Page 13 of Lights Out (Love in the Paddock #1)

I stare up at Caleb, my throat dry.

Then, remembering I’m being filmed, I snap back to being a content creator. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Caleb extends his hand to me, and I take it, noticing how large it is compared to mine. It’s warm and rough and deliciously masculine.

I step up onto the chrome car, and Caleb’s hand shifts lightly to my hip.

OH MY GOD.

I can feel the heat through the fabric of my jumpsuit, and I grow hot all over.

“Okay, you’re going to put your foot there,” he says, and I quickly try to ignore the fact that I like the way his hand feels on my body.

I swing one foot in the cockpit and hold on to the halo, which is the safety device that protects the driver’s head. “I’m trying to be as graceful as you are getting into a car.”

Caleb chuckles, the sound reverberating in the air between us. “I’ve had a bit more practice.”

I put my other foot in.

“Now you’ll go all the way to the bottom. Press down with your shoulders.”

“You make this look so much easier than it is!” I laugh.

He flashes me a smile.

“Now this is interesting because you are reclining at an angle, but your knees are bent,” I say.

“You want your center of gravity to be as low as possible, so that’s why there’s the recline in the seat,” Caleb explains. “If you were to sit up higher, your weight rises upward, and the car is slower. We can’t have that.”

I’m amazed at how interactive Caleb’s being. This is so much better than what I thought this shoot would be!

“Scoot a little more forward,” he instructs, and I do. “This car is molded to my frame, so it’s not going to feel as good as if it were made specifically for you. Basically, this is designed so my body is part of the car.”

DO NOT THINK HOT SEXY THOUGHTS OF HIM MOLDED TO HIS CAR, ISLA.

Caleb notes the accelerator on the right and the brake on the left, then says it’s time to put in the steering wheel. He reaches over and snaps it into place.

“This legit looks like a video-game controller,” I quip, staring at all the colored buttons on it. Catherine moves behind me so she’s shooting the steering wheel.

“Do you know what PL is for?” Caleb asks.

“Pit limiter,” I say, glancing up at him. “It controls the speed limit for you to enter pit lane.”

“Correct.”

We go through a few more of the buttons, like the one to enable DRS—the drag reduction system—which opens the rear wing on the car to reduce aerodynamic drag and cause it to go faster for an overtake, and then I thank Caleb for the personal tour of his car and sign off.

“Ready to get out?” he asks me.

I take a moment, soaking in the experience. “Give me five more seconds. Because this is a dream for me.”

Caleb’s eyes regard me carefully, and after I count to five in my head, I begin to climb out of the car. He assists me once again, and I have the same strange, strong reaction to feeling him touch me.

And I know I need to extinguish it RIGHT NOW because reacting to him is very, very dangerous.

“Thank you so much for the tour,” I say. “It’s going to be fantastic content.”

“You should get The Downforce Network interested with that,” Caleb says.

“Thanks to you.”

“Well, you actually knowing some of the controls on my steering wheel should impress them. Trust me.”

I find myself basking in his praise.

GAH, ALSO DANGEROUS.

Catherine hands my phone back to me, and I thank her for her time this morning. Then I’m left alone with Caleb. I try to ignore the excited feeling in my stomach as I look up at him.

“I can’t thank you enough for all of this today. The access to your garage and your car alone was something I have always dreamed about. But getting Mason to give me a tour and letting me sit in your car? This is more career-changing content for me. Thank you.”

Caleb folds his arms across his fireproof undershirt. “You’re smart and confident, Isla. I don’t mind helping you. I hope this gives you the break you obviously deserve.”

I study him carefully, and by study, I mean stare into his piercing blue eyes.

And I see nothing but sincerity shining back at me.

“Are you staying for practice?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, I’ve got to do some more homework on pit-stop practices and Vipera before my shoot with them tomorrow.”

A corner of his mouth curves up in a knowing smile, and I begin to smile, too. “What’s that look for?” I ask.

“If you pay attention tomorrow in that garage, you’ll see a million reasons why they suck and are at the bottom of the table for the Constructors’ Championship.”

I don’t reply, but Caleb’s not saying anything that’s shocking to me. In watching the Lights Out show, I’ve learned that Vipera has a lot of drama behind the scenes. I mean, all teams do, but Vipera is downright dysfunctional.

“Well, I might see it, but I’m not reporting on it,” I say. “I’m there to do a positive piece.”

“So you’re not going to ask them why they pitted both drivers at the same time in Saudi Arabia?” Caleb asks, quirking a brow.

“Oh my God, the team radio on that was delicious.” I listened to both drivers and the implosion that resulted from the mistake and talk about DRAMA! Then I shake my head. “But that’s not a question I’ll ask tomorrow. This is a positive, feel-good piece for them. I want them to be comfortable.”

“I believe you,” Caleb says. “And if you have any questions about pit stops before your shoot, you can text me. I have a sponsor dinner tonight, but with any luck, I’ll be able to escape that early.”

“You really hate anything outside of driving your car, don’t you?”

He flashes me a brilliant smile. “Yes.”

We both laugh, but then his expression grows serious. “You’ve never deep dived into Collings Motors, have you?”

“Like past history?” I ask, crinkling my nose.

“Yeah,” Caleb says, his eyes focused intensely on mine.

“I’ll be honest with you, I know how many titles your team has won, some of the drivers, but not the whole history, no.”

“Right.” Caleb clears his throat. “Well, if you do a deep dive into the scandals of Collings Motors, you’ll see why I hate the media so much. It might help you understand me a bit better. If you want to understand me, that is.”

Then he excuses himself and walks away.

As I watch him leave, I know the first thing I’m going to do when I get home from the track.

It won’t be researching pit-lane practice or Vipera.

It will be researching Collings Motors.

And finding the scandal that made Caleb Collings despise the media.

* * *

I made a deal with myself. I had to edit my feature for my channels first before I could look up anything related to Collings Motors. I sit at my desk, layering in music to the piece, but I’m so antsy, I can barely sit straight in my chair.

What could the scandal be? And how is Caleb involved?

I rewind my video again, checking the captions I have written, making sure the edits are smooth, and when I’m happy, I put it in my save folder. I’ll post it this evening, before I meet Hadleigh for dinner.

Now I can do what I’ve been dying to do. A deep dive into Collings Motors.

I glance at my laptop. I have practice for the Miami Grand Prix on, with the channel set so I can listen to Caleb speak to his race engineer, Jackson Porter—or JP, as Caleb calls him.

It’s mostly the sound of the car, and the view is from Caleb’s cockpit.

I see his familiar helmet bobbing around as he drives.

“The car feels harder to turn left,” he says, his voice interrupting my thoughts.

“Understood, Caleb,” JP says.

I find this fascinating. I still can’t believe as a fan, I can listen in to any car in F1 and hear the conversations they have with their race engineers. Practice is when they can work out things on the car that aren’t quite right, like this steering issue Caleb is having.

It’s amazing that I get to hear it. And another reason why I love F1.

I grab my phone and open Google. Then I type in “Collings Motors” plus “scandal” and find myself growing anxious as I hit search.

Immediately my screen is populated with the words “sex scandal” and “sexting” and “sex text scandal.”

As soon as I see the words, my stomach swirls with nausea. Caleb in a sex scandal? But then I see the dates on the articles.

They are from seven years ago. Caleb would have been sixteen then and racing in F3. Long before I ever became a fan of the sport.

I furrow my brow as I click on one and read the headline:

COLLINGS MOTORS SEX SCANDAL! Karina Collings, mother of Formula 3 Star Caleb Collings and wife of Collings Motors heir David Collings, caught in racy affair with Collings Motors F1 driver Lars Olsson.

I gasp. His mom had an affair with one of the team drivers?

Grainy pictures show her kissing Lars, with leaked text messages accompanying the story. I begin to read them but stop. They are flirty and sexual, and I feel as if I’m invading their privacy.

Oh my God. This must have destroyed Caleb when he was sixteen.

I go back to the search page, and there’s article after article about the affair, the lewd texting, descriptions of nude photos exchanged—all things that should be private. I click out of it.

Then I find another article that suggests the leak came from his father:

TEXTS RELEASED BY DAVID COLLINGS!

“She will pay!” David Collings releases sexting conversations between wife and Lars Olsson.

Olsson’s girlfriend calls Karina a homewrecker and describes how she stole Lars behind her back.

My stomach sinks even further with each one I read.

Then I find one that links Caleb directly:

F3 Driver Caleb Collings Struggles on Track after Family Scandal Revealed

I swallow and click on that article. Inside, there are pictures of a younger Caleb surrounded by the media, all taking pictures and shoving microphones in his face, no doubt wanting his thoughts on his mom’s affair with the team driver.

His life was turned upside down by an affair that rocked his family, and because his last name is Collings, Caleb had no escape from it.

The media ran with this story, releasing the most intimate of details, and the entire family suffered as a result.

I read further—apparently the driver left the team after his season was over, and his parents reconciled.

But Caleb had to live through the embarrassment, the gossip, the scrutiny, the prying into his life.

When he was only a teenager.

I change my search to include Caleb, and a whole slew of new articles populates my screen.

Lars Olsson was Caleb Collings’s Hero—Now He’s the Man Who Broke Up His Parents’ Marriage

“No Comment.” Caleb Collings Won’t Take Sides in Parents’ Marital Drama

Track Woes Continue for Caleb Collings in Wake of Mum’s Sexting Scandal

He Was One of the Brightest Talents in F3. Is His Star Fading Due to Family Crisis?

I turn my attention back to the TV coverage on my laptop, watching as Caleb pulls off the track, going down pit lane and having his car pushed back into the garage, no doubt for some tweaks before he tests it again.

Now I understand why he hates the media so much.

I also understand why it was such a huge thing for him to trust me.

I reach for my phone and pull up his contact info. My fingers fly across the keyboard as I type:

I’m in for Italy.

And with zero hesitation, I hit send.