Page 7 of Head Over Wheels

Seb, you imbecile. It’s just a coincidence.

I blinked back the strange feeling, like a premonition, although I’d never been superstitious – well, aside from the usual ones about winning socks and lucky oatmeal.

I let Colin have his fun again that day, ignoring the clink of the beads as we suffered up the epic Rocacorba climb, trying not to dwell on how young my new lead rider must be – and definitely not wondering what age that made his sister.

But the little poop could have helped me get the things off again after the ride. We had to clean our own bikes andmy gnawing stomach was terrified I’d miss lunch as I snapped those suckers off the spokes.

Then I almost forgave him – far too quickly – because Lori appeared, a deep gouge between her brows. Dropping to her haunches, she wordlessly set to work helping me. She’d showered already and had her hair in a ponytail that tickled her jaw and I couldn’t concentrate on anything except brushing my fingers over that bit of skin until she shivered.

‘Thank you,’ I managed to say despite my dry tongue.

‘I should have got Colin to clean up after himself.’

‘He wouldn’t have looked so pretty while he did it.’ I clamped my mouth shut ten words too late.

The look she gave me could have cut steel.

‘Sorry. I mean, you’re clearly the capable sibling.’

‘Come on, let’s put them on his bike.’

I hoped she didn’t realise that the idea appealed to me mainly because I’d get another few minutes of admiring her strong jaw.

After finding his bike in the trailer, we squeezed in to complete the prank, making me wonder if the temperature had risen, even though it was the end of November. I kept picturing her making combative jokes on the Zpeed voice call server, the fantasy more compelling than it had any right to be.

But it wasn’t a helpful fantasy. When I unwittingly skimmed my fingers over hers through the spokes, I had to suck in a harsh breath. I met her gaze more often than I should have. She had flecked blue irises with a dark ring at the edge andan intent way of looking at me that made me wonder if she could see through my clothes. I really liked it.

As we dawdled back to the hotel in charged silence, the back of my hand brushed hers and I waited, barely breathing, for her to flinch away. She didn’t, but she didn’t acknowledge me either.

Arriving in the foyer, I made a wild gesture in the direction of my room. ‘I’d better… go get some Belgian soap on me.’

The doubtful look she sent me would have had more impact if she hadn’t simultaneously chewed on her lip, frying my brain.

‘As long as you don’t stop to play Ken with Matilda, you should still catch the lunch buffet.’ She gave a stilted chuckle and then appeared to choke on her own quip.

‘If the music’s playing loudly, Amir knows not to come in.’ I’d intended to lighten the moment with that one – and remind her of the close quarters we all lived in on camp and during competition – but her expression of mild horror proved I’d missed the mark. ‘I’m joking.’

‘So was I,’ she snapped, visibly pulling herself together. ‘I’m sorry for my brother. He’s a dick to all the new guys.’

‘Don’t worry. I can shake it off.’

Her gaze swerved right back to mine and it took me a moment to realise I’d quoted Taylor Swift in her infinite wisdom. Lori took a step back as though I’d pushed her. ‘Er, see you later.’

Bolting for the dining room, she disappeared through the doors faster than I could say ‘Wildest Dreams’.

Chapter 3

Seb

My agent would have been horrified to hear that I’d spent more time over the first three days of training camp thinking with the contents of my very tight shorts than concentrating on my fitness and my place in the new team. He would have told me about the importance of getting sufficient rest – I was certain of that early in the morning of the fourth day, when I was rolling around in bed, worrying about waking my roommate Amir.

I placated my agent – without him even having to get out of my own head – by making for the hotel gym at six to do some extra core training on the mats, scooping up Matilda at the last minute, taking her with me and setting her on the chest press while I warmed up. Anything for the running joke.

When I put my Bluetooth headphones in and scrolled through my favourites playlist for the song I was looking for, a kernel of self-reflection made me face up to the real reasonI’d got out of bed this morning: I’d heard the Gallaghers were still jetlagged, as well as utterly obsessed with being the best, and they often trained early.

I also had to own up to the fact that I was listening to Taylor Swift, hoping I might catch a short glimpse of Lori Gallagher – if I was lucky, in a situation that wasn’t embarrassing for once. I had a terrible history of relationships ending before they’d really begun, but this was a new low: crushing on an entirely unattainable woman because she reminded me of another woman who’d already ghosted me.

Grumbling to myself as I stretched out on the mat and lifted my body into a hollow-hold, I realised I wasn’t even sure she knew my name, which was a blessing at this point. When she found out, she might remember stage three of the Vuelta a España last year, when I’d flown off the road into spiky bushes and limped to the finish line, my shorts held together with medical tape. Or maybe the time I was startled by a black cat at the side of the road during the Gent-Wevelgem and crashed.

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