‘Why did we decide to drink so much the night before a flight?’ I ask as I drop into the seat next to Caleb. His hair’s all mussed, like he’s not had time to do anything with it, and his head is resting up against the closed window shield.
‘Don’t. I haven’t drunk like that in a while, and my head feels like there’s men with tiny little hammers bashing at my skull.’ He doesn’t even open his eyes to reply to me, which tells me everything I need to know.
Now that the triple header is over, we’re flying back to the UK for a few days of strategy and media at the factory. But I could do without two hours of alcohol sweats in front of my colleagues. We tried to go for a run this morning, but we were both a bit of a mess so it wasn’t a spectacle of athletic prowess. I hurled into a bush and Caleb panted wretchedly as he fought hard not to do the same. It’s fair to say we didn’t get very far or at any kind of pace.
I used to be something of a big drinker, but these days my tolerance is non-existent and despite all the wings and ribs I ate last night, I’m yet to feel anything other than that I must surely be dying.
Having said that, I’m in significantly better shape than the Norwegian who’s locked in the bathroom right now. The plane falls quiet as we prepare for take-off and poor Nils chooses that moment to hurl loudly. My fellow passengers cough uncomfortably.
‘Jesus, he didn’t get back till after four. I’m not sure he even knew his own name,’ I say, settling into my seat. If I’m lucky, I’ll sleep through the whole flight.
‘And that’s exactly why I knew going to the club was not a good idea,’ Caleb says as Nils saunters out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and sits down opposite me like nothing’s happened.
‘You good?’ I ask. Several sets of important eyes fall on him, but if he notices he doesn’t seem to care. He’s paler than I’ve ever seen him– which is saying something– and his blue eyes are bloodshot to within an inch of their lives.
‘Yeah, but I’d give the bathroom a minute. I’m not sure what I was downing last night but my puke is blue.’
I feel my stomach lurch and Caleb lets out a quiet, ‘Urgh.’
‘What?’ Nils questions. ‘Just because you middle-aged bores were tucked up in bed at the stroke of midnight, it doesn’t mean I can’t celebrate.’
Five years ago, when Harper and I were having the best season ever in F2, we were celebrating like this after every race. ‘You know I’m not judging you, just your gross sick. It was probably curaçao. Harper used to love that shit.’
At least he made sure Nils got home safe. I heard him yelling from the taxi at half four this morning, shortly before Nils noisily stumbled into the suite.
Whilst Nils is way more awestruck by Harper’s husband, Kian, than by Harper himself. I know there’s still a part of him that can’t quite believe he’s partying with drivers he’s looked up to for years. But he’s worked hard and deserves his success. Who am I to deny him the fun that comes with it.
We’re barely off the ground when Nils passes out, head smushed into a pillow, corner of his mouth open and drooling.
‘Nikolas Beck, everybody. Future world champion. Apparently.’ I sneak a quick photo– to tease him with later.
‘Oh, to be young again,’ Caleb jokes as he kicks up the footrest of his seat so he can get comfortable.
‘You’re not old. You’re, what? Early thirties?’ I’m only guessing based on his expertise, his many degrees, and over a decade of experience working in motor sports. He doesn’t look a day over thirty. His features are strong, but his skin is clear and smooth, giving him a youthful look.
‘Just turned thirty-three and feeling every ounce of it this morning.’ He’s dramatic in the way he curls his body into the seat. Luckily, there’s plenty of room for his lean frame in the large seats of the team’s private jet. When he shifts his body to find a comfortable position, his T-shirt rides up and I catch a glimpse of lean muscles and pale abs.
Holy fuck.Caleb is hot. Why on earth has he been hiding that underneath team polos and sponsored RBF apparel?
‘You okay?’ he asks, cracking one eye open to observe whatever freaked-out look I must have on my face right now.
‘Yeah, sorry, just in the market for a nap and a big cup of coffee.’ It’s not a lie– I could use way more sleep than I got last night and then a big hit of caffeine. I’m not scheduled to be at the factory till tomorrow, but of course my agent loves to pack out what should just be a travel day with a tonne of other commitments.
‘I feel you on the nap front. I should be working on my PhD, but I don’t think I’ve got it in me today, you know?’ He offers me awhat can you do about it?kind of smile, which is all sorts of sleepy and adorable, before pulling a blanket halfway across his body and closing his eyes.
He doesn’t drift off nearly as quickly as the snoring horse sitting across from me, but he looks so peaceful doing it. Ginger curls fall across his face and soft little sighs leave his plush lips every now and then.
I’m staring. I know I’m staring and I shouldn’t be, but I can’t look away. Luckily, we’re tucked in the back corner of the plane, so no one is witness to me freaking out at the realisation that I’ve been blind to this man for years.
Obviously, I’ve seen other attractive men during my relationship with Jackson, but I was committed to him and never allowed myself to really look. Not that it got me anywhere, considering I’m now sitting on my single ass checking out yet another man who should have a big ‘off limits’ sign flashing in neon letters above his head.
What’s wrong with me? I have to shake this off. Turning over in my seat, I get comfy facing away from him, legs fully stretched out in the recliner as I allow the exhaustion of the triple header to wash over me and lull me to sleep.
I’m woken by a jolt of turbulence just over an hour later. It also seems to awaken Caleb, because the second I open my eyes, I’m met with his face, all soft and sleepy as he yawns and pushes his hair out of his face.
‘Morning,’ he says, voice thick with sleep and a huskiness that perks a certain part of me right up.
‘Hmm,’ I hum as I wrestle the blanket from where it’s become tucked underneath me, my whole body suddenly too warm. I peer over at Nils and see that he’s still fast asleep. I think the plane could be free-falling right now and he wouldn’t wake up.
