Page 40 of Head Over Wheels

‘Instead, you’re a farm boy with an inferiority complex,’ she said with a sigh.

‘That could describe the entire population of Wallonia. Cycling in Belgium isn’t the upper-class sport it is in somecountries – and it’s crazy competitive. But I’m sorry I turned out not to be rich.’

She wisely ignored me. ‘How did you get into cycling? Pro, I mean? Obviously in Belgium you probably started riding a bike before you could walk.’

‘We did a try-out in school. A guy came and tested us all for aptitude for different sports and I was told to join the cycling club.’

She stared as though that was not the answer she’d been expecting. ‘No strike of lightning? Deep inspiration or love of the sport?’

‘It was physical aptitude, not psychological,’ I added, which only made her laugh. ‘Apparently I have a big heart.’

The quick smile that crossed her lips before she hid it behind the sleeves of her – my – sweatshirt gave me a burn that should probably have been indigestion but was definitely emotional.

‘What about your stomach?’ she asked. ‘Do you have a big, empty stomach?’

‘Ehm…’

‘Well, I do,’ she said, hauling herself up with her hand supporting her back. ‘I saw a restaurant over there and I bet we can even spring for cheese, since we raced today.’ She stifled a yawn that made me want to observe every one of her facial expressions and keep them in a little log book.

I unfolded myself slowly too, my muscles already growing stiff. ‘Lore, is this… a date?’ I asked, trying to inject lightness into my tone for plausible deniability.

‘Nope,’ she said immediately and that put me in my place. ‘I hate dating. I’m not dating this year.’

Dragging my steps behind her, I turned her words over in my mind, watching her ponytail swing as she walked. ‘So this is just dinner,’ I clarified. ‘Between…?’

‘Us!’ she called over her shoulder.

And I’d be damned if that didn’t sound better than any date I’d ever been on.

Chapter 16

Lori

‘Maybe I should move here,’ I mused with a sigh.

It was full dark, now, the wooden shutters of the old brick houses drawn. I usually craved pizza after a race, which was convenient when I was in Italy. We’d shared two perfect pizzas – a classic salami and a garlicky white one with fresh yellow tomatoes and olives – washed down with a glass of sangiovese that had felt like a good idea at the time.

Now I was a little too loose and the alcohol added another layer of complexity to the mix of natural chemicals building up in my body. Passing under a stone archway illuminated by the soft light of the wrought-iron lamps, I was certain now that we were lost, but I wouldn’t be the one to mention it. I needed to rest, was about to shut down, but I was too stubborn to succumb.

‘There are fewer aggressive creatures in Siena than Australia,’ Seb agreed and I had that urge to touch my shoulder to his again. He was so… nudgeable. But I wasn’t supposedto benudginganyone. Plus, he’d already turned me down once today.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t stopped the tightness in my chest, the thump of fresh adrenaline fizzing in my blood as my skin tingled with memories and possibilities every time I looked at him.

‘I have an Italian passport you know,’ I commented absently.

‘Ah, so you only date compatriots?’ Seb teased. ‘You’re lucky that gives you three countries in your pool of candidates. I would be stuck with Belgians.’

‘How awful!’ I gave a mock shudder. ‘How come you speak such good English? I didn’t find a mention of your qualifications on the internet – or maybe I was just distracted by the mud-spattered cyclocross photos.’

His grin gave me that little heart-flip again. He had more pride than he realised and I kind of liked stoking it. ‘I learned English, but not very well – not at my technical school. But I’ve been in international teams for a long time. Even in a Belgian team – I speak better English than Flemish, so… Except the swear words. I’m good at those.’

‘Do you realise you talk about Belgium like you’re apologising for its existence? But I suspect you wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.’

‘Well, my mum and my grandma… and my sister.’

‘What do they think about your career?’

‘They don’t know what to think,’ he said with a far-off smile. ‘They often come to watch if it’s not too far. They drive up in the old truck and stand by the barriers in theirrubber boots. I don’t think they really understand what’s going on.’

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