The race started ferocious and remained a tight contest filled with thick tension and reckless speed throughout. As it was being livestreamed with a level of detail and clarity which spoke of the height of the investment in equipment and logistics, Lance threw the microphone to someone else on the stage and descended. He walked straight to the bar, a smile different from the previous excited grin playing on his lips.
Acknowledging Glenn with a glance, he leaned on the counter on one elbow and raised his hand:
"Frank!"
It was both a call and a signal. Frank, the bartender, glanced at Lance and immediately set out to create another blend with the contents of the many bottles before and behind him. He poured the result in a glass with a thick bottom and made it slide on the smooth lacquered counter, expertly sending it right in front of Lance.
"Thanks!"
He raised the glass to have a taste. He spent a second in appreciation, before he smiled in satisfaction, and finally turned to the girls, the only ones at the bar counter, with everyone else too focused on the main attraction of the party.
"Hey, Gle–"
"Lance! You jealous bastard!"
Turning toward the source of the interruption, it was the brown-haired handsome driver of the Ferrari SF90 Spider who Lance had called Ron who was coming over, a sharp but friendly smile on his lips.
Far from feeling offended by the latter's words, Lance let loose a loud laugh:
"You are the bastard, Ron!"
Putting down his glass, he stepped forward to clasp hands with Ron and share a half-hug as he continued:
"Who the heck would be jealous of a poor ghost like you?! I told you, only a Stradale would make me jealous!"
Ron also laughed in retort:
"Then go and borrow one! You know where to find it! I bet he even has a XX!"
Letting go of Ron, Lance scoffed:
"So what if he has it?! I still do not own it! I remain almost as poor as you!"
Ron smiled and followed Lance back to the bar to get a drink. While waiting, he asked:
"Alex is not here?!"
"Nope! And I don't know if he will come! Maybe he has already played enough this weekend!"
Raising an eyebrow at the sour note in Lance's voice, Ron took hold of the glass that arrived before him and asked as Lance brought his own glass to his lips:
"Do you know when Jenny will be back?!"
"Pfft!!"
Lance didn't get to savor the cocktail that had just satisfied his taste buds. The mouthful he just took in came back out with the power of a fire extinguishing jet. That was to say something about how much that question startled him, and how deeply it unsettled him.
"Cough! Cough! You!!"
Glancing at Ron, he suddenly took a step to the side, his avoidance as if directed at an epidemic strain plain on his face. Taking a deep breath, Lance downed his drink, letting its chill wrap around his heart to cool down his fright, before he cautioned without looking at the cause of his brush with a sudden cardiac arrest:
"Ron, you can court death, damn, you can even go and jump off a building somewhere else, but damn you've got to go somewhere far away not try to pull me down with you! And remember, Alex may kill me, but you, he will certainly massacre you! Don't say I did not warn you!"
Ron smiled without care, a flicker of disdain flashing through his eyes as the tension in Lance's words seemingly flew over his head. Taking a sip of his drink, he changed the subject:
"Is Tyler here?! Where is he?! I don't see him!"
Hearing the question through the noise of the party, Lance exhaled. He pushed his empty glass back to Frank then pointed at the bleachers and flatly replied:
"Over there! He is brooding over his imminent breakup!"
Raising his head, Ron spotted the only form in the deserted sitting area. Sitting there and wrapped for the greater part in the shadows, it was impossible to tell whether the solemn gloom coming from there was from the darkness itself or from the man.
"He finally changed his mind and let go of his crush?! When did he get himself a girlfriend?!"
Lance simply smiled, and didn't offer any answer. He took his newly filled glass to get an unhurried sip of the new cocktail. After that, he ignored Ron to turn to the only other two at the bar counter with them. He shouted through the noise, resuming the greeting that had been interrupted before:
"Glenn, it has been a while!"
"Indeed, Lance! But you remain as striking as ever!"
"Haha! And you, as beautiful as ever!"
Exchanging a glance that went beyond casual greeting, Glenn turned away to diffuse the thickening charge from their flirty smiles and pointed at Sharon:
"This time, I came with a distinguished guest!"
"I can see that! Sharon Kenner, the popular actress riding on the wave of fame lately! I watched her last movie! We have a true celebrity among us tonight!"
Brushing her hair lightly, Sharon smiled:
"I don't feel like a celebrity here at all!"
Raising an eyebrow, Lance glanced at their sparse surroundings, then laughed good-naturedly:
"Yeah, the focus is quite different tonight! If you want, I can organize a different gathering just for you! I promise that one will not disappoint you!"
Sharon and Glenn smiled. At that moment, Ron's voice cut in:
"Lance, you won't introduce us?!"
"Nope!"
The rejection came flat and definitive. Lance looked wholly uninterested in helping Ron narrow the gap between him and the girls, whether because he was still brooding over the fright from earlier or simply because he didn't want to play the matchmaker.
Ron smiled, unbothered, and moved around Lance to occupy the space between him and the girls. Looking at the latter, especially at the blonde, he smiled with unrestrained charm:
"Girls, we meet again! I am–"
*VROOM~* *VROOM~ VROOM~* *VROOM~ VROOM~ VROOM~ VROOM~*
The sudden provocative noise suppressed the whole venue. Even the race that was reaching the end could not prevent the instinctive reaction of the spectators as everyone turned toward the entrance of the club.
One, two, three…
A dozen sports cars arrived, each sleeker, more expensive and more powerful than the last. And they came calm, but with the slow momentum of a crushing wave, setting themselves against the whole place while declaring sovereignty.
Those were not guests arriving. Those were invaders, and they arrived with their belligerence bare for all to see, for all to feel, and for all to cave before.
That was a blatant invasion.