I stop dead in my tracks, shocked to hear my name. I turn around, and then I see him.
It’s Caleb.
I feel butterflies form in my stomach upon sight of him. He’s not dressed in the team shirt and jeans like he was yesterday. Today he’s wearing navy track pants, a half-zip gray sweatshirt, and sunglasses. The sleeves are pushed up—it’s already warm this morning—revealing a stack of leather and silver bracelets on his left wrist.
The track pants have a drawstring.
That Caleb has left untied.
The butterflies multiply.
I knew the man was hot. I’m not blind when I create my content, after all.
But he’s a whole other level of freakinggorgeousin person.
“Good morning,” he says as he approaches me, his British accent a delicious sound to my ears.
“Good morning,” I manage to say, grateful I have sunglasses on, too, so he can’t see my eyes—and the way I was completely checking him out.
Caleb stops in front of me but doesn’t say anything. I find my breath catching in my throat as I wait for him to speak. His glasses are dark, so I can’t see his eyes, either, to get a read on what he might be thinking. I’m dressed in my black jumpsuit with the cutouts and black strappy heels, and I wonder what he thinks of it.
“You’re early,” he remarks, stopping in front of me.
I exhale. Okay, cool, he was NOT thinking of my outfit.
I’m about to reply when I become aware of his scent. His cologne. That crisp, intoxicating blend that smells like a vodka cocktail with a citrus twist that is kissing his skin.
Kissing.
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
NO, NOT KISSING, NO, NO, NO, NEVER EVER, NO.
I quickly dump that thought and refocus on his comment. “If I’m early, that would mean you are, too,” I counter.
A smile lights up his handsome face. It’s so rare to see him smile like this on TV, it nearly takes my breath away.
“Touché,” he says. “I can’t stand being late. And I can’t stand people who are late, either.”
“We’re in agreement on that,” I say, falling into step next to him. “It drives me crazy. I had a roommate at Georgia who was always late. Sometimes by an hour. We would all give her a false time to show up—usually an hour earlier than we wanted to do something—just to ensure she’d be on time.”
“No.”
I laugh at the simple finality with which he says it. “That’s a solid no if I ever heard one.”
We walk through the paddock, heading toward the Collings Motors motorhome.
“Luckily Catherine doesn’t have to do that for me. I’m on time even if I’m showing up for something I hate.”
I wonder what it’s like to be his sister and his assistant. I imagine juggling his daily schedule alone takes a lot of work on her part.
And being an heiress to the Collings Motors empire, I wonder why she’s working as his assistant anyway. Hmm.
“Thank you again for meeting me this morning,” I say, wanting to set the proper tone for breakfast and try to forget that he’s smoking hot and smells like a drink I’d like to down.
“I think I was the one who asked you,” Caleb points out. “So thankyoufor meetingme.”
These stupid butterflies need to stop moving in my stomach.