A spicy, angsty, slow burn F1 academy romance about fast cars, forbidden attraction, and family secrets from USA Today bestselling author Piper Lawson.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Crash Course by Piper Lawson, which releases on October 20th 2026.
Shay MacDonald was raised to avoid two things: race cars and the Ashford family. But when an injury puts her mechanic father on bedrest, she vows to save his career by covertly covering his shifts at the Ashford garage and enrolling at Ashford Academy–an elite school that trains aspiring drivers and engineers, like herself, for the lucrative F1 circuit.
Keeping a low profile is out of the question when she has a run-in with the Ashford brothers on day one. Theo and Jameson are racing royalty who know they can get away with anything. Theo, the charming and reckless playboy, tempts her to break every rule, while Jameson, the brilliant prodigy, unsettles her with a cold intensity that cuts deeper than she expects.
Shay will always be the adopted daughter of a mechanic, trying to survive unnoticed in a world that was never meant for her. But Theo and Jameson’s only reprieve from their father’s sky-high expectations is Shay. She’s a shiny new pawn in their old rivalry—or a prize worth risking everything for.
When a competition to work on the F1 circuit brings her further into their orbit, Shay is forced to work harder to protect her secrets. But the deeper she’s pulled into the world of the rich and famous Ashfords, the more she realizes everyone is keeping secrets.
Secrets that could shatter her past, her future…and her heart.
EXCERPT
SETUP: At her first Ashford Academy party, Shay gets pulled into an illicit motorcycle race by the Ashford brothers.
Shay
Cars give you the illusion of safety. Motorbikes don’t pretend.
We’re down at the road and I’m regretting my heeled footwear, but at least they’re boots and not stilettos, like most of the others are wearing.
Theo gets on a BMW, passing me a helmet before fastening on his own. “Trial by fire, New Girl.”
“Thought I’d already survived that.” The comment earns me a grin as I strap mine on.
Looking at the superbike, the moon shining off the titanium, makes my stomach lurch.
Jameson gets on a Ducati Panigale. The girl wrapped behind him is wearing a short skirt, and her long bare legs have me thinking this is an even worse idea than I originally thought. She catches me watching and rests a possessive hand on Jameson’s leg.
Yeah, I’m not fighting you for that one.
I go to Theo’s bike, reaching for his shoulders. His body is hard and warm through his shirt. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
Until I feel Jameson’s moody eyes on us. He rocks back, pulling off his helmet and tossing his dark hair off his face. “Change of plan. Switch girls.”
“What?” My heart thuds against my ribs.
Theo considers, frowning. “Do it.”
No fucking way.
“I chose the route and made him drive my bike,” Theo explains. “He gets to pick an advantage.”
My lip curls as I eye up Jameson on the Ducati. I want to get on behind him as much as I want to cuddle with a bucket of live spiders. But everyone’s watching and waiting, and drawing attention to myself isn’t the best idea.
His copilot looks even more unhappy than me but she peels herself off Jameson, evidently deciding Theo’s not a bad second option.
I wish I felt the same about mine as I cross to the Ducati. Each step feels heavy. The music and cheering in the background might as well be happening in another universe.
While Theo’s wearing the same shirt from inside, Jameson grabbed a leather jacket along the way. It should look like shit with the dress pants. Somehow, it doesn’t.
“If vomiting on your head is an advantage, you’re more twisted than I thought,” I offer.
“Save the sweet talk.” Cold eyes flash from under the helmet as someone holds up a phone with a countdown.
Three.
I scramble to swing a leg over the bike, shifting on the seat.
Two.
I scoot forward an inch. How much space can I leave between us without going flying off?
One.
“I suggest you hold the fuck on.” His voice is the last thing I hear before the sound of an airhorn rips through the night.
Arrogant pr—
The bike leaps forward. I cling to Jameson, my hand still rough from the accident the other day.
My thighs are spread to accommodate his hips, and it feels startlingly intimate. His body is hard, his chest and abs a wall I suddenly wish I wasn’t forced to hold quite so close.
He always looks cold and composed, but this is the first time I clock that he’s a living breathing person.
We’re accelerating. The wind whips over us, our tires bumping across the road. I expect the front of the bike to lift, but he keeps it level. We fly along the pavement, and my shock recedes, replaced by adrenaline. When I crack my eyes open, I see the other four bikes are eating our dust.
Alcohol makes my stomach lurch. We’re neck and neck with the BMW I should have been on.
Come on, Theo. I want him to beat the asshole who treats everyone, including me, like crap.
We head into a turn. I work my body closer, acting in self-preservation. Theo falters and we pull ahead an inch.
That’s when everything changes.
My body was already on alert from the game and the thrill, but some new part of me is waking up.
It’s not fear, or nerves.
It’s want. This part lives deep in my chest, nestled between my ribs, and it’s competitive.
I’m longing to pull away from the other bikes and watch the other drivers’ faces fill with dismay.
The nausea is gone. So’s the pain in my hand, crowded out by adrenaline. My face is pressed into his jacket, and I can smell leather, cold night air, and something sharp and masculine underneath.
Cool. Dark. Mysterious.
My hands fist in Jameson’s shirt. His abs flex underneath my grip.
He might be an epic asshole. He’s also a mind-blowingly good driver.
Right now, he’s mine.
Faster. My arms tighten around him, my thighs pressing against the backs of his.
His heart thuds under my hand, quickening as if I willed it to. Like in this moment, we could be one person.
Our lead’s growing. We’re going to win.
Then the superbike hits a groove in the pavement, and my weaker arm loses grip.
I slide.
A millimeter at first, then another.
Shit.
If I eat asphalt for the second time this week, it’s not going to end with a scraped hand and a few bruises. Panic surges through me.
Until Jameson reaches back and grabs my hip, his bare hand hot through the thin fabric.
END
