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This season was my last, one long goodbye to my top-level career, such as it was. I might never get another chance to saddle up in the greatest races on the continent, against the best of the best in European and world cycling – a chance I’d never thought I’d have.

In all my years on the World Team circuit, I’d never attended a training camp quite like this one.

I’d been to Girona – of course I’d been to Girona.

Every cyclist has been to Girona at least once.

I’d never been on a camp where the women’s team trained at the same time in the same place.

Some of my previous teams hadn’t even had a women’s division, the short-sighted idiots.

But even that wasn’t the biggest difference.

The difference was me .

It was refreshing to have nothing to lose. Last year, my previous contract hadn’t been renewed – not exactly unexpected, but still not my choice. Then Tony Gallagher had come along and given me this one last hurrah with the Harper-Stacked team.

I would turn 35 this year and bow out with grace, knowing the decision had been mine.

If I was completely honest, that wasn’t the biggest difference either. Lori Gallagher stood 5 m away and my nervous system was firing like an animal shape shifter sensing its mate – which felt as ridiculous as it sounded.

She was hot – that wasn’t in question. Her lower lip alone was enough to give me daydreams for years to come. Add in the dips and swells of her body, all strength and resilience wrapped in winter-weight skintight cycling gear, and I saw stars every time I glanced at her.

I’d never lost my shit over a beautiful woman, but the effect of Lori Gallagher defied all expectations of myself, even though there was a simple explanation – an explanation that made it all the more imperative not to get carried away thinking about her.

She reminded me unexpectedly of Folklore. Every time that word rose in my thoughts, my chest squeezed and my thoughts tangled and I was back in November, waiting impatiently for her to join the server, my heart already racing, even though we hadn’t started training.

My feelings had nothing to do with Lori Gallagher, but telling myself so wasn’t enough for my heart. I needed to keep away from her, or I’d make an even bigger fool of myself – if that were possible.

I couldn’t decide what was more embarrassing: being found by Lori Gallagher in the forest with a sex doll or the way I’d lost all ability to speak when she’d leaned over me with a frown, all freckled cheeks and enormous eyes – to say nothing of the awful conversation in the breakfast room this morning.

Hopefully, she merely thought I was a huge fan, which was also true.

She was one of the most successful female cyclists of the past five years.

I’d watched her bash her way through Paris-Roubaix last year for third place, covered head to toe in mud, except for the bit of her thigh where the skin had been scraped open in a crash.

She’d got back on the bike after that crash and almost knocked over Gosia Zielinski in her fight to break away from the peloton.

Actually, that did sound a bit like Folklore99. But my virtual training partner had been… normal. Lori Gallagher had a reputation as a cutthroat competitor, right down to her choice of boyfriend the previous year – Gaetano Maggioli, Olympic time trial champion. And she was firmly ignoring me now.

I was projecting. I’d just got my heart broken by a person who didn’t even exist the way I thought she did.

It was a sad indication of the state of my heart, if I’d handed it over to an avatar of a cyclist who could have been anyone.

I missed her more than was healthy and my synapses had connected the wrong ends until it was my new teammate inciting rushing blood and a racing heartbeat.

She couldn’t actually be my online friend, even if her name sort of sounded like Folklore and she said ‘fuck’ a lot in that broad Australian accent. Maybe everyone in Australia said ‘fuck’ a lot.

I was so distracted I didn’t notice what was going on with the rest of the men’s team until the pointed snickering made me turn to find every last gaze trained on me. Perhaps I’d find Matilda’s twin sister ready for me today. I had a threesome joke ready to go.

But there was no shrivelled sex doll attached to my bike this time. Instead, pastel spoke beads clinked gently as Colin pushed it towards me and colourful streamers fluttered in the breeze below the handlebars. He’d turned my sexy aero bike into a ride for a five-year-old.

Not wanting to encourage the cocky kid, I stifled my smile. ‘We’re Barbie and Ken today, yes? You know Ken is French slang for fucking?’

As I clapped Colin on the arm, a prickle on the back of my neck made me peer over my shoulder. Lori Gallagher was staring at me as though she’d recently made plans to watch the Barbie film with an online friend, but had never got there because she’d ghosted him.

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 and my 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 and an 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’.