About everything.
Catherine is waiting for me outside the door. She’s going to be my hostess for the day. If anyone asks, she’s the reason why I’m in the garage.
“Hey! How was the press conference?” She smiles brightly at me.
“Oh, no fireworks in this one,” I say. “Very standard questions and answers.”
I didn’t ask any questions. I was there to listen and learn as much as I could, so I was in super-absorbent-sponge mode.
Catherine takes me inside, and it’s just like what I saw in my first garage tour. It’s nearly identical to the one they had set up in Miami, with everything in the same place. It’s so cool, yet weird at the same time. The garage is full of activity as they prep Caleb’s car for the first qualifying session. The goal is to make it out of round one—being one of the top fifteen cars out of twenty. Then the goal becomes to make it out of round two by placingin the top ten. The third and final round determines the best positions on the grid.
Which means if you are in the final round, you have a chance of earning pole position, the most coveted spot on the track.
Caleb and Xavier were very close in their times in the last practice session, with Caleb having the fastest time of 1:18:607 on a lap. Xavier was right behind him with a time of 1:18:988. Mason was on pace to beat both of them, but when he was coming down a hill, he had a bit of an understeer that led to an oversteer to keep control of the car, which cost him critical, hair-splitting time.
As I study Caleb’s car in front of me and look around the garage waiting for him to appear, I think about how much I have talked to him, even though I haven’t seen him. Caleb and I have exchanged some long text strings, including one that I fell asleep during last night.
I retrieve my phone and pop open that thread, smiling as I reread it:
Isla, have I bored you to sleep?
Hmm. No reply. I’ll take that as a YES.
My game is obviously shit if you’ve opted to go to bed.
You expect more from me.
And when we go to dinner in Monaco, I promise you’ll get it.
That sentence about Monaco sent eagerness zipping through me. I finally replied when I woke up:
You have a great skill for having a texting conversation with yourself, Caleb.
Then he messaged me back:
You make it sound like that’s weird or something.
The thread goes on, but I look up when I hear Catherine speaking. “He’ll be coming out soon.”
I quickly drop my phone back into my bag and nod. “Okay.”
Not that I think Catherine would look at my screen, but I’ll be standing close to a lot of people in the VIP section once everyone settles in to watch qualifying.
It’s one thing if someone sees me looking at F1 statistics. It’s another if they see a private message between me and Caleb.
“And speaking of Caleb, there he is,” Catherine says, inclining her head to the left.
I follow her gaze. Caleb has entered the garage, and I feel the air leave my body when I see him. The black-and-white racing suit is unzipped, hanging sexily off his hips. His black fireproof shirt is on, stretching across his lean and toned body. He rakes a hand through his dark hair as he talks to someone on the Collings Motors crew. He has a water bottle in his right hand, and his full lips lock around the long straw as he takes a sip of water.
My God.I’ve never wanted to be a straw so bad in my life.
He must feel my stare because his gaze shifts in my direction. I magically regain the ability to breathe again the second I make contact with those blue eyes. Caleb finishes his conversation and then heads our way.
“Right on time,” Catherine says.
“I’m always on time when it’s important,” he says, staring straight at me.
My body immediately flushes with heat.