I wrung my hands, wincing as I thought about what I must look like. I was wearing my smartest three-quarter jeans (which actually weren’t that smart) and a simple, white shirt. My hair had just been pulled up last-minute into a bun, and I wore no make-up at all. I was so out of place it was actually comical in a pitiful way.

As I stepped into the room, a couple of people turned to look at me. Recognition crossed their faces before they turned back to their conversations, leaning in and whispering. My stomach squirmed. Clearly they read the tabloids and knew what my profession was. I frowned down at the floor. My happy mood was now gone. I didn’t like this place. I didn’t like these people who looked down their noses at me, figuring I was beneath them. Of course, I was beneath them, but they didn’t even see fit to put on a polite act.

“Champagne?”

I jumped as a waiter held out a silver tray toward me, smiling politely. “Umm… no, thanks. Do you have a Pepsi or anything?” I asked, chewing on my lip nervously.

He raised one eyebrow before he nodded and disappeared without another word. I gulped, heading over to the wall of glass, looking down at the racetrack. The drivers on their bikes looked so far away from up here. They were all stopped on their respective marks on the ground, waiting for the race to begin. A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth when I saw Carson. He was in ninth position today following his time trials the day before. He’d told me it was due to a tactical move – something about the amount of fuel they carried at the start of the race. He wasn’t worried about his starting position.

People from his team milled around him, talking to him, holding his bike still with some chunky metal thing on wheels. My eyes wandered over him slowly in his little blue outfit. The way he looked in it, even with his head covered with a helmet, made me shift from one foot to the other as my skin seemed to come alive with desire. When they pulled the chunky little metal thing from behind his back tyre, I frowned and started to gnaw on my lip. I knew the start was approaching. People in the stands waved their flags and their foam hands as the drivers prepared to race. The sound inside the family area was just general chitchat, though, so the walls had to have been made with some sort of sound-reducing glass.

Just as the team members with each driver started to make their way off the track and in through a little gate on the side, someone stepped up next to me. I turned, smiling gratefully, expecting it to be the waiter back with a drink for me. Instead, a smiling lady in her mid-thirties stood there. I gulped, suddenly nervous because I hadn’t actually expected anyone to approach me.

“Hello, you must be Emma. I’ve heard so much about you from Carson,” she greeted.

I recoiled, trying to keep one eye on the track but talk to her at the same time; I didn’t want to miss the start. “Um, yeah, I am. Sorry, I don’t…” I shook my head as a blush crept over my cheeks. I had no idea who she was.

She laughed a high, tinkering laugh and held her hand out to me. “I’m Stuart’s wife, Katrina. We’re co-team supporters, you and I. We head up the wives’ club for our team,” she joked, winking at me as I shook her hand politely. “It’s nice to finally have someone here for Carson so I can have a girlie gossip while we watch the race. Usually, I’m alone at these things. Some of the other wives can be a little…” she turned her nose up distastefully, “snobby,” she finished.

I chuckled awkwardly, hoping this wasn’t some kind of test I was about to fail. “Yeah, I kind of guessed that,” I admitted. “I’m kind of used to that reaction to me now, though; it happens a lot.”

She rolled her eyes and perched herself on one of the stools, crossing one trousered leg over the other. “Who cares? We all have to make a living. Ignore them. They’re all just jealous because their behinds don’t look as cute as your tiny little booty does in those jeans.” She winked at me jokingly and patted the seat next to hers. “Sit down, I won’t bite.”

I slid onto the stool, chuckling awkwardly. The waiter came over then, setting a glass of Pepsi in front of me. I chewed on my lip, looking back down to Carson. Suddenly, the pre-race lap started, and all the bikes moved forward. Carson took a few seconds to go, though, seeming hesitant as the others all breezed past him. I’d seen the start of a few of these races, so I knew he never really pushed it hard on this lap, just travelled at a leisurely speed around the track. Within seconds, the bikes were all out of sight and I twisted in my seat, watching the TV screen instead so I could see them all find their groove around the track. This lap was just to warm up their bikes and tyres, so there was no real rush or competition.

“You ever been to a race before?” Katrina asked, picking up a set of headphones hooked on the rail near my knees.

I shook my head in response. “No. I’m not sure I’ll like it,” I admitted.

She chuckled and nodded, picking up another set of chunky black headphones and holding them out to me. “I never used to like watching, either. You get used to it as time goes by. Want to listen to the commentary?”

Hesitantly, I took the offered headgear, watching as she covered her ears with hers but left the overhead strap thing under her chin – probably so it wouldn’t mess up her hair. I did the same, pressing mine to my ears, listening to the commentator who usually did the voice over on the races. He was talking about form and who needed what points today. He announced that if Carson won this race he’d be uncatchable on the leader board, meaning he would win the championship for the year. I smiled at that and silently crossed my fingers.