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After that first night, in Jacob’s hotel, I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear from him again. His alarm had gone off at five a.m.,

and he’d groaned and reached over me to turn it off, cursing strong liquor and early flights.

“Isn’t a red-eye an overnight flight?” I asked groggily, still half asleep.

“You might be right,” he said. Then, without warning, he crawled over me and kissed me hard. “So clever,” he murmured against

my lips. His hands were sliding around my neck, his weight settling against me, and suddenly I wasn’t tired at all anymore.

He chuckled as my hands moved down his back.

“No time, Keeping,” he said. “No time.”

He hopped off me, laughing at whatever he saw in my face, and then disappeared into the shower. I sat up, feeling turned on

but also awkward. I’d never been in a situation like this before, and I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was. Was he expecting

me to leave while he showered? Or was he expecting me to follow him in?

While this idea worked its way through my body, the shower turned off and Jacob reemerged with wet hair and skin and a towel wrapped around his waist. He rummaged through his suitcase, pulling out a T-shirt and jeans and cursing as he stubbed his toe on the bed.

My eyes caught on the hotel room coffee machine. I bit my lip. “Do you want me to make you a coffee?”

He blinked at me, like he was surprised, and then grinned. “Definitely.”

It felt much better to have something to do, so I busied myself making him coffee while he dressed and packed. When that was

done, I made the bed—just because it always stressed me out, leaving a bed unmade. When I finished, Jacob was watching me.

“You know a housekeeper is just going to strip that,” he commented.

I flushed. “I know.”

Two seconds later, he was in my arms again, kissing me so hard my lips felt bruised when he pulled away. “You are such a fucking

weirdo,” he said, and pushed me backward onto the bed.

“I thought you said there wasn’t time,” I said on a dry throat.

“No time for you to fuck me again, no,” he said. “Maybe just enough time for me to suck you off.”

He pulled my boxers off as he said it, and before my brain could process his words, his mouth was on me. A strangled noise

slipped out of my lips. He’d touched me last night, and let me fuck him, but he hadn’t used his mouth. It was all tight, wet

heat and pressure, and when I hit the back of his throat, my whole body pulsed, and a strangled noise slipped from my lips.

He withdrew with a chuckle.

“You are too easy,” he said, his voice dry and slightly smug.

I rose up on my elbows, my blood throbbing hard at the sight of him kneeling fully clothed on the floor, his hands on my thighs and his mouth just above me. He seemed to be waiting for some sort of response to his words, but all I could manage was “Yeah.”

His grin widened, then he leaned forward and took me in his mouth again, a steady, rhythmic slide. I dug my fingers into the

bedsheets, resisting the urge to grip his hair. My whole body felt like it was on fire. It was taking every ounce of strength

I had not to move my hips, but after a few moments, he pulled back again abruptly.

“Well, go on, then,” he said, looking up at me with those blown-out pupils and that crooked, confident smile.

It was a challenge, and not one I was sure I was equal to. But I’d be damned if I could’ve done anything but thread my fingers

into his hair and thrust into his mouth, trying to be as gentle as I could. He moaned around me and that was all it took.

“Fuck,” was all I was capable of saying when it was over. “ Fuck .”

He grinned again, watching me. I was about to offer to reciprocate—I’d never done it before, but the mechanics didn’t seem

overly complicated—but before I could speak, he was on his feet saying, “Christ, now I’m really going to be late.”

He brushed his teeth and finished throwing clothes in his suitcase while I tried to remember how to breathe again. As he pulled

his baseball cap on, I heard myself say, “Will I see you again?”

I sounded pathetic, and I knew it. Jacob laughed. “?’Course you will. We both have a race in September. That’s, what, four

weeks away?”

My disappointment must’ve shown on my face, because he cackled. “You’re too much fun. Tell you what—I’m going to this cabin

in Harris next week with some friends. I might be persuaded to stay a few days extra if you happened to show up after they

left.”

“Harris?” I asked.

“It’s an island in Scotland. I can text you the details.

” His phone buzzed impatiently, someone calling him.

“I’ve got to run.” He brought his hand to my jaw and leaned forward, but just as his lips were about to touch mine, he stopped and pulled back with a grin.

He grabbed the coffee I’d made him and headed for the door. “See you.”

A week later, I drove a battered old rental car along a dirt road in Scotland, hunting for the cabin that Jacob had described

in his text as “really fucking hard to find.” His friends had left the day before, and the whole flight from Glasgow to Stornoway

I’d worried I’d made a huge mistake. It was the F1 summer holidays—no press, no obligations for an entire month—and I usually

spent it at my house in London, walking dogs from the animal shelter up the street and doing some extra training. When I’d

booked the flight to Scotland, my heart had been going about one-eighty. I couldn’t believe I was committing to seeing Jacob

again. I was afraid of what would happen if it got out, but even more than that, I was afraid of spending a prolonged stretch

of time with him.

My whole life, I’d been sort of a loner.

It’s a strange thing to say, because looking from the outside, I’m sure it didn’t seem that way.

Racing is not a solitary sport, and I was constantly surrounded by people.

There was my awful trainer, Brian; my manager, Aaron, who managed my contracts and sponsorships; all the mechanics and engineers and social media managers and press people at Harper, not to mention the constant presence of fans, many of whom had no qualms about throwing an arm around me in the paddock and pushing a camera into my face.

But I didn’t have much in the way of friends.

I was burned a few times in my early racing years, friendly chitchat with people around track turning into pushy requests for free race tickets or publicity appearances—or, in one particularly irritating case, a bald-faced request for money.

I grew to be more cautious, and in doing so, created a layer of distance between myself and the people around me.

And maybe it sounds a bit sad, but if I’m being honest, I never really felt like I missed out.

As long as I could race, I had everything I needed.

Still, when I finally pulled into the driveway of the cabin Jacob had rented, I was uncomfortably aware of my own isolation.

I wished I knew what to expect, if we were supposed to spend all our time together, or go out together, or what.

The cabin was large and rustic-looking, nestled in the foothills of a mountain and completely isolated from any other buildings.

It was late afternoon when I arrived, and the crisp, cool air smelled like burning wood. I could hear a fire crackling somewhere

behind the house, and Jacob emerged from the side of the building wearing jeans, sneakers, a gray sweater, and a flannel jacket.

His face split into a grin when he saw me, and I think right there and then he had me for good.

“You found it,” he said, smiling at me from twenty feet away. “Throw your things inside and come around back, I’ve got a fire

going.”

Inside, the cabin was old-fashioned but inviting, with plaid blankets thrown over squashy couches, thick rugs underfoot, and

about a million potted plants. I put my bag by the kitchen table, taking note of the half-empty bottles of liquor on the countertop.

There was a deck of playing cards strewn over the coffee table and a dartboard that looked well used. Jacob and his friends

must’ve spent the whole week partying.

In the back of the house, there was a fire roaring in a huge fire pit. The sunlight was bleeding away rapidly and fireflies

were zipping around, drawing little lines of light in the night sky.

Jacob had a beer in hand and was poking at the fire with a stick, I think for no other reason than to make little bursts of sparks jump into the air. He glanced over his shoulder as I stepped out of the house, and I saw the corner of his smile.

“I’ll admit it, you’ve impressed me again,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

My cheeks were red as I stepped closer to the fire. “Yeah, well,” I said, because apparently that was the best I could come

up with. I bit my lip and tried again. “Did you have a good week with your friends?”

He grinned, like he knew how much effort it took me to get the question out. “Yeah, this place is awesome. There’s a beach

a little ways up the road and some crazy hikes up the mountain. We can do some of them while you’re here, if you want.”

A little spark of excitement leapt inside my chest. “Yeah,” I said. “I’d like that.”

He watched me for a second and then laughed and shook me by the arm. “Relax, Keeping. This is going to be fun.”

I cleared my throat. “Right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, grinning. “I think it’s cute, how weird you are. You want a beer or something? There’s stuff in that

cooler.”

I grabbed a soda, and he settled into a chair by the fire, motioning absently for me to do the same. We talked about racing

for a while—he must’ve known it was the easiest thing for me to talk about—then he asked what my summer plans were.

I shrugged. “Nothing really. Training.”

He laughed. “Doesn’t that defeat the very purpose of a break? Don’t you have plans with family or anything?”

“No.” I hesitated, then added, “I don’t really have any family.”

He frowned. “What about your parents?”