Page 3 of Head Over Wheels

‘You can!’ he insisted. ‘There’s a European food standard for it!’

Damn it, I wasn’t supposed to laugh while my muscles were pushing these power levels. ‘You Belgians and your food standards! Less talk, more effort!’ I shouted, reminding myself as much as him.

We reached a gentle descent and flew. I was made of air, a master of gravity, as all my molecules vibrated with speed and power and force and it was all somehow more exhilarating because I was lending my magic dust to a guy with a nice smile and a comforting voice. For a moment, I wasmeagain on the bike.

Throwing all my strength into my legs, I slipped alongside the men’s peloton, waiting for Colin to notice me. When he did, his double take was an adrenaline rush all of its own.

‘I found something you lost,’ I called out, jerking my head in the direction of the new guy, whose chest was heaving with effort from the drag on his bike. He tucked in behind the men’s group to a chorus of snickers that he didn’t seem to notice. He had his nose up, as though appreciating the hint of thyme in the cold air.

Colin flashed me a cranky look as I joined the bunch as well, but I just lifted my chin pointedly at him. We both knew I got better results than he did and if I wanted to join the men for a day, the team manager – our dad – wouldn’t stop me.

We reached the rendered houses and apartment blocks on the outskirts of Girona, sprayed liberally with graffiti, andthen the old town swallowed us up: stone churches and tree-lined streets, warm colours and pedestrians to dodge. Ten minutes later, we arrived outside the team hotel.

Watching the new guy pull up, unclipping casually, propping himself up on the handlebars, I had to blink away a fresh tingle of recognition. Colin strode up to him, holding out his hand for one of those macho clasps, since handshakes were apparently for wimps.

‘Fair play, mate,’ my brother said. ‘It’s good to see you can take a joke.’

‘A hazing, you mean,’ I said, showing Colin my teeth.

‘Are you defending him?’ Colin asked, giving me an affectionate shove. Sending the new guy a sidelong glance, he said, ‘Don’t get any ideas about my sister.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve got Matilda now anyway,’ he continued, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the blow-up doll, who bobbed with excitement at his words.

‘Matilda?’ Colin said with a snort-laugh.

‘In honour of my new team. She can sit in the bus with the blow-up boxing kangaroo. I’d offer to let her share my room, but she might miss yours, Gallagher.’

So much for the new guy needing me to defend him.

‘You’re welcome to her,’ Colin said with a chuckle.

‘Can Matilda and I go?’ he continued. ‘Or do I need to get naked and eat worms so we can become “mates”?’

‘What you do with Matilda is up to you,’ Colin said emphatically, raising his arms in mock horror.

Untying the ribbons from the seat tube of his bike, the guy glanced up and caught me watching him. The doll was losing puff, because she bumped against his head as he freed her from her bonds. He approached me haltingly, biting his lip.

‘Thank you,’ he said softly, ‘for pacing me down.’

I gulped, unable to form a smart response while my mind was still replaying the view of his teeth sinking into his soft lip.

‘Matilda says thank you, too.’ Gripping the doll’s neck, he made her nod, folding over the drooping plastic until her wide-open mouth contorted. I was about to roll my eyes at his silly sense of humour, when he continued, ‘I hope you… find someone to get that gravel out of your butt.’

The tingles rushed back as I imaginedhimgently tending my wounds. Was he flirting with me? I felt scrambled up, when I was supposed to be steeling myself for the World Tour racing season. This breathless tingling was too much like weakness.

‘Bye, Belgian soap,’ I called after him as he handed his bike over to the mechanics in the car park and headed for the hotel. He gave me a wave over his shoulder.

Colin was watching me with an odd look.

‘Thank you for ruining my morning,’ I said grimly, before my brother could say anything.

‘Was he bothering you? Do I need to run him off?’

‘No!’

‘I should have run off Gaetano last year,’ he grumbled.

Lucky it had been months since my ex had dumped me or I might not have been able to put Colin off with a dark laugh. ‘He ran off himself, so it’s all good.’ The only positive about the end of that relationship was that he’d dumped me at the end of his contract and then changed teams. ‘But don’t worry. I can take the new guy. Maybe I don’t want to run him off.’

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