Page 41 of Lights Out (Love in the Paddock #1)

I slide my hand to the nape of his neck, rubbing my fingers up and down his warm skin. “It won’t always be like this,” I promise him. “We’ll be sharing these things together.”

Which is a bold thing to say. Because I’ve basically just told him I can see us beyond this getting-to-know-you phase we’re in, when everything has to be kept a secret.

But I have no regrets saying it to him because I mean it.

His brow creases. Concern flickers in his eyes, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. I say what I think, what I feel. It’s what caught Caleb’s eye in the first place, me standing up for myself to Arthur.

Perhaps this time it was too much to say. Damn it.

“I’ll be right back.” I quickly open my door and pop out of the car. “If you have to drive around and pick me up, that’s fine.”

Then I hurry onto the street, which is still busy on this Tuesday night. I walk up to Box O’ Chix, the red lights glowing brightly over the shop. I pull open the door, and I’m slapped in the face with the scent of grease and fried food.

I’m not going to lie. It smells delicious. I know I just had some crab cups and mini beef Wellingtons, but something about some chicken and fries sounds really good right now.

The menu boards above the counter advertise the offerings with a lot of pictures, but I get exactly what I discussed with Caleb in the car.

An authentic chicken shop experience. I pay for my box and wait for my order, hoping I didn’t freak Caleb out with what I just said.

I can’t really take it back. I mean, that wouldn’t be authentic to what I’m thinking.

But I could probably do with some self-editing of what I allow to come out of my mouth.

I’ll just act like it didn’t happen. Still weird, but not as weird as trying to explain what I said and tell him not to think about it.

My order is ready, and I pick up the box and the shake. I head outside and see the SUV is in the same spot I left it. I open the door and climb back inside, shutting the door behind me.

“Your car is not only going to have a champagne spill, but it’s going to smell like a box of chicken and fries,” I say with a smile.

“Nothing that can’t be aired out,” Caleb declares.

“I’m glad we did it. That was my first proper British experience! I have my very own box of chicken from a real chicken shop. This is exciting!”

Caleb’s mouth twitches in amusement.

“What?” I ask. The car pulls out into traffic, and I hand him the shake. Our fingers brush as he takes the drink, and I feel electricity shock me from that simple touch.

“Now what did I do that caused that smile?” I ask again.

“I love your enthusiasm for life,” Caleb says. “I love that you wanted a box of chicken tonight. You’re not like anyone I have ever met. I didn’t know if that would ever matter to me. But I’m learning that it does.”

I almost gasp from his admission, but I manage to reel it back in before it escapes my lips.

Instead, I watch as he wraps his lips around the straw, and OH MY GOD, flashbacks to watching him drink from his water bottle hit me.

I immediately shift my eyes down and stare at the fried chicken in the box, hoping he didn’t see the look of complete lust on my face.

Because I have no doubt it was a full on “I want to tear your clothes off and lick you” kind of look.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says, putting the shake in a cup holder. “That tasted too good.”

Okay, it’s safe to look him in the face again. “Fry?” I ask, holding one out to him.

“Chip—and one, please,” he says.

I smile as he takes it, popping it into his mouth. I pick up the piece of golden fried chicken in my box. “Oh, nice crispy exterior,” I say, examining it.

He bursts out laughing.

“What? What did I say?”

“If you ever get sick of F1, you could go on to food shows. You sound like one of those TV people who go around and taste different foods.”

I think on it. “Being paid to eat food would be fun.”

“No, I take it back. You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” I ask, pausing to take a bite of chicken. OMG. It’s greasy. Crunchy. Moist. Well-seasoned.

Two things flash through my head. First, this is freaking good. Second, I could totally host a food show.

“I’d never see you,” Caleb says softly. “You’d be off looking for the best scones in the UK and I’d be off racing. I’m selfish when it comes to you. That wouldn’t work.”

Ooh!

“Well,” I say, blotting my lips with a napkin, “it’s a good thing we’re on the same work schedule, then. Because I wouldn’t like that, either.”

I know another understanding has passed between us.

It seems like we’ve been in the car for only a few minutes by the time it returns to my apartment building. It’s dark outside, and it’s time to say goodbye.

I look at Caleb, only to find he’s already staring at me. “Thank you for tonight,” I say, squeezing his hand in mine. “It was perfect. I got to see the icons of the city, and even better, had a chicken shop meal.”

I expect him to grin at that comment, or make some retort of his own, but he doesn’t. In fact, he looks serious.

“I’m not ready to let you go,” Caleb says, his voice low with desire. “And I don’t think I’m going to.”

“What?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

Caleb doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he lowers the window that separates us from Peter. “Peter, I’m going to get out shortly after Isla does,” he says. “I won’t need a car the rest of the night.”

WHAT?

Now I do allow myself to gasp aloud. “Caleb! What are you doing?”

He raises the privacy window. “I’m not ready to let you go yet. I need more time. So I’m asking to come up with you.”

I feel my chest rise and fall quickly, a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Caleb rakes a hand through his hair, then turns to me, his eyes intense.

“Let me stay, Isla,” he says, his voice low. “Let me spend the night with you.”