‘Of course. Sleep well, Jo.’ He backs up until he reaches his car and slides into the driver’s seat.
I throw him a wave. ‘You, too.’ I won’t be able to sleep until I sort out the raging erection I’m currently sporting and change my boxers, which are slick with pre-cum.
Only once I see him drive off into the night do I unlock the door and step into the villa.
‘Oh, I was so right.’ Fucking Nils. The twenty-three-year-old giggles delightedly.
‘Shut it,’ I say, but that only makes him laugh harder, which has me rolling my eyes as I kick off my shoes and tuck them under the cabinet by the door.
‘You wanna tell me about your night or am I going to have to put the pieces together?’ He gestures to the hat and then to the porch window where he just saw us kissing. ‘You could have brought him in, you know? I’d have closed my eyes as you walked past and then put my noise-cancelling headphones on.’
‘Shut it,’ I say again, giving him a warning glare.
He backs off, grinning.
I retreat into my room so I can swoon in private. I got to hold hands with a man, in public, whilst singing at the top of my lungs to one of my favourite artists. We took pictures together. And yeah, we wore our cowboy hats most of the night, concealing our identities, but we weren’t hiding.
I think I have maybe ten photos of me and Jackson from almost three years together. That’s ridiculous. Caleb and I took more than that tonight alone.
I strip off my boxers and drop into my bed, the duvet tucked up under my chin as I change the background on my phone to one of the pictures we took tonight, thanking my lucky stars that Caleb has been quick to send them over. He truly is a stunning man. It’s the eyes, the way they stare into the camera. It feels like they are piercing my soul, reading every single secret I have tucked away there.
I probably shouldn’t keep this as my lock screen, but for right now I want to enjoy this moment. Every second of tonight plays on repeat in my mind– the dinner, the music, the dancing, the way he kissed me. I already have my hand on my dick and it’s begging for a release.
It’s not exactly hard to get off when I can still feel the ghost of his hands on my ass, the way he was grinding up against me earlier, the taste of his kiss. Those fucking green eyes. And then I’m shooting into my fist like a teenager with a dirty magazine.
I’d better do this a few more times before we do this for real, otherwise I’m going to embarrass myself.
What a hardship, I think and smirk to myself.
* * *
It goes like that most of the week leading up to the race. I am completely blissed out, and always hungry for more. We fit in a run most mornings, we time another lunch date perfectly and I sneak him into my little room in the garage for a short but sweet make-out session.
He always makes sure there’s a coffee waiting for me before the race, but he delivers it to me directly, with a little peck on my lips before running back to get set up for the race.
Racing hasn’t felt like this in a good while. Like it’s just me and the car in harmony with each other, moving as one. Monza’s never been my favourite track, but today I own it. When I’m on my last lap and Caleb tells me I’m fourteen seconds clear of my best friend, there’s a fireworks level explosion of happiness inside of me.
I’m back.
I’m really back, and there’s still time for me to be in contention for the driver’s championship.
And it’s all because of Caleb.
I see the chequered flag ahead of me and then I’m back on top of that podium again.
‘That was for you, Caleb,’ I say over the radio. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done over the last couple of months. I mean it, man. Couldn’t have done it without you.’
I’m elated, almost saying too much on a radio that can be listened to by millions and millions of people around the world. I’m grinning inside my helmet, fist pumping outside of my car.
I embrace every second of the last bit of the drive up to the parking spot for first place, soaking up the noise of the crowd. Caleb’s right there at the front, waiting for me, the biggest smile on his face. I want to leap over the barrier and into his arms. This man believes in me, even when I’m an asshole, even when I’m crashing the car into the barriers, even when I’m grumbling about my tyres and can’t tell him why.
He’s stupidly handsome with his green eyes and auburn curls. I need to stop looking before someone clocks the intensity of our exchange, but I can’t look away. After giving the photographers that signature, climb up on top of the car winner’s pose, I hurl myself towards those barriers and his arms are the first to find me.
The rest of the mechanics, analysts and our team principal roar in support, but all I can hear is Caleb telling me how proud of me he is.
I clutch the front of his shirt, hoping that none of these assholes drop me when we’re just five races away from the end of the season and I’m making a great attempt at a comeback to be world champion.
But in the back of my mind, I just know that Caleb’s got me; both up here and on the racetrack. I also know that if we’re going to do this for the next two and a half months of the season, I’m probably going to need to stop looking at him like something I worship. Just in case management catches on and tears us a new one.
