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I sat on a stone divider just outside pit lane and stared out at the track. A few spectators had begun to file into the stands, hoping to catch a glimpse of the drivers. I sighed, putting on a pair of Wheaton sunglasses. They were one of the sponsors I’d landed for Team Perez, and it was always helpful to be photographed wearing their merch. It was a warm Italian morning, and I expected a hot day. The time alone gave me an opportunity to think. I was angry with Blake Carlton. He had provoked me, and I’d fallen for it. I’d decided that Carlton wanted me to confront Devin in hopes of destroying my new, vulnerable relationship. Carlton’s motivation was unclear, though. If he wanted to join Team Perez, and I wasn’t convinced that was the truth, what would he gain by antagonizing me?
I wouldn’t and couldn’t believe he had a genuine interest in me. There was more to Blake Carlton than that, and I knew it. Fury was beginning to burn through my veins all over again. Given the first chance, I was going to confront Carlton.
I was so engrossed with my thoughts that I didn’t notice the blue-and-red blur that barreled past me, at first. When it registered, I turned to see Devin’s back. He hadn’t stopped, hadn’t even tried to get my attention. I then heard the clicking of a camera. Not ten feet away was a photographer taking in the whole spectacle. Not good.
I was furious. I left and marched straight toward the Roche pits. There were people milling around, and I grabbed the nearest person and demanded to know where Blake Carlton was. The mechanic pointed to the motorhome, and I headed for it. I swung open the door and walked inside. I hadn’t registered just how lavish his motorhome was during my previous visit. With its carpets, leather sofas, and even a full bar with servers tending to guests, the setup was something the Perez dream could only aspire to.
I scanned the main area but didn’t see Carlton anywhere. I trudged to the back of the massive space, which was subdivided into smaller rooms. Through an open door, I found Carlton facedown on a massage table, his physiotherapist giving him a rubdown.
“Carlton,” I snapped, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He was surprised to see me, but he had to know this wouldn’t be a pleasant encounter.
"So many visitors today,” he said.
I had no idea what that meant, nor did I care. “You knew I was going to ask him about her,” I spat in front of the therapist. I also didn’t care who heard the conversation.
“Lisa, come back in about ten minutes,” he said to his therapist. She nodded and left the room. Carlton sat up, exposing his lean, muscular physique. He chose not to cover his bare chest. “I take it you asked Flynn about Charlotte Simpson.”
“I did. We talked about it.”
“So what’s the problem? Why so angry?” Carlton said, grabbing a drink.
“I may have thrown my entire relationship away!”
He didn’t turn back to me right away. Was he gloating? “I heard about some commotion in Flynn’s hotel room last night.”
I’d clenched my fists so tight now that I’d cut off the circulation. I’d never been so angry before, and Carlton was so smug. “What do you mean you heard something?”
“Word travels fast around here. You shouldn’t air your dirty laundry in hotel hallways. The walls aren’t very thick.”
I wanted to slap the smirk from his face. “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you why yesterday,” he said with casual ease.
“And I don’t buy it.”
“I’m not going to have a conversation with you if you’re only going to scream.”
I took a deep breath. “Fine,” I said, taking a moment to let my pulse return to normal, or as close to normal as it was going to get. “But let me make something perfectly clear: I’m in love with Devin Flynn.”
“Is that so?” Carlton said, arching a brow. “Because right now I’m wondering why you’re here. Shouldn’t you be talking to him? Making up with him?”
“I don’t know what your game is, Carlton, and I don’t really care. Stirring up gossip and interfering in my personal life doesn’t really mesh with thatothergoal you told me about. Or should I go spreading some rumors of my own?” I couldn’t imagine he’d want his team knowing he was thinking about defecting.
With that, I stormed out of the motorhome. As I did, I almost ran right into Devin. He was about to pay his own visit to Blake Carlton. We both stopped dead in our tracks and stared at each other for a moment.
“Devin,” I began, but he looked away and shook his head.
He slowly turned and walked toward his team pits, his hand motioning for me to stay away.
Damn it.
I bit my lower lip until it nearly bled. I wasn’t sure what exactly he thought I was doing there, but I knew Devin had misinterpreted the situation. As much as I wanted to run after him and talk to him about this, I couldn’t move. Feelings of despair were beginning to creep up inside me. Stares from all around the Roche pit made me finally get my shit together.
I took a long walk before returning to the Perez pits, where I discovered that Rafe had gone to the pre-race news conference. Something told me to hole up in the Perez offices, but I ignored my instincts and went to the news conference too. Various drivers were arranged in two different rows, taking questions from reporters. Rafe saw me walk in, and we made eye contact. He glanced from me to the door a couple of times, and I frowned. Was he shooing me away? I stood at the back to listen to the conference and tried to catch Devin’s eye. I know he saw me, but he didn’t acknowledge me.
The usual questions abounded, first about the race and then related to contractual woes, specifically, what driver would be where the following year. An Italian reporter posed a question to Devin.
“There are reports that you and Luna Perez have ended your five-month relationship. Is that true?”
