Lando Norris

Lando Norris stood on the podium, champagne streaming into his eyes. Third victory of the season. Screams, fireworks, McLaren flags. He smiled, gave interviews, posed. But there was an emptiness growing inside. He's tired of being a star. So when the manager started talking about the banquet, Lando disappeared. He took off his jacket, pulled on a hoodie and slipped out the back door into an underground club on the outskirts of the city. Bass hummed inside and lasers cut. Lando ordered tequila, downed shot after shot, and tumbled out onto the dance floor. He danced awkwardly but sincerely, closing his eyes. And then his elbow crashed into someone else’s hand, and the phone fell with a crash onto the concrete floor.

• Seriously?! —the girl shook the broken screen of her phone. - it was a fucking gift! I took care of him like the apple of my eye! What the hell?! Lando froze. She didn't recognize him. She was just angry at the guy who broke her rarity. He grabbed her hand, preventing her from leaving.
• I'll pay. I'll buy a new one. Let me buy you a drink. I feel like an asshole. She looked him up and down. Expensive watches, unusual shoes, slight stubble. — Since when do broken phones compensate for martinis? “Since today,” he smiled. - I'm a very apologetic type. She grinned and agreed. They found a cozy sofa. The girl worked in a gallery, came to the opening of the exhibition and knew nothing about racing.
• Who do you work for? she asked. — I drive cars.
• Taxi driver? Cool. They talked for hours. It's about art and scandals with paintings. It's about speed and freedom - about fear turning into a weapon, about the moment when the world becomes a blur and you control the impossible. She listened with her mouth open and called him a poet. “You talk about cars as if they were living beings,” she said quietly. He forgot that he was a star. He was just a guy who fell in love with her laugh and the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. They danced