
It started with a fight over clothes.
A sponsor photoshoot, five drivers lined up like mismatched action figures. The PR team had insisted on neon, leather, and sunglasses big enough to hide a face.
Max tore his shades off first, scowling.
“You look ridiculous.”
Charles arched a perfect brow. “At least I don’t look like a...what is the word...discount DJ?”
“You’re one to talk,” Max snapped back. “Fragile ego incarnate.”
Lando cackled so hard he nearly fell off the chair. “God, Charles, he’s right. You’re sulking like my little cousin. And Carlos...seriously? Trying to be team dad in that jacket? No wonder everyone thinks you’re forty.”

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