Page 72 of Head Over Wheels

‘You can’t fool me, brat. I know you’re here looking to…’ He gagged before he’d finished his sentence. ‘Actually, I don’t want to know what you and Frankie get up to.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Are you two roommates?’

‘Most of the time,’ he said with a shrug. ‘For someone you’re just messing with, you text him a lot.’

After three months in Northern Europe my tan had faded, meaning Colin must have seen the blush creeping up my neck. ‘Maybe there are lots of girls messing with him.’

‘With Frankie?’ Colin said with an amused grin. ‘Nope. Besides, I know when it’s you who’s texted him because he turns into a puppy and he can’t stop smiling.’

My stomach dipped and I kind of wished I hadn’t heard that. ‘Where is he? I need to… mess with him a little more.’

‘Yuck, I said I didn’t want to know!’

Stifling a groan, I countered, ‘I didn’t say I wanted to tie him up and give him a lap dance. Get over it. I need to talk to him about something. That’s all.’ I was too restless and annoyed even to enjoy the view of Colin gaping, incapable of speech for a moment.

‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes!’

‘You’re not wearing your earrings,’ he commented.

‘I lost them back in March,’ I said, confused at the change of subject.

‘Did Mum give those ones to you?’

‘Years ago, but why are you suddenly interested?’

‘What about that necklace? I don’t remember that either.’

I tucked it self-consciously under my shirt. ‘You obviously haven’t been paying attention.’

He watched me more closely than I liked. ‘Lori,’ he began, his tone setting off alarm bells in my mind, ‘you know if you need anything—’

‘I don’t. I’m fine. You never used to ask me if I needed anything before I got pins in my vertebrae!’

‘All right. Take it easy. I get the message. Frankie’s probably—’

‘I’m here. What’s up? Lori!’

I turned to find him emerging into the corridor from the lifts, holding a cardboard box.

‘I thought the women were staying in Bastogne and I didn’t… I wasn’t sure I’d see you.’

‘She needs to talk to you,’ Colin supplied. ‘Talk,’ he repeated, enunciating clearly. Although I suspected he was trying to deliver a veiled threat, it only made me think about what Colin thought we wanted to do with each other. I kind of wished I’d booked a hotel room to drag him to.

‘Come on,’ I said, grasping Seb’s sleeve and dragging him back into the lift. When the doors finally closed, I sighed deeply – and picked up the most spectacular smell. Straightening, I sniffed curiously. Did the cheap hotel have a signature scent like the Ritz? Or did they pump out something delicious to disguise the odour of old cyclists’ socks and sweaty bibs?

‘It’s this,’ Seb said, holding the box under my nose. ‘Vanilla.’

‘Vanilla what?’

He placed the box in my hands. ‘Waffle.’

‘God, I love Belgium,’ I murmured, enjoying his chuckle as I opened the box to find a rustic-looking waffle, glistening with sugar and doused in vanilla sauce that might be nearly as good as custard, since no one in continental Europe appreciated the magic of custard.

I broke off a piece with the little wooden fork and chewed slowly, not caring if my moan would make the CCTV sound X-rated.

‘Good thing I bought it for you,’ Seb commented.

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