ALICE Ch 175

ERICA

America is thankfully, not the most difficult country to navigate—or at least that’s how Erica feels about it. She doesn’t realize quite how much automatic privilege she has as a conventionally attractive blonde. Her visits have always had to do with motorsport, and have rarely exposed her to anything particularly problematic, although she had glimpses of poverty when she spent a few weeks following and writing about NASCAR.

The USA doesn’t have a monopoly on that sort of thing, though. One of Erica’s best friends lives in London, where she’s paying two thousand pounds a month to live in a moldy cupboard.

She doesn’t know what rents are like in Miami, or really anywhere at the moment. She travels with F1 all the time, and when she’s not doing that, she just crashes with the dozen or so friends with benefits that she’s accumulated around the world.

She doesn’t really know anyone in the States, though. That means it’ll be a hotel room tonight. The anonymity is liberating and makes her feel mischievous. She’s already eying the barista in this Starbucks. Erica never feels bad about her libido. She can’t get rid of it; she can only calm it down temporarily. She does feel bad about using her powers as a journalist to get laid, though. Not her credentials, of course. Just her skills in observation.

The little brunette behind the counter in her green apron has looked at her four times, even though business isn’t slowing down. She’s worried about something and annoyed. Odds are good that it’s an issue with her boyfriend. Erica couldn’t help but observe the barista rather aspirationally sizing her up when she ordered. It wouldn’t be difficult to get her into bed.

But this barista’s already having relationship trouble. Would taking her mind off that for one night be worth whatever guilt it would create? Would it make her life better? She doesn’t even look like Valeria Flores; they’re both just petite and dark-haired.

Erica rolls her eyes and focuses. This is why she prefers sleeping with women like Alice Wilde. It’s simpler. She reflects on the bruising that her ego has taken now that the two most interesting new drivers in F1 have rejected her. Valeria Flores is not playing hard to get, but in fact, actually being hard to get, and Alice Wilde turning out to be… Erica can’t say she’s a disappointment. Being a good partner isn’t disappointing; it just makes her more attractive. Erica had just expected Alice to have a little more fun with her F1 privilege before settling down. Seems like Erica’s misjudged a lot of things lately.

She jumps as a woman in a navy blue pantsuit takes the seat across from her; it’s a tiny table by the window. Erica frowns and straightens up. She was expecting a man in his forties. Instead, she’s looking at a lovely young woman about her age with curly hair, dignified glasses, and flawless, chocolate skin.

“Save it,” the woman says bitterly as Erica opens her mouth. “I know who you’re waiting for. I know who you are and what you’re doing here. You can call me Meri. Let’s go. We can’t talk here.”