I quirk a brow. “Come on now, Roo. I know you’ve got a specific routine you follow. You even eat the same lunch before every race.”
“Stalker.”
I giggle at that. “No, I did a story on it once for my channels. It’s amazing how much you can find with Google, though.”
“So what’s my meal?”
“Pasta with chicken and a simple tomato sauce.” I make a face. “Boring.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I’m not a fan of chicken with my pasta,” I confess. “Mason has an infinitely better meal. Avocado toast with ham.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, that’s not better,” he insists. “But you wouldn’t be bothering me.”
“You have enough to think about. You don’t need me distracting you. In fact, I’m not even sure I should stay here tonight.”
“Oh, you’re absolutely staying here tonight.”
“But tomorrow is race day. You need sleep and routine.”
“I’m adding a new component to my routine that is very important to me,” he says slowly.
I grow hot, as there’s no mistaking the look in his eyes. “Oh?”
“I think it’s important that I have sex the night before every race.”
I giggle at that, and he does, too. “Are you sure?”
“About sex? Of course I’m sure. I’m always sure about sex with you.”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes and drawing a chuckle out of him. “That I’m not a distraction.”
“Owl, I’m adriver.When I’m getting ready, I’m only thinking about racing. When that visor goes down, I’m not thinking of how Mason is my teammate or Xavier is my friend. I’m thinking about winning. That’s it. I will even put thoughts of you aside when I do my job. Because trust me, I don’t take driving an F1 car lightly. It needs all my attention. If you can’t do that, then you shouldn’t be behind the wheel.”
I know he’s right. When drivers are in their cockpits, speed and quick decisions require the brain to focus solely on driving the car for the next two hours.
“Okay. But I’m still only going to show up in the garage. For now,” I say.
The scowl flickers across his face. I know he’d like to see me, but he also knows it’s better to keep things on the speculation side.
“Okay,” he says, picking up his fork and taking another bite of his salmon.
“Are you worried about the rain tomorrow?” I ask, digging back into my beef tenderloin.
“No. I love driving when it’s wet,” Caleb says. “It’s a challenge I’m good at.”
“Wet is one thing. I don’t see how you guys drive when it’s storming.”
He grins at me. “Because we’re crazy.”
I laugh. That’s the truth. I think you have to be a bit crazy to do what Caleb does for a living.
“I think I might have to stop at the fan zone before I hit the garage. I want to film that pretzel vendor I found on Friday. That chocolate and jam-filled pretzel is living in my head. I have to try it. It would make for a quick, fun video, too.”