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After being dumped, Isla Morris makes a pact with her ex's biggest competition, F1 driver Matthew Carr, to get inside Lucas's head.
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Isla Morris is dating the world's best F1 racer - at least, she w...
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Isla took up knitting.
She hated knitting. There was something so frustrating about the fiddly little stitches and sharp needles. But Isla made the mistake of watching Matthew's race on the telly without anything to do, and she'd almost had a heart attack when he spun off the track.
Now, Isla knit.
Garter stitch, basketweave, herringbone — she'd mastered them all. While Matthew raced in Canada and France, she knitted a scarf. When he was in Germany, Isla made a bobble hat. By the time Matthew was racing in Belgium, she'd abandoned knitting entirely and moved on to baking.
"This," Tiff said, brandishing a brownie, "is the best anxiety brownie I've ever had."
"I'm not anxious," Isla protested.
"Yes, you are."
"No."
"You made three dozen of these," Tiff said, jamming the brownie into her mouth. "Let me repeat that. Three dozen." She waved a hand, speaking through the crumbs. "Is Macho Matt winning, at least?"
"Some races," Isla said.
"Most?"
"Yes, unfortunately." Isla crouched down, pulling a tray out of the oven. "Matt's only eight points behind Lucas now. He'll be even more determined to win." Which would lead to crazier driving, she thought grimly, if that was even possible.
Tiff wiped her mouth again, succeeding in only smearing more chocolate. "When do I get to meet him?"
"As soon as you stop calling him Macho Matt."
Tiff stuck out her tongue. "Spoilsport."
Isla set the brownies on the counter, throwing open a window. Late August air filtered into the room, crisp as the skin of an apple. A couple strolled in the park across the street, obscured behind a wrought iron fence. Isla's stomach tightened. God, she missed Matthew. It had been... what? A month since they saw each other?
Too long.
Not, Isla thought quickly, that she would ever admit it to him. They might be properly dating now, but she wasn't about to inflate Matthew Carr's head more than it already was. He wouldn't be able to fit it inside his car anymore.
Her phone rang.
Matt, Isla thought, and lunged for it immediately.
"Oh, gross." Tiff wrinkled her nose. "You two disgust me."
Isla pointed at her with the phone. "You were the one that encouraged it."
"I did, didn't it?" Tiff asked glumly. "Well, I'll be in the next room if you need me. Blasting music. With earplugs in."
Isla rolled her eyes. "He's just going to tell me about the race."
"Oh, please," Tiff snorted. "I've heard your conversations." She gave Isla a meaningful look. "Racier than race cars, if you catch my meaning."
