And I find myself torn as to how I’m going to answer.
Chapter Eleven
As soon as I get back in my hotel room, I pull the friendship bracelet out of my pocket and stare at it again.
Caleb has asked me to get a coffee tonight.
I know I should say no. Put up that professional boundary and reenforce it. I’m sure talk is already going to come out after this interview hits—how I got the motorhome tour, then the garage tour, now this? Yes, I did a story on Vipera in between, but eyebrows are going to be raised as to how I’m getting the most elusive driver in F1 to talk to me.
There is no doubt in my mind the rumors are beginning to circulate that I’m doing him or something.
I exhale loudly, a huge puff of air escaping my lips. I can’t control what people think. I can’t help that Caleb and I get on well and he trusts me. Any reporter would have jumped at the chance to do those segments. I’m just going to have to hold my head up and ignore the rumors that are bound to be swirling around me. Is Caleb interested in me? Yes. Could that have spurred him to give me these opportunities? Also yes.
But I didn’t date him—or do him—in order to secure them.
I flop backward on the luxurious duvet and feel my body sink into it. I hold my bracelet up and study it, staring at the invitation, tracing my fingers over the letters.
While I know what Ishouldsay, my heart is fiercely fighting back.
Even though I was doing an interview with him, Ilikedthe man who sat across from me this afternoon. I enjoyed conversing with him and hearing his answers.
I liked what I heard. If we had been alone, on a date?
I would have said that was the most interesting conversation I’d ever had with a man.
Okay, to be fair, I haven’t dated since my junior year at Georgia, but I was dating boys.
Caleb is a MAN.
He’s quick. Funny. Intelligent. If I were to get in a real conversation with him, without the camera, I think he would show depth, too.
I do some time-zone math in my head. I need to talk to Hadleigh. She knows me better than anyone—well, outside my mom, and I really don’t want to have a conversation with her about Caleb. I need my best friend’s advice. It’s four o’clock here, which means it’s ten in the morning in Miami.
She’s at work, and she’s pretty quick to answer text messages. I set the bracelet aside and reach for my bag, fishing my phone out of it. My thumbs fly across the keyboard as I send her a text:
H, I need help. I’m losing my mind. And yes, it’s over a hot F1 driver. Just doing a fun, irreverent-style interview with him has me thinking of doing really stupid, bad, horrible things.
I put the phone down as I wait for her answer. I stare at the bracelet again, picturing Caleb stringing the letters together to ask the question. Then I smile as I remember him telling me about his love of weird foam shrimp and the scent of pink grapefruit an—
Buzz!
I pick up the phone and tap open Hadleigh’s answer:
If doing stupid and horrible things means having hot sex with a hot F1 driver in a secret corner of the garage, I AM ALL FOR IT.
GAH this is not helpful. I reply:
Ignoring that bit of feedback. Every time I talk to Caleb, I find myself liking him more than I did the previous time. Like take the racing out of it. Take money out of it. In the small bits of time I have with him, I find him interesting. Funny. Sharp. I … like him. If he were anyone else, if he were in a different sport, I would have already agreed to a date with him.
I swallow as I hit send. This is the only person I can admit having this feeling to. My mom and dad would come down on the side of protecting my professional reputation. Despite Hadleigh’s first comment, she’s an analyst. She’s good at pros and cons and being clinical when it comes to looking at a situation.
In other words, you only ask for her opinion if you want the brutal truth.
I glance down as another text drops in from her:
So the only reason you’re saying no is because of how this will look professionally? Or are there other reasons?
I give Hadleigh credit. She always makes me think. I respond: