Page 51 of Head Over Wheels

The finish line in sight, I threw everything I had at the bike and the track, pushing ahead of the other guy with 100 m to go – and vaguely registering a flash of colour on my left. With a wallop of panic in my chest, I kicked the bike forward with one last push and blacked out for a second or two as I crossed the line.

Still pedalling on muscle memory and conditioning, only half-conscious and covered in mud and blood, I came to enough to decelerate around the velodrome, the crowd in the stands suddenly deafening. The air was cool and sweet and still. The world slowed down around me, winding back – winding down – as I waited to see what shape I’d be in when my body finally stopped.

Skidding off the track and onto the grass in the middle, I wobbled off the bike and let it fall to the ground, the throb in my hands suddenly swelling to a roar. A team assistant grabbed me heavily as I stumbled, my vision tunnelling as the entire race washed through me.

The feeling was awful and wonderful and I wanted to talk about that race for the rest of my life, bore Maman and Mamie at the dinner table as they gave me their bewildered smiles, not a competitive bone in their bodies.

Lori would understand.Lori…

At first I thought I was imagining her in front of me and I gave the apparition a cocky, half-drunk smile. But then I imagined her saying my name in a breathless tone that shot straight through my battered body and groped with my left hand – blindly as my vision swam a little from dirt and exposure and exhaustion – and connected with the soft cotton of her –my– hoodie.

I wasn’t imagining her.

A fresh surge of…somethingrushed in my blood and I swayed towards her. Her palm flattened on the back of my neck and my mind went completely blank as I leaned close and kissed her. Or did she lean and kiss me?

It didn’t matter. We were kissing – as though our lives depended on it. Her lips shook against mine, her mouth open and hot. Tilting her head, she tugged me close. I cupped her cheek with my other hand and everything would be right with the world, if I could just kiss her a little longer.

Oh God, I needed her. Thrusting a gloved hand up into her hair and fisting there, I soaked her in, her choked whimper, the eager press of her upper lip, the sweep of her tongue against mine. She tasted like coming back to life – like a shared victory.

A niggling confusion made me break off for a moment,tugging off my helmet. ‘Does this mean I won?’ I asked, my voice high.

She pressed another kiss to my mouth and I was just convincing myself I was satisfied with that instead of an answer, when she shook her head and said, ‘No, you came second.’

‘But I thought—’

She cut me off with her mouth on mine again and I rubbed a thumb over her cheek in clumsy, desperate affection. Kissing her at the finish line was a heady thrill I hadn’t felt in… ever?

‘It’s close enough,’ she breathed against my lips.

‘Thank God,’ I groaned, capturing her mouth again. I was basically mauling her in public and I didn’t care a—

The sound of someone clearing their throat made me pull back, noticing with a stab of remorse that I’d smeared her face with mud.

Then the world revved up to full speed as someone shoved a camera in my face and, at the same time, I heard my grandmother say in French, ‘It’s nice to finally meet your girlfriend!’

Lori

I was deep in the shit now.

Had I planned to publicly declare something that wasn’t quite true with a scorching post-race kiss? Not exactly. But did I embrace the chaos when it happened? Absolutely. Seb deserved all the attention today and if I could direct the spotlight a little closer to him, it could only bring good things.Maybe he’d get his contract renewed – or at least give his ego enough of a boost to enjoy the win.

He’d been dragged away from me for the post-race drugs-testing protocol and to face the crush of international sports media before the podium ceremony. I’d watched from the periphery as he’d given a few comments, mainly in smooth, deep French with a wry smile that made me realise there was a whole language of his that I didn’t speak – so many sides to him I’d probably never see.

Now I was busy ducking among the team vehicles trying to avoid Dad and Colin – as well as Seb’s mum and his cute little grandma. I should have borrowed the grandma’s parka and bucket hat for camouflage.

I would have to face the consequences of my actions at some stage, but I wanted to have a word with Seb before I did so – get our story straight now I’d sufficiently recovered from the kiss to form actual words. Veering away from where Dad was talking to Colin as he warmed down on a stationary bike, I made a dash for the spartan old shower block, where I’d noticed Seb disappearing five minutes ago. Although the team buses had showers these days, the 1940s Roubaix shower block was an institution, with a plaque bearing the name of a past winner on every stall. There was little heating and no privacy, but I could understand that Seb was so old-school that he visited the block as though it were a pilgrimage. Hearing voices, I didn’t go into the communal shower room, but waited in the hall, knowing the podium was calling and he wouldn’t be long. The door was ajar, releasing the fug of steam and the oceany scentof Seb’s shower gel. A tuneless hum reached my ears, followed a moment later by a few snatches of Taylor’s ‘Wildest Dreams’ in a slightly groggy falsetto.

I couldn’t help myself. I peeped and I would never regret doing so. His eyes were closed as soap suds slid over his dimples and dripped onto his chest. His arms raised to wash his hair, he was hard and wet and the kiss bubbled in my veins again as my mouth watered.

Stifling a laugh, I enjoyed his gravelly version of Taylor’s words about a tall, handsome guy with utter pandemonium in my chest. What was I supposed to do with him? With us?

If he retired at the end of the season to run his fucking B&B, I’d never see him again. That had become an unacceptable outcome. But he wanted out of the sport and Iwasthe sport. He might have put up a fight today, but I’d manipulated him into it. Being with me was a challenge I was pretty sure he didn’t want, especially since I wouldn’t have any space in my life for him when I started winning again, the way I really, really had to.

Shit, post-adrenaline symptoms had made me feel decidedly loopy if my thoughts had drifted into long-term territory. Before I was close to working myself out, Colin clomped into the shower block under a dark cloud, followed shortly after by Dad.

‘There she is, my little chaos muppet!’ Dad exclaimed.

‘I hope you have a decent explanation for why a reporter just asked me what I thought of my sister dating my domestique!’

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