Frida sat curled up in the corner of the couch, nose buried in her book as the faint roar of engines droned on in the background.
The sports channel was the last thing she wanted to watch, but Vanessa had insisted on leaving it on.
After her messy breakup, her roommate was an emotional wreck, flipping between sobbing fits and bouts of angry shouting.
She kept stuffing herself with chips that Frida knew, if she added even one pound, she'd work out to lose three.
Frida had agreed to let her have control of the TV, feeling sorry for her, but the loud commentary and screeching tires weren't exactly making it easy to concentrate.
Lord if a breakup is this hard may I never fall in love, she thought to herself.
She turned another page, pretending to read, though the words blurred together in her distraction.
"Oh, for crying out loud!" Vanessa shouted, hurling another tissue at the screen. "Of course he wins. Of course, he's perfect. God, I hate men!"
Frida glanced up briefly, sighing as she saw Vanessa glaring at the TV with tear-filled eyes. "Do you want me to change the channel?" she asked gently, trying not to sound impatient.
"No!" Vanessa sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Just... shut up and watch this. You have to see this guy."
"No, thanks. Not interested."
Frida rolled her eyes and went back to her book. She didn't care about Formula 1, or whoever Vanessa was gushing about now. But Vanessa wasn't giving up.
"Frida!" Vanessa shrieked, her tone suddenly shifting from anger to breathless excitement. "Look! Just look!"
With a reluctant sigh, Frida lowered her book and turned her attention to the screen.
The camera panned to the winner stepping out of his car, pulling off his helmet in one fluid motion. Frida's breath hitched before she could stop herself.
It was Laz.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stared at him, unable to look away.
His dark, tousled hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and those piercing eyes gleamed with triumph.
He exuded confidence, the kind that bordered on arrogance, and it sent a jolt through her, both thrilling and terrifying.
Vanessa was practically bouncing on the couch. "Oh my god, look at him! He's so freaking hot! Why can't I find a guy like that? Frida, isn't he just... wow?"
Frida swallowed hard, willing her voice to remain steady. "He's... okay, I guess."
"Okay?" Vanessa gawked at her like she'd just committed a cardinal sin. "Lord have mercy!"
"Are you blind? That man is sex on legs! I mean, look at those eyes. He's probably amazing in bed. Ugh, I should go out with him just to piss off my ex."
Frida nearly choked on her own saliva. "What?!"
"Come on, Frida. Don't tell me you don't think he's hot." Vanessa smirked, nudging her playfully. "If you had the chance, you'd totally let him-"
"Stop!" Frida interrupted, her face burning as she turned away from Vanessa's teasing grin.
But her traitorous eyes found their way back to the screen, drawn to Laz like a magnet.
The camera lingered on his smirk, sharp and knowing, and for a split second, it felt like he was looking directly at her.
Her breath hitched.
Vanessa sighed dramatically, slumping back against the couch. "Whatever, Frida. You're lying to yourself if you say that man isn't everyone's type. Even I can tell, and I'm a mess right now."
Frida didn't respond, her attention still locked on the screen. Laz's smirk stayed with her, searing into her memory, and she felt a flush creep up her neck as a thousand conflicting emotions churned inside her.
She tore her gaze away, but it was too late.
He was in her head again.