Page 12 of Head Over Wheels

‘Gee, thanks. You think I’d only date someone with a few medals around their neck?’

The troubled look he gave me was even more attractive, with his twisted brow and a muscle moving in his sharp jaw. ‘It’s not the winning. It’s the fighting. This is my last year. If I hadn’t done all that training with you, last season would have been the end of my career. I work for the team and I love it and I get rewarded for it, but… my contract wasn’t renewed. I hit my peak four years ago riding with Arjan Hoogenboezem. I never had what it takes to lead and now I’m only going to keep getting dropped. I’m ready to let it all go.’

I froze, gaping at him. His voice was even, as though he was talking about what we’d had for lunch that day and not the end of his racing career.

If he gave up this easily, perhaps he was right, I didn’t want to hang out with him.

‘You didn’t tell me you were quitting, when we were training together on Zpeed.’

‘I didn’t tell you I’d been a World Team cyclist at all – and you didn’t tell me, either.’

‘Youarea World Team cyclist, you idiot! I can’t believe this!’

He gave half a shrug. ‘I keep forgetting. When I started training with you, I was out of contract. Maybe I should have given up then, rather than get to know a new team.’

Rather than get to know meflashed unexpectedly through my mind andI shuddered inwardly in horror at my own negative thoughts. I was over Gaetano – at least, I didn’t want to get back together with him. But it was frustrating to realise thepsychological effects of being dumped had lingered. I couldn’t afford to doubt myself right now, when every twinge of my muscles and creak of my bones shot residual alarm through my nerves.

‘You were a fighter online,’ I pointed out to him. ‘You wouldn’t have let me win, like you did this morning. It’s only your head that’s messed up, not your body.’ I made my point by running my gaze down and then up again, pausing to lick my lips.

He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet, giving a huff that suggested he’d worked out I was using the attraction between us to make a point. ‘I was a fighter online because that’s what you needed. And if my head’s messed up then… so be it. I’ve spent 20 years on the bike. I’d like to actually see some of the places we go every year and not be in pain half my life. I’d like to spend time with my niece and nephew, help my grandma, maybe run a little bed and breakfast or something, eat cheese whenever I want.’

My head spun. Thinking about the end of my career was something I avoided at all costs. I hadn’t even reached my best years yet – at least that’s what I had to tell myself, when I lined up at the first race start at the beginning of the season. I had been right to think Seb would be terrible for my focus.

‘You want to retire so you caneat cheese? You’re on our team now. If you’re going to ride with my brother, you’d better stuff this shit down a hole and bury it until the actual end of your contract. My dad built this team. You got selected.You trained withme. Those are the things you need to be thinking about, not a bed and fucking breakfast!’

His lips wobbled and I wasn’t sure if I should be offended that I’d amused him when I’d been trying to give him a pep talk. I should have considered his wonky sense of humour and my reputation as a hard arse, which probably wasn’t attractive.

‘Okay,’ he said, his voice quiet but firm. ‘You’re right. I’m in contract. I’m not retiring.’

‘Good,’ I said on a long breath. ‘And… we don’t have to pretend we don’t know each other. It doesn’t have to be a secret that we made friends on Zpeed. But we both have to focus. No movies, no music, no stupid jokes. No chatting online.’Made friends…Was that what had happened?

His gaze darted to my mouth, not quite the action of a mere friend. ‘Focus, right. And no letting you win.’

‘Definitely not,’ I grumbled, wondering why he was still looking at me with that glint in his eye. I licked my suddenly dry lips.

‘I probably shouldn’t tell you how sexy it was when you said, “Bed and fucking breakfast”.’

‘Seb!’ I told him off through my thick throat, his nickname already familiar on my lips. He couldn’t say stuff like that, keep implying I was pretty and desirable, if we were to resist this pull. Teammates weren’t supposed to gaze at each other like expensive desserts in a French patisserie. ‘If we’ve… worked everything out, I’m going to go.’ Before anything happened.

‘Right, okay.’ He leaned close and it took me a moment too long to realise he was going in for a peck on the cheek. Every year I forgot the Francophones did this and I squirmed and fidgeted, half expecting to kiss someone on the mouth by accident. That day my hair stood on end at the prospect.

But the soft kiss touched down harmlessly on my cheek as I stared wildly at him, and then he pulled back. But he didn’t quite pull back far enough and – oops. We locked eyes. And then a second later, with a groan from him and a huff from me, we locked lips.

Big oops.No longer harmless.

He tasted like summer days and lazy mornings, with a shot of adrenaline, like my first coffee of the day. It was a rush of longing, his mouth open and hot on mine, with shots of fear and vulnerability and so many emotions I didn’t want to think about, but revelled in nonetheless. I wrapped my arms around his neck and tipped my head and let him devour me.

His hand snaked around the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine as he hauled me against him with his other arm. He was so muchbody, with the tough sinew in his chest and arms pressed right up against me. The way he held me still, his thumb brushing my ear, sucked all reason from my brain until I felt molten and gooey.

As my fingers tangled in his hair, it must have been the unexpected feeling ofknowinghim that made me sink my teeth into his bottom lip and then scrape my tongue over it.

The noise he made, between a groan and a whimper, wasthe hottest thing I’d ever heard. His hand slid lower and—

There was a knock at the door. Seb sprang away with a jolt, his breath fitful and rasping. With a troubled glance at me, he called out a wobbly ‘Yes?’

I recognised the strident voice calling through the door after the first word. ‘Are you decent, Franck? I need to talk to you for a sec.’

My mind blanked in panic. I was supposed to be resting right now. Even if by some miracle we didn’t look as though we’d just been necking, it was very bad to be found alone in Seb’s room by the team manager, otherwise known as Tony Gallagher – my dad.

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