatpants I could find and yanking off my wrinkled jeans. “Uh, we’re just—hold on, Mom! Give us a sec!” I yelled back, pulling on the sweats and trying to find a shirt that didn’t scream ‘walk of shame.’

Mom knocked again, louder this time, sounding more impatient. “What’s takin’ so long? Y’all up to no good in there?”

Maddie shot me a panicked look, then, in true Maddie fashion, she came up with the most absurd lie possible. “Mom, we’re—uh—just checking if Y/N has a wart down there!”

My head snapped up so fast I nearly fell over. “WHAT?”

Maddie’s eyes were wide with mischief as she mouthed, Just go with it!

Mom was silent for a second, and then I heard a heavy sigh. “A wart? Y’all expect me to believe that?”

Maddie waved her arms around frantically, trying to sell the lie. “Yeah! You know, like, one of those really weird ones! We didn’t wanna make a fuss about it, so we’re handling it ourselves.”

I threw on a hoodie, pulling it over my head as fast as I could, all while glaring at Maddie. “Are you kidding me?” I whispered through gritted teeth, but she just gave me a thumbs-up.

Mom’s patience was clearly wearing thin. “Well, can’t this wait until later? I need y’all downstairs now.”

Maddie’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape. “Uh, well, it’s kind of urgent, Mom! You don’t just leave a wart alone, right? It could get... worse! Way worse!”

I buried my face in my hands, trying not to burst out laughing at how ridiculous this had become. But Maddie wasn’t letting up, and my mom, bless her, was clearly not buying it.

“Alright, enough. I don’t care if there’s a whole forest of warts down there! Get your butts downstairs in two minutes or I’m coming in!” Mom’s voice was firm now, and I could hear her foot tapping impatiently outside the door.

Maddie shot me a guilty look as I finally finished pulling myself together. “Okay, okay, we’re coming!” I yelled back, exasperated but unable to stop giggling at how absurd this situation had become.

As soon as we heard Mom walk away from the door, I turned to Maddie, shaking my head. “A wart? Really? That’s your best lie?”

Maddie grinned, completely unbothered. “Hey, I had to think fast! Besides, you know Mom was gonna barge in here if we didn’t come up with something good.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but laugh. “I swear, if I ever have to explain to her that I don’t have warts, you’re taking the blame.”

“Deal,” Maddie said with a grin, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the door. “Now let’s go before she drags us down there herself.”

Maddie and I hurried downstairs, trying our best to look normal — like we hadn’t just staged a ridiculous wart-related lie to keep Mom from barging into my room. As soon as we hit the bottom step, Mom was standing there with her arms crossed, eyeing us with that mom look that said she knew something was up but was choosing to let it slide for now.

She raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “Y’all got those warts handled? Need me to call a doctor or somethin’?”

I groaned, rolling my eyes as Maddie snickered beside me. “We’re fine, Mom,” I muttered, trying not to blush all over again. “No doctor necessary.”

Mom chuckled and shook her head. “Alright, then. I need you two to run to the mart for me.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a grocery list, handing it over. “Just a few things I need for tonight. Don’t dilly-dally.”

I took the list and scanned it, my mind still racing from the chaos of the morning. Eggs, milk, sugar—normal stuff. But then I spotted cilantro circled three times with a little note that said, “Don’t forget this time!!!”

I sighed, folding the list up and sticking it in my pocket. “Got it, Mom. Anything else? Want us to pick up some wart cream while we’re at it?” I teased, shooting Maddie a glance.

Maddie snorted, and Mom swatted me lightly on the arm. “Just get what’s on the list, smart mouth.”

We headed out the door and into the driveway, where Maddie tossed me the keys to my truck. “Your turn to drive,” she said, hopping into the passenger seat with a grin. “I’m still recovering from your fashion disaster this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, climbing into the driver’s seat. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she said, smirking as I started the engine. The truck roared to life, and we pulled out of the driveway, heading toward the mart.

As we cruised down the road, the Texas sun beating down on us, I finally started to relax. The insanity of the morning was starting to fade, and it felt good to just drive, even if it was for groceries.

“Cilantro, huh?” Maddie said, glancing at the list as we pulled into the parking lot of the mart. “You better not forget that, or Mom’s gonna throw a fit.”

I parked the truck and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Yeah, I know. We’re on a cilantro mission now.”

We hopped out of the truck, laughing about the morning's chaos as we headed inside. At least now, it was just me, Maddie, and a simple grocery list to tackle.

Maddie and I wandered through the grocery store aisles, chatting about nothing in particular as we grabbed the items on Mom’s list. Everything was going smoothly until I remembered the cilantro.

“Maddie, I can’t forget the cilantro. Mom will kill me if I come back without it.” I scanned the store like I was hunting for buried treasure, and then—out of the corner of my eye—I spotted it. The last bunch of cilantro.

“There!” I practically shouted, pointing across the produce section. Without thinking, I made a mad dash for it, leaving Maddie behind as I zeroed in on my target. Nothing was going to stop me from getting this cilantro—not after what happened last time.

But just as I reached for it, my hand collided with someone else’s.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” a familiar voice said, as our hands both grabbed for the same bunch. “In a rush, are we?”

I looked up and found myself staring directly into Daniel’s mischievous eyes. My heart skipped a beat—of all people.

“You?” I blurted, both annoyed and surprised.

Daniel grinned, raising an eyebrow as his hand still held onto the cilantro. “What, you didn’t think you’d see me again?”

I blinked, trying to recover from the sudden collision, both physically and mentally. “I—uh—no, I just didn’t expect to be fighting you over a bunch of cilantro,” I said, still clutching the herb in one hand as he held the other end.

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, if you’d been a little slower, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at him. “Slower? I was practically flying over here. I saw it first.”

“Oh, really?” He tilted his head, that playful smirk of his back in full force. “I’m pretty sure I had my hand on it before you did.”

“Dream on, Ricciardo,” I shot back, trying to yank the cilantro from his grip. “It’s mine.”

He tightened his hold, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Tell you what—we’ll share it.”

“Share?” I raised an eyebrow. “What, you want to split a bunch of cilantro? What are we, in preschool?”

Daniel laughed, pulling it toward him slightly. “I mean, it’s either that or you admit defeat.”

“Admit defeat?” I shot him a glare. “I don’t lose at grocery shopping.”

“Is that so?” His grin widened as he leaned in closer, his face just a little too close for comfort. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re losing.”

My cheeks flushed, and I yanked the cilantro again, this time breaking the bunch in half. “There. Now we’re both losers.”

He burst out laughing, holding up his half of the cilantro. “Fair enough. You really don’t like losing, do you?”

I crossed my arms, trying to hide the fact that I was blushing. “Not when I’m up against people who think they can out-shop me.”

Daniel leaned against the cart, still grinning like he was having the time of his life. “Alright, you win this round, but I’m telling you—next time, I’m taking the whole bunch.”

I shook my head, trying not to laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Just then, Maddie appeared behind me, her eyes going wide when she realized who I was standing next to. “Uh, Y/N? What’s going on here?”

I turned to Maddie, holding up my half of the cilantro. “Just winning a fight, that’s all.”

Daniel winked at Maddie before looking back at me. “More like a draw, if we’re being honest.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ricciardo.”

Maddie raised her eyebrows, her grin spreading. “Oh, this is definitely going in my scrapbook.”

Daniel chuckled, still holding his half of the cilantro like it was a prize. Just as I was about to turn away, he slipped something into my hand, so smooth I almost didn’t realize he’d done it.

I blinked, glancing down at the small folded piece of paper. “What’s this?” I asked, unfolding it carefully, my curiosity piqued.

Before I could even figure it out, Maddie was already craning her neck to see. Her eyes widened in excitement the second she caught a glimpse. “Oh my god, Y/N, do you even know what these are?!”

I looked at her, completely confused. “What do you mean?”

She pointed excitedly at the paper in my hands. “Those are paddock passes! For the Austin GP! You’ve got three-day passes to the entire race weekend! Do you even understand how hard these are to get?”

I stared down at the passes, my jaw practically hitting the floor. “Wait, what?”

Daniel smirked, casually leaning against his cart, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Yeah, figured you might want to see what all this F1 fuss is about, and I happened to have an extra pass. So, you know, if you’re not too busy fighting over cilantro.”

I looked up at him, completely floored. “You... got me paddock passes? For three days?”

He shrugged, looking way too casual about the whole thing. “What can I say? I’m glad I grabbed an extra one just in case.” His eyes flickered with that familiar playful glint. “And now, I’m even gladder.”

Maddie, still buzzing with excitement, suddenly stepped forward, grinning ear to ear. “Oh, where are my manners?” She extended her hand. “I’m Maddie, by the way. You know, the better sister.”

Daniel burst into laughter, shaking her hand. “Well, if you’re anything like your sister, I think I’m in for trouble.”

Maddie winked at him. “Trouble’s our middle name. But really, she’s the one you’ve gotta watch out for.”

I shot Maddie a glare, trying to keep my cool even though my heart was still racing. “Maddie, stop.”

Daniel grinned, turning his attention back to me. “I dunno, I kind of like trouble. Keeps things interesting.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “You just like making everything a competition.”

He tilted his head, that infuriatingly charming smirk still on his face. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like seeing how far I can push you.”

Maddie laughed, nudging me with her elbow. “Oh, he’s good, Y/N. Better watch out, or you’re gonna find yourself in the middle of a Grand Prix.”

Daniel grinned, leaning in just a little. “Well, with those passes, you might just end up front and center.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head at how ridiculous this had all become. “You seriously just carry extra paddock passes around?”

“Only when I think they might come in handy,” he said, eyes glinting. “And I had a feeling you’d appreciate them more than anyone else here.”

I raised an eyebrow, still not entirely sure how this was my life. “You’re something else, you know that?”

He smiled, holding up his half of the cilantro. “Takes one to know one.”

I stared at the paddock passes in my hand, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Daniel Ricciardo—actual Formula 1 driver—had just handed me access to the most exclusive part of the Austin GP like it was no big deal. Meanwhile, Maddie looked like she was about to combust from excitement.

“I mean, front and center at a Grand Prix?” Maddie piped up, clearly having the time of her life with this. “Y/N, do you even understand how cool that is? You’re basically about to be part of the elite crowd. And you didn’t even know who he was two days ago.”

I shot her a look, trying not to blush as I turned back to Daniel. “I feel like I should be saying thanks, but... are you sure? This feels a little...”

“Too good to be true?” Daniel finished with a smirk, crossing his arms. “I get that a lot. But trust me, I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Plus, I didn’t want to go through the weekend wondering if you’d ever stop fighting over cilantro.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re really gonna hang onto that, aren’t you?”

“Only as long as it keeps you on your toes.” He grinned, his gaze holding mine a second longer than necessary. “Besides, now you’ve got no excuse not to come.”

Maddie, never one to miss an opportunity, jumped in with a grin. “Oh, she’ll be there. I’ll make sure of it. You’re looking at the world’s most stubborn person right here, but once she commits, she’s all in.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Is that so?”

I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “I wouldn’t listen to her. She’s just trying to recruit me into her fantasy F1 life.”

Maddie snorted. “Uh, you slept with Daniel Ricciardo, and now you’ve got paddock passes. I think that fantasy is turning into reality, sis.”

I groaned, rubbing my face in embarrassment. “Maddie, please.”

Daniel chuckled, glancing between the two of us. “You two are something else. This is probably the most fun I’ve had at a grocery store in... ever.”

I crossed my arms, half smiling despite myself. “Well, I guess we know who to thank for that. You’re really making a habit of surprising me, aren’t you?”

He leaned in just slightly, his grin widening. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Just wait ‘til you see what surprises I’ve got lined up for the weekend.”

Maddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Ooh, mysterious. I like it.”

I shot her a look but couldn’t help laughing. “Alright, fine. You win. I’ll come to the race.”

Daniel winked, clearly satisfied. “Knew you would. See you in the paddock, then.” He tipped his imaginary hat and turned to walk away, but not before flashing one last grin. “Don’t forget to bring your competitive spirit. You’re gonna need it.”

I watched him go, my heart still racing as Maddie practically squealed beside me. “Oh my god, Y/N! This is insane!”

I shook my head, laughing. “Yeah, it is. I can’t believe I’m actually going to an F1 race.”

Maddie grinned, nudging me again. “Not just any race. You’re going with Daniel freaking Ricciardo. Girl, this is like something out of a movie.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small part of me couldn’t deny how surreal—and thrilling—it all felt.

After successfully scouring the back of the store and miraculously finding one last bunch of cilantro hidden behind some parsley, Maddie and I made our way to the checkout. I could barely keep my head straight, still reeling from my unexpected run-in with Daniel, while Maddie was practically bouncing with excitement, shooting me side-glances the entire time we loaded up the cart.

Once we were through the checkout and back in the truck, Maddie wasted no time. As soon as I turned the ignition, she turned toward me, eyes wide with anticipation. "Okay, enough stalling. You have to give me details about the one-night stand. I mean, come on. It's Daniel Ricciardo! Spill it!"

I groaned, gripping the steering wheel and backing out of the parking spot. “Maddie, please.”

She crossed her arms, giving me her best "I’m-not-letting-this-go" look. “Oh, no, no. You’re not getting out of this one. I need the full rundown. Like, what happened? How did it happen? How is he? Is he a good—”

“Maddie!” I cut her off, feeling the heat rise to my face. “I am not telling you that.”

She smirked, not even remotely phased by my protests. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you weren’t just as shocked to wake up next to him. I mean, how does someone like you,” she gestured to me dramatically, “end up in bed with someone like him?”

I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself. “Trust me, I was just as surprised as you are. It wasn’t even planned! We were both tipsy, flirting at the bar... and, well, you know how those things go.”

Maddie practically squealed. “So, was it... like, really good?”

I groaned again, my face probably a bright shade of red by now. “Maddie, I’m not talking about that. Just know that... it was fine, okay? We were both drunk, and it happened. End of story.”

She pouted but kept pushing. “Ugh, fine. But was he sweet? Was he funny in the morning? Or did he just roll over and pretend like nothing happened?”

I snorted, shaking my head as I turned onto the road. “No, actually, he was... really chill about it. We joked around a bit, and he didn’t make it awkward. I mean, we even fought over cilantro in the grocery store, and he’s still as annoyingly charming as ever.”

Maddie let out a dreamy sigh. “Of course, he’s charming. Ugh, I bet that smile of his could get you to do anything. No wonder you ended up in his hotel room.”

I shot her a look. “Can you not make me sound like a complete pushover?”

She giggled, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying! You gotta admit, he’s got some serious game.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, he’s definitely got something. But honestly, I don’t even know what to make of it all. One minute, I’m waking up in his bed, and the next, I’ve got paddock passes for a whole race weekend.”

Maddie leaned back in her seat, eyes wide with curiosity. “Okay, okay, but I have to ask the important question.” She paused for dramatic effect, smirking like she was about to drop the most scandalous question of all time.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What now?”

She grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. “Is it... big?”

I nearly choked on my own laughter, my face instantly heating up. “Maddie!” I exclaimed, giving her a light shove. “Oh my god, you can’t just ask that!”

She burst out laughing, completely unfazed. “Come on! You hooked up with a famous race car driver! You know I had to ask!”

I covered my face, shaking my head. “This is not happening right now.”

Maddie nudged me again, still giggling. “I’m just sayin’, you can’t drop all these details about Daniel freakin’ Ricciardo and expect me to not be curious! It’s, like, basic sister requirements.”

I sighed, laughing despite the embarrassment. “I’m not telling you that. Besides, some things are meant to be kept private!”

She threw her hands up in surrender, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Fine, fine. But I’m just gonna assume the answer’s yes based on how flustered you are right now.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the grocery bags. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

She beamed at me, completely proud of herself. “It’s part of my charm. Now let’s go inside before Mom gets suspicious.”

We stepped out of the truck, and as we made our way toward the house, Maddie shot me one last teasing glance. “I still can’t believe this. You’re living the dream, sis. Now we just have to get you through the race without tripping over yourself.”

I laughed, shaking my head as we walked inside. “Easier said than done, trust me.”

Maddie winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to keep you grounded. And, you know, ask more questions about... size later.”

I groaned. “Maddie, I swear, if you bring that up again—”

She cut me off with a giggle. “Relax, I’ll save it for after the race. Maybe Daniel will answer it for me.”

I gave her a mock-serious glare as we stepped into the kitchen. “If you ask him anything remotely like that, I’ll personally disown you as my sister.”

Maddie just grinned, completely unfazed by my threat. “Oh, come on! You know you’re curious too. I bet Daniel’s the type to joke right back—he seems like he’s got that smooth banter down.”

I rolled my eyes, setting the grocery bags down on the counter. “Yeah, well, I’d rather not find out in front of you.”

She grabbed a bunch of cilantro, holding it up like it was a victory flag. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave at the race... but no promises if the opportunity presents itself.”

I groaned again, shaking my head. “You will kill me one day, you know?”

Maddie smirked as she placed the cilantro in the fridge, turning to me with a wink. “Hey, if you’re gonna be dating an F1 driver, you better get used to me asking all the embarrassing questions. It’s a sister’s job to keep things interesting.”

I felt my face flush at the mention of “dating” Daniel, quickly brushing it off. “Who said anything about dating? This was just a one-time thing.”

Maddie raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “Uh-huh, sure. You just happened to have a ‘one-time thing’ with Daniel Ricciardo, and now you’ve got three-day paddock passes? Girl, please.”

I crossed my arms, trying to sound firm. “We’re not dating.”

She gave me a knowing smile. “Maybe not yet, but trust me, once you’re up close and personal at that race, things might change. I mean, the man gave you paddock passes, Y/N. He’s clearly not done with you.”

I rolled my eyes again, but I couldn’t deny the flutter in my chest at her words. “Whatever, Maddie. Let’s just focus on surviving this weekend without you embarrassing me in front of him.”

Maddie grinned, stepping closer and nudging me with her elbow. “I make no promises. But I will say this—you better have fun. It’s not every day you get to hang out with a superstar. Just... remember to breathe when you see him again.”

I laughed, despite the butterflies in my stomach. “Yeah, yeah. Now help me finish putting these groceries away before Mom comes in and asks what’s taking so long.”

Maddie threw me a playful wink as she grabbed the rest of the groceries. “You got it. But I’m definitely asking for more details after the race.”

I groaned, but there was no hiding my smile. As much as Maddie drove me crazy, I couldn’t deny that having her along for this wild ride was exactly what I needed.

Maddie and I stepped into the kitchen, laughing and joking about who could embarrass me more at the race when we both suddenly stopped dead in our tracks.

Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea like it was the most casual thing in the world, were Carrie and her mother, Savannah.

I froze, my heart sinking to my stomach. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

My mom glanced up, clearly trying to keep the peace with a polite smile, but there was no missing the tension in the air. “Oh, hey girls,” she said, in a tone that was way too casual for the situation. “We’re just having a little afternoon tea.”

Savannah gave us a small wave, her southern charm still as present as ever. “Hi, Y/N. Maddie. It’s been a while.”

Carrie glanced up at me, and for a second, I saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes. I could tell she was remembering the hotel elevator, just like I was. The awkward tension between us stretched out as thin as it could go.

In my head, a thousand thoughts ran wild. Why are they here? I knew the answer, though. My mom and Savannah had been cordial for years, mostly because they had to be. Both of them were rodeo managers for the same rodeo company, which meant they had to stay civil for the sake of work. The whole town knew their friendship was... well, strained at best. But here they were, playing nice over afternoon tea like it was some kind of forced social obligation.

Maddie, always the one to break awkward silences, cleared her throat. “Uh... hey, Mrs. Summers. Carrie.”

Carrie’s mom, Savannah, smiled politely, her perfect rodeo-queen hair barely moving as she lifted her teacup. “It’s lovely to see you two. Your mother and I were just catching up on the rodeo business.”

Of course you were, I thought bitterly. The rodeo world was so small, and no matter how much I wanted to avoid it—or Carrie—I couldn’t escape it.

My mom, sensing the tension, glanced between us. “Savannah and I were talking about the upcoming event. Looks like it’s going to be a busy season.”

Maddie shifted uncomfortably beside me. “Yeah, busy. Fun.” Her usual energy was suddenly subdued, which I knew was her way of trying to keep things from getting too awkward. Not that it was working.

Carrie, ever the queen of awkward stares, finally spoke, her tone as polite as ever. “It’s... good to see you, Y/N.” She hesitated, glancing at her mother before continuing. “How have you been?”

I forced a smile, trying not to let the awkwardness show on my face. “Great. Just, you know, busy.” Really busy fighting you in elevators and trying to forget you even exist.

Carrie nodded, sipping her tea, and the silence between us stretched even further. I could feel the weight of Savannah’s eyes on me, like she was silently assessing everything—our strained friendship, my disheveled appearance from running errands, everything.

Maddie, never one to let tension linger, piped up again. “Well, we just got back from the mart. You know, had to get that cilantro Mom keeps losing her mind over.”

Savannah smiled tightly. “Ah, yes. Cilantro can be tricky.”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of the moment, but I managed to hold it in, keeping the strained smile on my face. I just wanted this impromptu tea party from hell to be over with.

The silence in the kitchen stretched on, thick and awkward, like we were all waiting for something to break it but hoping it wouldn’t be us. I could feel Maddie’s discomfort beside me, her usual spark dimmed in the presence of Carrie and her mom. My mind raced with a mix of irritation and embarrassment—of all the days for them to be here, this had to be it.

Carrie set her teacup down gently, the soft clink of porcelain against porcelain filling the room like a final punctuation to the unbearable silence. She gave me a tight-lipped smile, that same fake pleasantness I’d grown used to over the years. “Well, it sounds like you’ve been keeping busy.”

Busy avoiding you, I thought, but instead I just nodded. “Yeah, something like that.” I forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

Savannah, ever the poised and perfect woman she was, glanced at my mom and then back at us, her hands wrapped neatly around her teacup. “It’s important to stay productive. Especially with everything going on in the rodeo season. You girls must be a big help around here.”

I bit back the urge to laugh. My mom might be cordial with Savannah for the sake of their professional lives as rodeo managers, but the subtext was loud and clear. They barely tolerated each other, both knowing that competition was part of their work, and now that tension had trickled down to Carrie and me—and Maddie by default.

Maddie, bless her, tried to keep things light. “Oh, we’re great at helping out... with, uh, grocery shopping.” She flashed a smile, holding up the cilantro like it was some grand prize. “Mom’s got us on strict cilantro duty these days.”

Mom shot Maddie a look, clearly not in the mood for her humor right now. “Thank you, Maddie.”

Savannah raised an eyebrow at Maddie’s comment, but kept her voice smooth. “Cilantro can make or break a meal, I suppose.”

Carrie glanced at me again, her eyes flicking up and down, probably still processing our awkward encounter in the hotel elevator. “You know,” she said, her voice too casual, “I think I saw you at the Hilton the other day, Y/N. Were you there for something special?”

My stomach dropped. Of course she’d bring it up.

“Yeah, I... had some errands downtown,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. No way was I going to let her know about Daniel, not with her mother sitting right there.

Maddie, though, being Maddie, had no such reservations about subtlety. “Oh, you know, just casually bumping into Formula 1 drivers. No big deal.”

Carrie’s eyes widened slightly, and I saw her mom’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Formula 1 drivers?” Savannah asked, her tone suddenly more interested than it had been for the entire tea party.

I shot Maddie a seriously? look, but she just grinned like she’d been waiting to drop this bomb the entire time. “Yeah, we ran into Daniel Ricciardo. Real nice guy.”

Carrie’s jaw tightened just slightly, and I could tell she was piecing it all together. She probably knew exactly what had happened in that elevator. “Wow, Daniel Ricciardo,” she said, her voice cool. “That’s... interesting.”

Savannah, ever the picture of elegance, nodded approvingly. “Well, that’s quite a meeting. Formula 1 is certainly prestigious. You must have made quite the impression.”

I resisted the urge to laugh. Yeah, I made an impression, alright. But instead, I shrugged, trying to play it off. “It was... unexpected.”

Carrie’s eyes flickered with something—maybe curiosity, maybe envy—but her lips pressed together in a tight line. “Unexpected, huh?” she said, her voice a little too casual. “I’m sure it was.”

I could tell she wasn’t buying my attempt to downplay the situation. She knew. She’d probably already started piecing together the story from the elevator and was likely imagining a whole different version of events—one where she could twist it into something more dramatic.

Savannah, on the other hand, smiled that perfectly polished smile she always had, but I could see a glint of interest in her eyes. “Well, you’re certainly moving in impressive circles these days, Y/N. Formula 1 drivers... that’s a step up from the usual rodeo crowd, don’t you think?”

I bit back a smirk. “I guess you could say that.”

Carrie’s jaw tightened a little more, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. She had that look on her face—the one that said she was already planning how to bring this up the next time she was with her friends. She’d never admit it, but the idea of me bumping into someone like Daniel Ricciardo clearly irked her.

She straightened up in her seat, brushing a lock of perfectly styled hair behind her ear. “Well, it must’ve been nice to meet someone so... prestigious,” she said, her tone dripping with false politeness. “I’m sure it was a brief encounter.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep my cool. “Yeah, brief.” I decided it was better not to mention the three-day paddock passes in my back pocket. The less ammunition Carrie had, the better.

Savannah, still smiling, added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you saw him again at some point. Those kinds of connections have a way of resurfacing.”

I nodded, doing my best to seem nonchalant, but I couldn’t help glancing at Carrie, who was staring at me with just a little too much interest.

Carrie leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing just a bit. “So, what did you two talk about? I mean, you don’t exactly strike me as the F1 type.”

I could feel Maddie practically vibrating with excitement beside me, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable Carrie was. “Oh, we talked about racing. Rodeo. Life,” I said, keeping my response vague. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing more.

Carrie raised her eyebrow, sensing I wasn’t going to give her more details, but she couldn’t resist pushing a little further. “Rodeo, huh? That’s cute. I bet he found all of that... fascinating.”

Before I could respond, Maddie jumped in, her voice sweet but sharp. “Actually, he seemed really interested. You know, not everyone can handle a fast-paced life like Y/N’s. Some people are more into... exciting things.”

I shot Maddie a look, barely suppressing my grin as she winked at me.

Carrie’s smile faltered for just a second before she regained her composure. “Well, good for you, Y/N,” she said, her tone cold enough to send a chill through the room. “I’m sure you’ll fit right in with the race car crowd.”

Carrie’s words hung in the air like a challenge, her eyes flicking over me, searching for any sign of discomfort. But I wasn’t about to let her get the upper hand—not today.

I smiled, my voice steady. “I’m sure I will. After all, fast-paced lives aren’t for everyone.” I kept my tone light, but there was no missing the underlying message.

Carrie’s smile tightened, her fingers twitching slightly as she adjusted the strap of her designer bag. “Well, best of luck keeping up. Those kinds of people tend to leave others in the dust if they can’t handle the speed.”

Maddie, ever the bold one, didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, Y/N can handle anything. Don’t you worry about that.”

Carrie’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she forced another smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

I could practically hear Maddie holding back a giggle beside me. Carrie’s frustration was almost palpable, and I knew we were getting to her. She was always one to hold her cards close, but right now, the fact that I’d spent time with someone like Daniel Ricciardo—a man from a world far beyond Carrie’s reach—had clearly rattled her.

Savannah, ever the picture of grace, stepped in before things could escalate any further. “Alright, girls. We really must be going.” She placed a hand on Carrie’s shoulder, guiding her toward the door, but not before giving me one last glance. “You’ll have to tell us more about your Formula 1 adventures next time, Y/N.”

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. “We’ll see how the weekend goes.”

Carrie shot me one last look as they turned to leave, her voice almost too casual. “Enjoy the race. Let’s hope it’s as exciting as you’re expecting.”

I held her gaze, giving her the smallest of smirks. “Oh, I’m sure it will be.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Maddie let out the loudest laugh, finally letting go of all the tension that had been bubbling up during that excruciatingly polite exchange.

“Did you see her face?” Maddie said, practically bouncing with glee. “She’s absolutely livid. I can’t believe you kept your cool like that!”

I exhaled, leaning against the counter. “Barely. She almost had me when she started pushing about Daniel.”

Maddie waved her hand dismissively. “Nah, you handled that like a champ. I mean, did you see how she tried to act all nonchalant? She’s probably seething inside.”

I grinned, shaking my head. “Well, let’s hope she stews on it for a while. Maybe she’ll back off.”

Maddie laughed, grabbing a soda from the fridge. “Or maybe she’ll just get more competitive. Either way, you’re the one with the paddock passes and a date with Daniel Ricciardo.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s not a date.”

She gave me a mischievous look. “We’ll see about that.”

As Maddie and I were still laughing about the showdown with Carrie, my mom suddenly cleared her throat from the kitchen doorway. “Oh,” she said, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms, “so that’s where you were. I was wondering why you came back home looking like you’d been wrestling a tornado. Turns out you were just... banging some famous Formula 1 driver, huh?”

I froze, mid-laugh, and Maddie immediately burst into giggles, almost choking on her soda.

“MOM!” I spluttered, my face burning red. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Oh, honey,” my mom interrupted, waving a hand. “I don’t need the details. I’m just surprised you didn’t even bother to sneak in quietly after all that ‘looking for warts business’” She put heavy air quotes around her later statement, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the embarrassment crawl up my neck. “It wasn’t... like that.”

Maddie, still giggling, jumped in. “Oh, it was exactly like that. Just wait until you hear about the cilantro.”

Mom raised an eyebrow, her smirk not fading. “Cilantro, huh? Sounds like that’s code for something else entirely.”

I groaned. “Mom! I am not having this conversation with you right now.”

She laughed, coming over and placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m just messing with you, sweetie. But next time, try to sneak in a little less obviously. And maybe let your poor mother know if you plan on... running into celebrities in the future.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Maddie quickly jumped in, still laughing. “Oh, don’t worry, Mom. If she ever brings Daniel Ricciardo home, you’ll be the first to know.”

My mom winked at me. “You better believe it. Just make sure to feed the poor boy—don’t want him leaving hungry after all that... grocery shopping.” She gave me a teasing smile, clearly enjoying every second of my discomfort.

I buried my face in my hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Maddie leaned over, patting me on the back with a grin. “Welcome to the family, sis. Nothing stays secret here.”

After the chaos with Carrie, my mom’s teasing, and Maddie’s relentless jokes about Daniel, I finally retreated to my room, grateful for some peace and quiet. I had a big task ahead of me, one that had been on my mind for weeks—finalizing my album. The release date was just around the corner, and there were still a few loose ends to tie up.

I sat at my desk, flipping through the notebook that held all my song lyrics. Most of the album was finished, a mix of country ballads, heartbreak anthems, and some upbeat tracks about the wild, unpredictable life of a cowgirl. But something was missing. As I strummed my guitar absentmindedly, my thoughts kept drifting back to the events of the last couple of days—the bar, the unexpected encounter with Daniel, the flirting, the way he made me feel more alive than I’d felt in a long time.

Without even thinking, I started jotting down lyrics. The melody came first, soft and steady, like a heartbeat. The words followed, spilling out onto the page as I replayed that night in my mind. The tequila, the banter, the way he leaned in close with that lazy smile, and how I’d felt—nervous, excited, like I was diving into something new and unexpected.

Before I knew it, I had a full song written about that night. The lyrics were a little cheeky, playful, and flirty, with just enough emotional undertones to make it feel real. It wasn’t like the other songs on my album, but somehow, it fit. It felt right. It felt like something I needed to include.

I sat back, looking at the lyrics on the page, and let out a breath. “Okay,” I whispered to myself, “this might actually work.”

But there was one hurdle left—convincing my manager.

I picked up my phone and called them. It didn’t take long for the line to click, and my manager’s voice came through, warm but business-like as always. “Y/N! We’re almost there. Everything’s looking good for the album release. What’s up?”

I took a deep breath. “Hey, I’ve been thinking... I wrote a new song today. It’s about something that just happened recently, and I feel like it needs to be on the album.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I could hear them flipping through notes. “A new song? Y/N, we’re cutting it pretty close to the release date. Is it finished?”

“Yeah, it’s finished. I can send you a rough cut tonight,” I said, my heart pounding a little faster now. “I know it’s last minute, but this song... it’s important. It’s different from the other tracks, but it feels like the missing piece. I don’t want it on the physical CDs or anything—we can just add it to the online release.”

Another pause, and I held my breath, waiting.

Finally, my manager spoke, their tone thoughtful. “Send it over. I’ll take a listen. If it’s as good as you’re saying, we can make it work for the digital release. But no promises until I hear it.”

A wave of relief washed over me. “Thanks, I’ll send it over in an hour.”

I hung up the phone and got to work, recording a rough version of the song. It wasn’t polished, but the emotion was there, raw and real, just like that night with Daniel. When I listened back, I smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction settle over me. This song wasn’t planned, but it felt like it was meant to be there, like it had been waiting for the right moment to come out.

Once the recording was done, I sent it off to my manager and leaned back in my chair, guitar still resting in my lap. The day had started out so wild, but now, here I was, about to add a brand-new track to my album because of an unexpected encounter at a bar with a Formula 1 driver.

It was crazy, sure—but it was my kind of crazy. The kind that made life interesting, that made music worth creating.

As soon as I hit send on the rough cut of the song to my manager, my phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down and, to my surprise, saw Daniel’s name lighting up my screen. My heart skipped a beat—I wasn’t expecting to hear from him so soon, if at all. I swiped the notification open, and his message popped up.

Daniel: 👀 So… did I win the cilantro war or what?

I snorted, shaking my head. Of course he’d bring that up.

Me: you wish... i think we agreed it was a draw, remember?

A few moments passed, and another message popped up.

Daniel: Sure, sure. I’ll let you keep telling yourself that. But really, I let you have it. Gentleman and all. 😏

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile as I typed back.

Me: oh, you let me win, huh? that’s the story you’re going with??!

Daniel: Obviously. Wouldn’t want to start a feud over herbs. You Texans can be dangerous when you don’t get your cilantro.

I chuckled to myself, feeling the tension from earlier slip away as we fell into easy banter.

Me: you’re totally right. we don’t mess around with cilantro here. it’s practically sacred!! 😭

Daniel: I’m starting to see that. 😅 So, how’s your day been, besides our grocery aisle showdown?

I hesitated for a second, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Should I tell him about the song? About Carrie and the whole awkward tea party? I decided to keep it light for now.

Me: oh, you know... just the usual—running errands, finalizing some stuff for my album release. nothing too exciting, what about you?

His response came quickly.

Daniel: Not as exciting as your day, I’m sure. Just some press stuff and getting ready for the race. Though I guess that means I’m busy dodging questions about why I’m spending so much time in the grocery store lately. 😏

I laughed, imagining him charming his way through whatever interviews he had lined up, somehow making even his grocery shopping sound interesting.

Me: yeah, i’m sure the twitter is DYING to know all about your cilantro preferences.

Daniel: Oh, absolutely. “Ricciardo spotted in aisle five—what does this mean for the upcoming race?” 😆

Me: groundbreaking stuff😣😣. we’re really pushing the boundaries here.

His next text came through quickly, and I could almost hear the teasing in his voice.

Daniel: Speaking of groundbreaking... any chance this album’s got a song about a certain Aussie driver in it? 😏

I froze for a second, staring at his message. He had no idea how close he was to the truth.

Me: actually… funny you mention that. i may or may not have written something inspired by a recent bar encounter. 😉

There was a brief pause before his reply, and I imagined him raising an eyebrow on the other end.

Daniel: Oh? Inspired by, huh? Now you’ve got my attention. Do I get to hear this masterpiece before the rest of the world does?

I grinned, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. I wasn’t sure how he’d react, but something told me he’d find it amusing.

Me: maybe... but only if you promise not to make fun of me. i just wrote it today, so it’s still fresh. it's my newborn baby 💗💗💗

Daniel: Promise. I’m intrigued now. What’s it called?

I paused, biting my lip before typing.

Me: i haven’t decided on a title yet, but let’s just say it has a lot to do with flirting, tequila, and someone wearing a cowboy hat...😏

His response came quickly, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Daniel: Well, that narrows it down. Sounds like a banger already. 😎 When do I get to hear it?

I hesitated, unsure if I was really ready to let him listen to something so personal so soon. But then again, the whole point of the song was how unexpected and spontaneous things had been with him.

Me: soon...maybe if you behave yourself at the race. 😏

Daniel: Behave? Me? I’ll do my best, but no promises. 😉

I rolled my eyes, grinning at the screen. He had a way of keeping things light, but there was still something underneath all the teasing that felt... real.

Me: alright alright cowboy, well, you’ll have to wait just like everyone else then. patience is a virtue, right?!

Daniel: Patience is overrated, but for you, I guess I can try. 😎

I laughed, shaking my head. This was getting too fun.

Me: good. now go prepare for your race before you get too distracted.

Daniel: Oh, trust me, I’m already distracted. You’re making it hard to focus on track times, you know that?

I felt a blush creep up my neck at his words, though I tried to brush it off with my usual sarcasm.

Me: well, o wouldn’t want to be responsible for messing up your race. just remember to keep it on track. 😏

His response came with a playful challenge.

Daniel: Challenge accepted. Just don’t be surprised when I win—and not just on the track. 😉

I let out a laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.

Me: we’ll see about that, Ricciardo.

Daniel: Count on it.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note: comment to be added to the taglist! i'll probably update in 1-2 weeks after i get a few more chapters out in my op81 lay all your love on me fic...stay tuned xx <3

98 notes · View notes

formulaforza · 1 year ago

Text

—strawberry wine

and all the times we used to have. (nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft). pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: language, angst babyyy love, mackie... 5k ish. this is. definitely something. perhaps it should have stayed in the drafts but dani selected it from a group of it's peers yesterday evening.

It’s been years since you last spent enough time at the vineyard to be considered even a part-time employee. It’s hard to be there, now, in a way it didn’t used to be. Watching it fade away into obscurity and beg someone–anyone–to buy the property to land so your family can get out without generational debt. The fields just hold so many memories, an ancestral kind of history; your first job, the place you had your first drink, where you fell both in, and out of love for the first time. Being there now, watching it die a malignant death is just… sad. There isn’t anything poetic about it.

You long for the days of the peak, of never ending days spent behind the counter in the barn selling wealthy people on the aesthetics of a small, family-run vineyard. Of your father hosting tours and your mother tastings, of you, pink nose and shoulders kissed by the sun, picking grapes by hand. Of the days where help still had to be hired.

For a while there, it seemed like there was a never ending rotation of teenagers and twenty-somethings willing to do manual labor for minimum wage–thirteen an hour–from sunup to sundown. They’d even host the occasional tour on busy Saturday evenings, would be compensated in under the table bottles of wine and cash tips. None of them ever stuck around longer than a couple months, found better jobs indoors, closer to school, better pay. Well, nobody except Daniel.

Daniel worked at the vineyard for… four-ish years, with varying availability depending on seasons and school and racing.

Sometimes, when you lose yourself to sentiments and fantasy, you imagine a world where the Vineyard never faced any competition, where it is still thriving and you take over your mother’s job when she retires. Daniel still works there, maybe in the fields where he was always supposed to be, or maybe front of house guiding tours and helping you with tastings. Life is simple and plain and at the end of every night you lock the barn doors and go home together and eat dinner and grocery shop and do your taxes. Daniel strums the guitar on the porch when it rains. Life is easy and fun and you laugh more than you don’t.

It’s silly, really. But first loves are always silly.

He is one of the many memories that haunt the property, walking the lines of grapevines feeling more like a walk through a fogged out graveyard than anything.

Even now, all these years later, you can still see him sat in the swivel chair in the office doorway, throwing grapes at you while you attempt to run the dusty cash register. It’s a cool July afternoon and he’s got a stupid grin on his face and can’t look anywhere but you.

Daniel is kind of like those people you know you’re given young so that for the rest of your life you know what real feels like. They’re more a lesson than a lover, unfortunately.

—

You move through the place like you own it, which, you suppose technically you do, in some will locked away in an accountant’s filing cabinet, this all belongs to you. Right now, though, you’re seventeen and just returning from school, already setting up your homework on the end of the counter, a spattering of greetings from the local customers and the local hands, the people who know that this is more of a natural habitat than anywhere else on the planet will ever be.

Danny also moves around the place like he owns it, which, if it was up to him he probably would. He hums your name as he moves past, taps the opposite shoulder to the one he leans over, reading your textbook over your shoulder. “It’s seventeen,” he quips.

“It’s a history textbook,” you reply, eyes unmoving from the page.

“Seventeen-seventy, cunt.” There’s a half-empty bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. He leans over you to grab an orange. “Captain Hook and such,” he adds, hosting himself up onto the counter with a thud. You’re sure one day the old wood is going to give out on him and he’ll fall straight onto his ass. Part of you hopes you’re around to see it, the other knows that he’ll find a way to not only make it your fault, but also tease you about it for a minimum of six months.

“Fuck off, Danny,” you punctuate, just loud enough for him to hear.

“It’s Daniel, now.”

You snort. Finally, you give him your attention. “Danny is too unprofessional for a hot-shot Red Bull junior driver like you?”

“See,” he pops his thumb harshly through the peel of the orange, the citrus scent wafting out into the humid air. “You get it.”

You pout. “I’m still going to call you Danny.”

“No you won’t,” he laughs. God, the smell of orange is overwhelming, the kind that lingers long after the fruit is gone. When Danny goes back to work in a few minutes, tosses the peel and into the trash by the office door, he’ll still linger in the room with the smell of citrus.

“I will.”

“You know what,” he hums, biting into a slice. “Let me make you a deal.”

You smile, shake your head. “Shouldn’t I be the one making you a deal?”

He groans against the fruit, “Can you just?”

When you look up again, lean back in your chair and cross your arms, he has orange juice running down the side of his hand, all sweet and sticky and summery. “Fine.”

He smiles goofily, all fucking proud of himself just because you agreed to shut up for thirty seconds. “You can keep calling me Danny, but only if you let me take you out this weekend.”

“Danny,” you protest. This is far from the first time he’s tried to plant the seed of a date with him. It’s had to’ve been a year, by now. You know he’d drop it if you would just give him an answer, but a year later you still haven’t been able to deliver anything definitive.

He shrugs. “‘Dem’s the rules, honey.”

Maybe what you say next is your greatest mistake, or maybe it was what you were always going to say. Maybe you feel like you can say it because he leaves again soon, for longer than ever. You won’t have to live with the consequences of your actions, of your words. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s simply that you think Daniel is far too proper a name for the sticky-handed vineyard tour guide you’ve grown particularly fond of. Danny is much more fitting for him, which is most certainly why you say, okay. When are you picking me up?

—

You drive out from your parents house with your dad in his old Ford Bronco. It’s half rusted out and half chipped blue paint, with worn leather seats and a steering wheel somehow more worn than the rest of it. Seven black tree air fresheners hand from the rearview mirror, new car smell. This relic is well past that–he’s been driving it out to the property literally forever, and this trip won’t be any exception.

You hardly recognize the place, you think as you slam the squeaky door shut with enough force to make sure it really latches.

The fields are overgrown with tall grass and shrubs and mustard flowers. The trunks of the grapevines act as headstones for the sprawling field of dry, sunburnt plants. You don’t think anyone has been out there with a plow in months, if not years.

The barn, the one you grew up in, has been lost with the rest of the place to time. Red paint chips off the wood in massive flakes. The branding that had once run in big wooden letters along the top of the door have all since fallen, leaving a sad outline of your family name in its weathered wake. Two padlocks, one rusted shut, sit on the lock. Every step you take kicks up more dust.

You’re removed from your thoughts, from the hauntings and the sentiment and the memories, by the creaking of the tailgate on your father’s truck. Stuffed in the back of the Bronco are your afternoon tasks; a pair of bulk cutters for the padlocks, a new, state of the art keypad lock given to your Dad by a realtor, a post hole digger, and five for-sale signs haphazardly packed any way they would fit.

You spend most of the next couple hours digging holes along the road, filling them with the wooden posts of the for-sale signs, looking disapprovingly at the thirty-something in a suit that has been tasked with selling the unsellable property.

This is, what… the fifth person you’d hired to sell this fucking place. Soon enough, you’re going to be sticking up For Sale by Owner signs with a hand-written phone number in black sharpie along the fences that were supposed to keep animals out. Realtors were never in the budget to begin with.

—

You’re waiting on the old front porch when he pulls up in his beat-up truck, John Denver playing through the open windows, his hand moving in the wind up the entire dusty driveway. You don’t know what he can see, that your Mom is watching out the kitchen window with a friendly smile.

You’ve got your best sundress on, one that you’d debated wearing for almost thirty-six hours. The first week Danny worked in front of house with you, he spent the entire shift flirting with one of your Dad’s friend’s daughters. He said that sundresses are a crime committed against teenage boys and that when he meets God he’s going to have words with him over pretty girls and their affinity for said sundresses.

You’d laughed then, because you thought it was silly. You remembered it because you thought the new kid was kind of cute, in a you work for my parents and I could never think you’re cute way.

“Fuck,” is the first word out of his mouth, before the car door is even closed behind him, followed quickly by a check of his watch and “am I late?”

“No, no,” you smile, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair behind your ear, standing to your feet on the wooden stairs. “You’re early, actually. I think,” you chuckle. “I’m just,” you can feel your cheeks flushing. “I’m just excited.”

“Yeah,” he moves to you quickly, nervously. In the way only teenage boys on a first date do. “I’m excited too.”

“You look nice,” you say, stepping down the final couple of steps and meeting his waiting hand. “Your hair. I feel like I only ever see you in a hat.”

“Thanks, yeah,” he laughs. You’ve always loved his laugh, even when he’s annoying you and annoying customers and annoying himself. His laugh has always been good. “You look beautiful. I’ve never seen you, I mean. Not that you don’t always look–”

“Danny,” you interject as he opens the passenger side door.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he offers a smile and closes the door. Just before it latches shut, though, you hear him finish his sentence. “Thank you.”

He takes you to King’s Park, to the botanical garden after a stop for ice cream. He tells you that he’s had a crush on you this entire time and you ask him to tell you something you don’t already know. It’s then, in the botanical garden next to the water garden, that he tells you about his quote-en-quote ‘silly, kind of, like, backup dream, I guess’ where he has his own vineyard, brews his own wine and spends every day half drunk and wholly happy.

He stumbles through the entire telling of it, which is how you know he’s not fucking with you. He never gets nervous when it comes to fucking with you.

Perhaps that is where your silly, kind of like, backup dream started. The one where you and Daniel are working at the vineyard together and life is all death and taxes and grocery bills but somehow, in the midst of all the dull normalcy, you’re both happy as happy can be.

—

“Someone is out there looking at the place today,” your father tells you over the phone. You try to talk every day, a habit you’ve both picked up in the past couple years, in the time and space since you’ve turned thirty.

“You’re kidding,” you say. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling spoonfuls of some health-conscious cereal into your mouth (another post-thirtieth habit). “Who?”

“I don’t know, kid,” you swear you can hear the frown on his face, the deep smile lines and the frustrated forehead wrinkles from months in the direct southern sun. “Probably some fucking developer.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs. “If I’m right, I’d bet they break ground on a neighborhood within the year.”

Your sigh matches his. You can’t even imagine it, front yards and vinyl flooring and white walls built on a foundation of your childhood memories. It’s like going back home, to your childhood home that you sold so many years ago, and discovering it’s been bulldozed, wiped clean from the face of the Earth. “That’s so sad.”

“I know, but, well. You know, honey. It’s not like we have much choice.”

You nod. You do understand. You understand more than you wish you did. “I know. I know. Still pretty fuckin’ sad, though.”

There’s a long silence. The kind of silence that can only be shared by a father and a daughter; a silence that speaks more words than the dictionary can hold. “She’d understand it,” he finally speaks. “She wouldn’t fucking like it, but she would understand it.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know she would.”

—

“Are you going to kill me?” You giggled, stumbling over your feet. Danny is leading you on the property, one hand over your eyes, the other on your waist, guiding you poorly.

“And be the first fucking suspect?” He laughs. “I think not.”

“Okay, then where are you taking me?” You beg. It's been going on like this for some half hour, before he even covered your eyes.

He laughs. You laugh. All the two of you do is laugh. “Can’t you lighten up?”

“Not when I’m being led to my death. No, I can’t!”

He stops, turns you around a hundred and eighty degrees and takes his hand off your eyes, fingers digging into either of your shoulders. “Babe," he says, and you'd think he was about to tell you he killed someone.

You mimic his seriousness, find humor in it. “Babe.”

“You trust me.”

“Do I?” You smile. He cocks his head to one side and rolls his big brown eyes. You would commit crimes for his eyes. “I do.”

“Okay, so then fucking trust me.”

“Okay,” you nod, closing your eyes.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay," you reach blindly for his hand, bring it to your eyes to block the light from them once more. "I trust you. Let’s go.”

After a short, terribly blind walk, Danny finally stops. You’ve been able to hear the river that flows out the back of the property for twenty minutes, but it’s close enough now that you can smell it; the sticks and the rocks and the mud and the water. You can practically feel the splashing of the water bouncing off the boulders.

“Okay. Open,” he instructs, removing his hand from your eye, moving his arms to hug you from behind, arms wrapped over the front of your chest.

You open your eyes to find a picnic, carefully set up with a spread of dinner and drinks and dessert, complete with a plaid flannel blanket and candles that smell like citronella masked with lavender and a bouquet of white roses already in a water filled vase. “Danny,” you hum, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

He kisses your temple, whispers against your hair, “Happy Anniversary.”

“Danny,” you drag out the letters of his name, of the nickname he only lets the people he loves call him by. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy and special.

“Honey,” he mocks you, sways behind you.

“This is too much,” You crane your neck to look at him, and then turn your whole body so you’re flush against his chest, close in a way only you get to be. “You’re so sweet.”

He laughs and it vibrates in both of your chests. A feeling you’ll never tire of. “I mean, this is not too much. Arguably, this is too little.”

“No,” you back away, out of his grip and take small steps backwards, towards the picnic and the waiting meal, pulling him along with you by interlocked pinkies. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Well,” his grin grows. “I can’t argue with that.”

“I love you so much,” you tell him, because you do, because you’re eighteen and everything in this life is so simple and black and white.

“I love you, too, and–”

“Oh my gosh,” you cut him off, wide-eyed and giddy. “Wine with strawberries?”

He nods. “Strawberry wine, if you will. For the winery with no strawberry fields.”

“This is better,” you state, with the utmost confidence, without even a sip or a sniff or any idea of what white wine he’d used as a base for his little cocktail.

“Definitely not, but sure.”

“It is, because you made it for me. That makes it perfect.”

—

You’re completely removed from the actual buying and selling of the property. It isn’t up to you to decline or accept or field offers, that’s all your dad. The place is still his, at least for a couple more weeks while all the paperwork processes.

It was an anonymous buyer, according to your Dad. Cash offer, over asking price. He’s not sure how the real estate agent managed it, and honestly? Neither are you. Objectively, that land isn’t worth the cost of cleaning it up. Everyone in their right mind knows it. You just come from a particular bloodline where the mind never was quite right when it came to the vineyard.

What shocks you most, though, is that the anonymous buyer–supposedly–is interested in restoring the place rather than bulldozing it.

“They asked me about the dirt,” your dad tells you on one of your daily phone calls. “Wanted to know about berries.”

“Berries?”

“Yeah, strawberries or raspberries or something like that.”

You scoff. What kind of fucking idiot is buying this land? It might just be a herd of manufactured houses after all. “Well, it’s too hot here for raspberries. Everyone knows that.”

“I know, that’s what I told them. They could probably grow strawberries in July or August.”

“Are they trying to make strawberry wine or something?” And, as if this is some fucked up kind of movie, and not real life, it all comes back to you. Every memory, every moment, all at the thought of fucking strawberries in wine.

“Good fucking luck to them, if they are.” Your grandparents entertained the idea of it once, all the fruit wines. It’s a fucking shit-show, according to legend. Hell to try and make, Heaven to taste. It just wasn’t worth it for them. But apparently now it’s worth it to someone.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, bite and bite until you’re worried you’ll draw blood, that you’re a single tooth away from popping a hole clear through the skin. There’s no way, there’s genuinely no way, right? “Dad?”

“Shoot.”

“It’s not.” You almost stop yourself, you almost have some common fucking sense and realize just how vast the world is and how completely unlikely it is that– almost. You almost stop yourself. “The anonymous buyer, it isn’t Daniel, is it?”

“Daniel?” He scoffs on the other end. “Better not be that fucking cunt.”

You smile, the kind of smile that you know you should feel guilty for having. “He’s not a cunt, Dad.”

“I never fucking liked that kid.”

You’re right–you think. You’re right, Dad. You didn’t like him. “You loved him.”

“No, I lost all my respect for him when he left you like he did,” his voice is laced with a calm seriousness. He’s always been your blind defender.

“Yeah, Dad,” you pause. Now’s as good a time as any, you suppose. “I’ve been… that’s not exactly how it went down.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Daniel didn’t leave me, and even if he did, Dad, he wouldn’t have done it then.”

—

“What the fuck are you talking about, you’re breaking up with me?” His voice cuts through continents. He’s somewhere in the UK, or maybe Italy, or maybe Asia. You honestly can’t keep track anymore, can barely keep track of the days of the week that you’re living much less the ones he’s in.

“It’s exactly what I said, Daniel,” you say, try to keep your voice as level headed as possible, to juxtapose the way your mind races, the way your heart rate spikes and your palms sweat and everything in you hurts. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“No, no. I’m making this fucking hard,” he’s riled up enough for the both of you. “You don’t just. This isn’t how this works, babe. You can’t just break up with me.” He’s raising his voice with you. You can count on one hand and have fingers left over the amount of times Danny has yelled at you, and this is the first time it’s not scary.

“I can, and I am,” your voice comes from your throat, choked out over the lull of your entire body begging you to please, please don’t do this. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry!” He yells, the last letter sound cracking with the realization of his actions. “You’re not sorry. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever.” He doesn’t make this easy, not that you’d expected it to be easy. You’d hoped for something cleaner, though. Less mess. “I’m having a great time breaking your heart.”

“Just. Why? Why are you doing this? What happened? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, D,” you sigh. You didn’t know that your heart could physically hurt. You thought that was some crap that they made up for movies and songs and poems, some grand metaphor for how sad you get. “I can’t be a girlfriend right now. To anyone.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

You can feel yourself shutting down, closing every part of yourself off, running on pure survival instincts. “I know. I’m a cunt.”

“You aren’t… fuck me. I mean, fuck, dude.” He laughs. There’s not a thing about it that sounds happy. “I know you don’t want this, I know it. Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s going on and I can help you and everything is going to be fine, baby. Just. Please.”

“Daniel.”

“Why are you calling me that?!”

“It’s what you like to be called!” You yell back, feel the burn in your nose and your cheeks and the sting in your chest.

There’s silence for so long you wonder if he’s hung up, if you’re supposed to. It’s minutes before he speaks again. “Not by you, it’s not.”

—

It’s been just past a year since the place got sold, and nobody from your family–nobody–has been there since. You moved out of town years before the sale, and your Dad has joined you, wants to be near you in his ever increasing age and always deepening wrinkles. When the arthritis sets in, someone needs to forge my signature for me, he tells you.

It’s not until her birthday that you’re back in Perth, that you’re struck with the sudden spark, with the idea to drive past the vineyard, to see what idiot is trying to plant raspberries in the Australian heat, to see who's living in your shoes and wearing your clothes and sleeping under your bed like a monster.

“I don’t know that we should do that,” your Dad says. “It’s going to make you sad.”

You shrug in the passenger seat of the old Bronco. “We’re in the parking lot of a cemetery, so,” you offer a near silent chuckle. “I think we’re a bit past sad.”

“Okay,” he nods. “There’s something you should know, then.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a neighborhood.”

“No, no. It’s a vineyard. Strawberries and grapes in the fields.”

“Well, good then,” you nod, glide your hands through the air outside the open window. “What’s wrong with it?”

He shrugs, drums his fingers on the beat up steering wheel. “You remember when you asked me last year if it was Daniel?”

“Dad. Don’t.”

“Well, I didn’t know it then, but–”

“I’m serious. Don’t tell me this, please,” you’re a second away from sticking your fingers in your ears and humming a nursery rhyme to keep the unsaid unspoken.

“Daniel bought the place, hon.”

“My Daniel?” You squeak. You haven’t felt this young in a while. Or this small.

He laughs, turns to face you with a look that begs you not to be so damn daft. “The only Daniel that means anything to anyone in this family.”

“When did you find out?”

“As soon as they put the sign up. I was still living out here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You have so many questions. You don’t think there’s any you actually want answers to.

“What good was it going to do? I never thought you’d be back here.”

“Well. I’m back.”

He nods. “You’re back.”

You’re back. You never really left, you don’t think. It’s not something you can do around here. Perth is in your blood the same way wine is, some grand, immovable part of your soul. You suppose Daniel is there too, taking up a plot of land in your soul that can never be sold. He lives in you like summertime and sadness and strawberries. Strawberries. Him and his fucking strawberry white wines.

“He’s got strawberries?” You croak. Tears pull on your voice but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You’re grown now, it’s time to fucking act like it.

“Strawberry wine. First batches just came out last month. I heard it’s pretty good.”

“I bet.”

“You still wanna go?”

You nod, cold and stunted. “Yeah.”

You see the cars before you see the barn, they’re overflowing out of the parking lot and stopped on the side of the dirt road that leads to the drive. You’ve never seen it so busy. It looks like the pictures your parents used to show you, the ones where the place was fresh and new and shiny. The barn has a fresh coat of red paint, the parking lot is repaved and half full of ATVs with a logo for DR3 Wines printed on either side.

Above the door, a matching phrase, in simple white wooden letters–like what once was–hangs, announces the place to passers by.

Inside, it smells like wood, like lavender and citronella and alcohol. There are pictures on every wall, carefully framed photos of everyone in the world besides him. The counter is that same old slab of wood, the one that you always hoped he would fall through. On the wall behind is are more 4x6 photos than you can count, all unframed, all messily taken. He’s in some of those, holding a camera or posing with friends or hugging a grapevine. There’s one with you, right in the middle. You and he and your Mom on the back field picking grapes. It’s taken by your dad, you still remember that morning clear as day.

There’s another of you; a selfie taken on a point-and-shoot, the two of you with glasses of white wine and strawberries. Next to it is a picture of Kristen Bell and Dax Shephard leaning against the counter, half-drunk glasses in each of their hands.

Framed, on the edge of the counter, right beside the register, is a photo of the place when he first started working there, of your Mom and your Dad standing proudly in front of it. You took it. You left it in the office when your Dad decided to lock the doors for good. Our Story, the plaque below it reads, with a QR code to scan.

It leads to a linktree, to social media links and tasting menus and a merchandise shop. The last link, though, is stomach curling. It’s her name, your Mom’s. Fighting for her, it reads. When you click it, you’re taken to a website that encourages donations, that spreads awareness and promotes research, that thanks Daniel by name twice in two paragraphs for his consistent and generous donations and support.

Before you can make a bee-line for the exit, to tell your Dad that he was right and this was a mistake, you’re met with a red-faced teenage girl asking you if there’s anything she can help you with. “No, uh,” you swallow hard. “My parents were the previous owners, we just stopped in to see the place.”

“Oh my gosh, would you like a tour?”

“Um…” you pause, because you don’t know if you can handle being here. Seeing the place like this again. “Danny’s not… Daniel isn’t here, is he?” She shakes her head. You nod. “Then yeah, I guess. Let me just grab my dad?”

—

You get an invite to a VIP tasting at his vineyard two weeks after your visit. It’s scheduled during the F1 summer break, so you have no doubt he’ll be there, and if that wasn’t clue enough, his handwriting glaring back at you on the invite is about as obvious as obvious can be.

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your Dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine–the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

read part two, everywhere, everything, here!

944 notes · View notes