Chasing Daisy

woman’s mispronunciation error distracted me and I’ve idiotically just reminded him about our altercation. Maybe he wasn’t paying attention. I quickly brush myself off as I feel his eyes boring into me.
    ‘You,’ Luis says.
    Darn.
    ‘You. The girl on the scooter.’
    ‘Er, not anymore,’ I say sarcastically, indicating the fallen vehicle. I bend down to try to stand it up.
    ‘Hang on, let me get it.’ Will Trust appears by my side and lifts up the scooter. ‘Are you alright?’ he asks, clear blue eyes looking searchingly into mine.
    I almost jump backwards. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ I reply, blushing furiously. Actually, I’m not fine. My right hand is stinging like crazy from where I put it down on the gravel, and my knee feels horribly tender beneath the black pants of my black, white and gold team uniform.
    ‘Let me see that.’ Will takes my hand in his, pressing down on my fingers with his thumb to straighten my palm. He leans in and studies the graze and I feel jittery as I, in turn, study him. His light blond hair is falling just across his eye-line. I have a strong compulsion to reach over and push it off his face. . .
    ‘It is you,’ Luis says again.
    Is he still here? Bummer.
    I look around to see that quite a crowd has gathered to watch me and revel in my embarrassment. At least they’re more interested in the drivers than me. Speaking of which. . .
    ‘The girl in Brazil. The petrol station,’ Luis continues.
    Will lets me go and looks at us, questioningly. ‘You know each other?’
    I flex my hand. The feel of him is still there.
    ‘Yeah, she almost crashed into my Ferrari in São Paulo last year,’ Luis says.
    ‘ I almost crashed into YOUR Ferrari?’ I come back to my senses, outraged. ‘You nearly killed me!’
    ‘Ha!’ He laughs in my face. ‘You’re ridiculous. And you can’t drive. I said you were a silly woman driver at the time and now you’ve just proved me right.’
    ‘You, you, you . . .’ I glare at him, lost for words.
    ‘You’re not going to call me a coglione again, are you?’
    ‘No, but you are a testa di cazzo ,’ I mutter under my breath. It means the same thing. Literally, ‘head of dick’. I smirk.
    ‘What did you say?’ Luis demands. ‘What did she say?’ he asks Will.
    Will shrugs in amusement and bends down to dust off the scooter. I suddenly remember what I’ve done.
    ‘I haven’t scratched it, have I?’ I bend down beside him and scrutinise the bike.
    ‘It’s not too bad,’ Will says.
    ‘I hope Simon doesn’t fire me. . .’
    ‘Simon won’t notice. He’s got too much else on his mind.’
    ‘Simon notices everything,’ Luis helpfully interjects.
    Will rolls his eyes at me and my heart flutters, despite my fear of being axed.
    ‘Will, are you coming or what?’ Luis butts in.
    ‘Sure, yeah. Will you be okay, er . . .’ He looks at the name embroidered in gold on the front of my white team shirt.
    ‘Daisy,’ I say before he does. ‘Yes, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.’
    ‘I’ve seen you around. You’re a front-of-house girl, right?’ he checks. ‘You help out with the catering?’
    ‘Jesus, that’s all we need,’ Luis grumbles.
    Will and I look at him in confusion.
    ‘She’ll probably give me food poisoning,’ he points out.
    ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ I can’t help but say. ‘I wouldn’t go to the trouble of trying.’
    I spot a so-tanned-he’s-orange marshal running over to us. ‘Are you okay, miss?’ he asks in an Australian accent.
    ‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Will says, winking at me. I feel my face heat up again so I quickly turn my attention to the marshal.
    Orange Man eventually deems I’m not a danger to myself or others and lets me go on my way, so I carefully drive back to our hospitality area, resisting the urge to speed. I’ve been gone ages.
    I park up and locate the, well, it’s not really a bag full of popcorn anymore, and go inside to look for Catalina. I scan my eyes around the room. There are a fair few people here today, considering it’s only Friday. The tables are peppered with guests: sponsors, wives or girlfriends and the occasional friend or family member of someone in the team. Bigger teams than ours often invite the odd celebrity, too, but Simon doesn’t seem to know anyone famous.
    Aah, there she is.
    Catalina is sitting at a table next to a skinny, tanned brunette, with medium-length, wavy hair. They look alike and, as I approach, I realise