Lily
Lily Atkinson had exactly three rules for surviving the final stretch of her F1 Academy season.
One: Don’t crash.
Two: Don’t trust anyone, especially if they smile too easily.
Three: Avoid Cam Fowler at all costs.
So of course she broke rule three within two seconds of walking out of the Hughes Racing hospitality center in the paddock at Zandvoort, The Netherlands.
He was leaning against a railing right out front like he had nowhere better to be—which was ridiculous, because he was Cam Fowler, golden-boy Formula One driver, heir to a mountain of tech money, and apparently immune to unflattering lighting. Sunglasses hooked casually on his collar. Easy grin. Comically thick hair. That stupid American confidence that made sponsors swoon and mechanics forgive him for everything.
Lily kept her head down and walked faster, heading for the Academy area to check on her car. She was not here for him. She was here because this was her last chance. It was her second and final
year in F1 Academy, the sport’s series for female drivers. The final three races. Final chance at a championship—entirely too many “finals” for her liking. If she won, she would earn a paid seat in one of the other racing series. If the stars somehow aligned, that racing series might end up being Formula One. If she didn’t win the championship… That was it. Game over. No family fortune to fall back on. No sponsors. Just the quiet end of a career she’d been fighting for since she was a kid sneaking into karting tracks with her nan.
“Running away without saying hello?”
Bloody hell. She turned slowly. “Hello, Fowler.” She preferred to address him by his last name. It created distance.
Cam’s smile widened like annoying her was the best part of his day. “So you didn’t forget about me.”
“Impossible,” she said flatly. “You take up so much space.”
“Physically? Or mentally?”
“Vertically.”
They stood there for a moment—too close, too familiar. The memory hit her without permission—a hotel room, laughter turning breathless, the shock of how right it had felt. And then the cold clarity afterward that she had less than zero business sleeping with a Formula One driver, especially one who drove for the same team as her. She’d slammed the brakes so hard she still felt the whiplash.
It couldn’t happen. Not with the guy who had the racing seat she so desperately needed.
“So…” Cam rocked back on his heels. “This is it. Three races for you.”
“I win, or I’m done.”
His expression shifted—just a fraction. Respect? Something warmer. Softer. Damn him. “You’ve got
this.”
She looked away before he could see how hard that landed. “I don’t need a pep talk.”
“I’m a giver.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Everyone says you like having things handed to you.”
He blinked, calling attention to his maddening blue eyes. “Wow. That’s unfair.”
Before she could consider softening her comment, a member of the marketing team appeared, clipboard brandished like a weapon. “Lily! Cam! You two are paired for the promo shoot.”
Lily’s stomach dropped. Paired. She opened her mouth to protest.
But Cam glanced at her, eyes bright with something that made her mute. “I know how much you love these photo shoots.”
A few minutes into staying away from Cam for the rest of the season, and Lily was already failing.
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