Page 28

Seb

‘Seriously, let me make up the guest room for you,’ I said under my breath, rushing in front of Lori to stop her in the hallway.

She’d already blown my remaining synapses by eating stew at the kitchen table with a fixed smile while the two women who’d brought me up watched with thinly veiled doubt.

Seeing her in my childhood bedroom would finish me off and I’d already died once today on the cobbles.

‘Your family isn’t offended if we share a room, are they?’ she asked. ‘I thought when Mamie winked—’

‘They’re not offended,’ I interrupted her. ‘But…’ I pulled at my hair with a sigh.

‘Is there something wrong with your room?’

Other than the fact that I would always think of her in it, once she stepped over the threshold? ‘No! I mean the bed’s pretty small. I don’t want you to be uncomf—’

‘Stop arguing,’ she said, cutting me off. ‘Have you forgotten that we have slept together before?’

‘I’m not going to forget that for the rest of my life ,’ I grumbled. ‘But what about the bad lu—’

‘Getting my head in the game is my problem, Seb. I’m out of the next race anyway.’ She gestured to her sling. ‘Might as well have some fun.’

My skin tingled and my body dragged itself sluggishly to life again at that suggestion.

Then she dropped her chin, eyeballed me and said, ‘I’m pretty sure you’re just going to fall asleep anyway.’

My thoughts swam, not sure what she wanted from me and willing to give it to her, whatever it was. Grasping her face in both of my hands, I drew her close and said, ‘Do you want to? Have sex again? Is that why…’

I could live with it if that was the reason she’d jumped into Maman’s car this evening, especially when feeling her skin under my fingertips was such a blessed relief.

But I needed her to tell me what she wanted, if she even knew.

Tension and frustration flowing through me, I pressed a hard kiss to her forehead because I couldn’t not do it.

‘Do you really think I came all the way here because I’m horny?’ The bitterness in her tone was pure Lori.

‘I don’t see anyone here to take our picture, so I assume it’s not part of your “everyone loves a romance” plan.’

‘We’re friends, right?’ Her tone was belligerent, but her wobbly lower lip gave me questions.

‘Friends don’t usually share a bed – or make out on TV.’

Her cheeks glowed light pink. ‘You know it wasn’t only for the cameras,’ she mumbled and everything inside me went quiet as I grasped for the meaning of her admission. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but— you know. Chaos muppet.’

That got me in the stomach again, reminding me of everything we’d shared online.

‘Does that mean the thing about pretending to be in a relationship was—?’ She cut me off with a shake of her head.

‘It’s a good idea. But you look like someone used you to mop their floor and you’re about to keel over, so we’ll talk about it later. Which door is your room?’

I gestured limply to the wood veneer door from the 70s that I’d passed through millions of times in my life. But when I followed Lori Gallagher inside, everything felt different.

Her gaze roamed the room, her fingers brushing items that caught her interest: my first cycling trophy, Under 17s Cyclocross Champion for the province of Namur; a photo of my sister and her kids; my Princess Leia rubber ducky that was too funny to throw away but pretty embarrassing to actually have on display.

A flush spread up my neck as she took in my Zpeed set-up: a racing bike with the rear wheel removed, connected to a drive trainer, facing the wall where I’d hung a flat-screen TV. Lori stepped hesitantly towards the bike, her hand hovering over the saddle.

‘So this is where you used to ogle my virtual butt.’

My head spinning a little, I sank onto my bed with a sigh.

‘That’s it.’ Looking up at her, I continued, ‘You know what’s strange?

I never knew what you looked like – back then.

But now it’s as if my memories have changed.

When I think about that time you beat me in the Tourmalet simulation, my memory insists it was you in front of me – in real life. You as I know you now. That’s weird.’

She glanced at me with a pained look and, yeah, I was probably the only one still stuck in the past, when I’d lived happily in a constant state of anticipation of the next time we could meet up in not-real life.

‘Do you have a toothbrush and some clothes I can borrow? Some ibuprofen?’

Right, keep things practical. No gushing about how much those months online had meant to me. ‘Sure.’

She looked far too sweet in a pair of my shorts and an ancient sweatshirt, her hair in a high ponytail and her face scrubbed. I’d given her a kiss on the cheek before I realised what I was doing.

‘How’s your shoulder?’ I asked to cover my affectionate slip.

She set the sling onto my desk with her clothes. ‘The same as usual after a dislocation. Hurts a bit. You want to show me your hands?’

As she plonked down beside me on the bed, I held out my hands without even questioning what she had planned. Hers were smaller than mine, with freckles spreading like the arm of a galaxy down one side and over her thumb. God, even her hands were unbearably beautiful.

Turning mine over, she pressed her thumb into the palm and I stifled a moan as the firm touch unlocked the muscle after hours of strain.

It hurt. When she moved on to the flesh below my thumb I became a groaning mess, my head falling to her shoulder as the pressure drained and revitalised my body all at once.

I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to move my arm again after she was done with my right hand and by the time her strong fingers had finished with my left, my tongue was almost lolling out of my mouth.

‘Do you want me to do your legs?’

Surely I was imagining Lori offering to massage my poor mistreated legs. I answered her anyway with a shake of the head. ‘Hurts too much.’ Her fingers in my hair must have been a dream, it felt so good.

‘Lie down and close your eyes,’ she said into my ear. Despite the distant protests of my brain, insisting we had an argument brewing and we shouldn’t get so close, my body dragged me down into peaceful sleep.

Lori

Seb was wrecked, a semi-conscious ragdoll, as I tugged his clothes off, with my thoughts and feelings a dumpster fire.

The muscles in his shoulders were rock-hard with strain.

The veins in his arms stood out over lean muscle and bone.

The bruising on his side was coming up, an ugly purple patch the size of a dinner plate.

I left his shorts on, even though I wasn’t sure they were comfortable for sleeping.

He wasn’t conscious enough to consent to me taking them off when we didn’t wear knickers under those things.

I hesitated over his socks, feeling like a weirdo for being curious about his feet, but I left them on in the end, because it seemed R?sine and Albertine had turned the heating off already.

Tugging the blanket out from underneath him, I soothed him with a hand on his back and he purred sleepily, mumbling something incoherent about family.

Thinking of family gave me a twinge of guilt about my impulsive behaviour and I rummaged for my phone in the little pile of clothes I’d left on Seb’s desk. I didn’t have my charger with me and the device would give out soon, so I quickly shot off a message to Dad and Colin.

You don’t need to send a search party. I’m safe with Seb. Be back soon.

Catching sight of the thread of my text conversation with Seb, I thought of the way he’d marvelled softly about the transition of our online relationship into real life.

He’d been right. All those months had become something even more now the real Seb had slotted into my memories with his dimples and his sometimes cocky, sometimes goofy grin.

We were friends . I was clinging to that now.

Except the designation didn’t feel the most appropriate after I stowed my phone and crawled into bed.

I snuggled in the heady warmth of his blankets and his body, his skin under my fingers and his scent in my nose.

Maybe we were a little more than friends.

It was a giddy prospect, that my promise of a kiss might have motivated him in one of the toughest races on the calendar, but he’d been angry with me afterwards.

We lived in opposite corners of the planet for half the year and he wanted to open a fucking B&B.

He probably wanted seven children and the Belgian equivalent of a white picket fence, but I lived for the bike.

He could only ever be a fling and the whole fake-romance thing had been a low attempt to manipulate him into staying. I’d apologise in the morning.

One thing was clear: I was overthinking what was probably nothing more than a friendship with benefits.

I wasn’t looking for romance anyway – in fact, it was probably a symptom of my undignified break-up with Gaetano that I was reading so much into Seb’s behaviour.

He hadn’t wanted me to meet his family. I couldn’t tell if he truly wanted me close or was just tolerating my advances.

Maybe he was just a good guy – with really tasty-looking shoulders.

I rolled onto my back with a disgruntled sigh. Life was so much easier when I only wanted to win races.