Chapter 12
Leesa
‘I’m not creating latte art. I don’t do that shit.’
Two seconds into my video in the breakfast room and I was already glad I had decided not to go live after all.
But Colin was – unsurprisingly – a wiz with the espresso machine, tamping the freshly ground coffee with a flourish and setting the filter in the holder with the practised hands of someone who did this every day, multiple times.
Paying careful attention, he pulled the shot with a magnificent film of downy crema and moved on to frothing milk. I caught it all on camera, including his quick smile, which was compelling enough to break hearts all over the internet.
Morgan might have been sceptical of the power of a coffee-based video, but I knew the community better. Bike ride? With a coffee break, please. Which route are we taking today? The one past the cold brew place. Big ride? Yep. Two hours in the café.
If beer was frowned upon in the pro cycling peloton (sometimes with the tongue firmly in the cheek), then coffee was seen as one of the major food groups.
During my time riding pro, coffee had gone from being a daily pick-me-up to a metabolic necessity that would preferably be injected directly into my veins – if injections of any sort weren’t such a sore point for the Union Cycliste Internationale, the governing body.
‘Can I have that one?’ I asked, hoping my voice didn’t give too much away on the video.
The little glance that was mostly eyelashes had no business being so sexy, but I was tired from a whole week of studying him in detail and, aside from the stupid moustache, everything he did caught me right in the gut – or a little lower.
‘Ask me nicely?’
‘Can you make me a coffee nicely?’
‘I’ll happily make you a coffee, but this one’s for Derek.’
The lift of his eyebrows was concerning.
‘Speaking of Derek, when are you finally going to shave—?’ My footage wobbled as I saw what he’d done with the milk. ‘I thought you said no latte art!’
‘This isn’t latte art. It’s latte graffiti.’
I followed him as he walked carefully in Derek’s direction and placed the coffee in front of his teammate.
‘Get your milk moustache with that one!’
Derek laughed. ‘Geez, man! You made me a cock-and-balls coffee? I have to drink that!’
‘Swallow it all down, mate.’
‘Aw, you’re a little boy, Gallagher!’ Nelson scrunched up his napkin and lobbed it at Colin. ‘A few manners in front of the lady!’
I gave up and stopped the footage, letting my hand drop.
‘She’s no lady. She spent years on the women’s team with my sister, who is even worse than me.’
I didn’t even know where to start. ‘No one of any gender will be interested in your cock and balls,’ I grumbled. ‘Plus, I can be a lady and a rider.’
His grin kicked me in the shins, as though I’d told him exactly what he wanted to hear.
‘Glad you remember the glory days after all,’ he quipped and tweaked my ear, brushing his fingers over the three silver studs in the lobe today.
‘Speaking of which, it’s rest day tomorrow, which means you and I have a date with a bike. ’
My reluctant smile was wiped right off my face again.
Why was he pushing this? That line I’d drawn under my career was supposed to be thick and black, to protect me from all the disappointment – and that yearning, frustrated part of me that wanted to get back on, screw my nice, neat future.
But Colin kept rubbing at it until it was blurry.
The worst part was that I could see the mountains when I closed my eyes, feel the wind on my cheeks. I was fighting myself and I couldn’t let him guess how torn I was.
‘I haven’t agreed to anything,’ I said warily. ‘I don’t have any kit.’
‘Not an excuse. You’re on a training camp. Kit abounds.’ His eyes drifted to my collarbone, a little lower, before snapping back up to my face. I imagined his neck glowed a little pink.
‘If you’re thinking that my boobs are so small I’d fit into men’s kit, you can fuck right off.’
I was not prepared for the view of him biting his lip in response. He eyeballed me, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. ‘I know how hot you look in a speedsuit, Kubicka.’
My hair stood on end and I was glad of the cheering and wolf whistles from Derek, Nelson and the others at Colin’s blatant – too blatant – attempt to butter me up. He was putting on a show to lighten the mood, that was all. I told myself that anyway.
‘What about shoes? I’m assuming you can’t solve that problem by tomorrow? Do they do next-day delivery all the way up here?’ I asked, following him back to the coffee machine, which also moved us out of earshot of the others.
‘You’re assuming I’m not already prepared. We had a deal. You aren’t about to back out, are you?’
‘I agreed to prank you in return and be… friends.’ That sounded better than repeating that I’d agreed to give a little bit of me in return for a little bit of him. ‘You haven’t exactly upheld your side.’
‘What? I’ve been playing your little performing PowerFuel monkey.’
‘Half my footage has been unusable.’ I didn’t mention that the other half was pure brilliance.
‘What more do you want? You’ll have to get in line for your pound of flesh. It’s one of the demands of the Tour.’
His graphic comment piqued my curiosity and created the perfect opportunity to introduce the subject I’d been hesitating over. ‘My supervisor says I need you to sit down for an interview.’
If there’d been a ticking clock in the breakfast room, we would have heard it. Colin’s expression was less than impressed.
‘That doesn’t sound like a fifteen-second viral video,’ he finally said. ‘I don’t think I can be entertaining in long format. I’d run out of rude jokes.’
He was playing a role. He couldn’t really believe I didn’t see through him, could he?
‘It wouldn’t be like an interview with a sports journalist. It’s for background, for sound bites we can use over the footage I’ve taken; what drives you – that sort of thing.’
His expression was still notably blank. ‘What drives me,’ he echoed with a twitch in his jaw. ‘Who gives a shit about that?’
A little bit of me for a little bit of him. I should leave him alone. God knows, with his upbringing he had to have his share of hang-ups about the sport and he was right: no one needed to see him bleed. But I felt close to understanding something; maybe there was a misguided urge to help him.
‘Colin, if it bothers you—’
‘Nah, why would it bother me?’ He broke out another smile, that roller blind crashing down over his expression. How many times had I seen that now? ‘Not as much as you learning to ride a bike again, anyway.’
Predictably, my pride rose to that one. ‘I don’t need to go back to training wheels.’
‘If you say so.’
The gauntlet had been thrown, even if he hadn’t expressed it in words: a bike ride in exchange for an interview. I was feeling reckless, but not ready to throw myself to the wolves just yet.
‘I’m not going to post anything you don’t want public,’ I assured him. ‘The sponsors don’t own you.’
He laughed, but it was a chuckle so dark I glanced up at him in alarm.
‘Don’t they?’ But he cleared his throat and flashed me a crooked smile obviously designed to cover his wobble.
‘But okay, let’s do an interview.’ He paused, regarding me a little too intently.
‘After you’ve held up your side of the bargain and come with me on a ride tomorrow.
You can record whatever you like. Wouldn’t that be a great feature?
Learning to love cycling again after the trauma of a pro career. ’
‘“Trauma” is a pretty strong word,’ I said carefully.
‘Don’t you think it fits?’
‘This is about you,’ I insisted.
‘I want to make it about you and me.’
I gritted my teeth against a desperate retort. ‘No one wants that.’
‘Are you sure?’
There wasn’t enough air in this room and, not for the first time, I wished I were still immune to his strange variety of raw charm. A flicker of his amused smile and I snapped out of it, sucking in an enormous overdue breath.
‘My supervisor wants me to do an interview. I’m not interrogating you for my own pleasure.’
‘That would be a weird kink, but I can think of a lot of other things I’d rather do for pleasure.’
I opened my mouth to tell him off, but he continued.
‘Like an epic descent on the bike tomorrow,’ he finished. ‘You can remember who you really are.’
‘I was never the great cyclist you’re trying to make me out to be. In case you’ve forgotten, I quit!’
That word finally hit home, his expression turning serious – almost hurt. ‘You’re stronger than that.’
‘Reality begs to differ.’
‘Reality isn’t what’s stopping you getting on a bike.’ His belligerent tone took me aback, but it was a crack in his usual persona and I wanted to peer inside more than was wise. ‘An interview for a bike ride. That’s fair, Kubicka.’
‘I don’t know why you’re so set on this—’
He cut me off with his next words, as agitated as he had been before he’d fallen asleep in my bed. ‘I’ll shave off the moustache as well. You can film it.’ He flashed his eyebrows at me once, as though he wanted to end this conversation as badly as I did.
It was just one ride. It didn’t mean I’d regress and give up my future for this sport again.
Maybe I’d built this up too much in my mind and going on this one ride would prove it wasn’t something that would affect the chemistry of my brain and make me miserable.
He was right, getting some GoPro footage from a helmet camera was a good idea – as was a shaving video.
‘I suppose I can’t say no to that,’ I answered carefully. ‘But the moustache comes off today.’
‘As you wish,’ he said with an expansive nod. ‘Here’s your coffee.’
I accepted the peace offering for what it was, sharing the moment of relief as neither of us moved. Then I thought to study the froth on top, thankfully finding no evidence of a cock and balls. ‘I appreciate you resisting temptation.’
He pouted at me. ‘Can’t you see the bike wheel?’
I looked again. ‘Oh, I think I see it now. Maybe?’
Clapping a hand against his chest, he said, ‘Harsh, Kubicka. That’s harsh.’
‘You claimed you don’t do latte art and it’s kind of fitting that your entire recognisable repertoire consists of cock and balls.’
‘I can do butts too, but I didn’t want to tempt you.’
‘Go on, choose him. I know you’re going to.’
Colin had sprung this on me. Before I could film the demise of the moustache, apparently I had to adjudicate in the competition.
Now I stood in the corridor outside the room he shared with Amir, facing off against two gangly cyclists with matching lip fluff, no idea how delicate I had to be with their egos. Nellie and Amir were avidly observing.
‘Are you suggesting I’m a partial judge?’ I accused, delaying the decision for another few moments.
He chuckled, but didn’t look at me, simply stood next to Derek with his hands clasped in front of him. ‘Yep,’ he confirmed.
‘Surely the two of you can sort this out without requiring a kindergarten teacher to settle the dispute. I just want them gone. Humanity can thank me later.’
Colin brushed his fingertips thoughtfully over the pale-reddish whiskers and regarded Derek critically.
‘It’s an important lesson to learn, you know,’ Colin declared, ‘how to lose with grace.’
‘Have you actually learned that?’ Nelson asked doubtfully.
‘Shut up, Nellie. I’m prepared to demonstrate.
’ He cleared his throat ponderously, hitched up his pants and then turned to give Derek a thump on the back hard enough to make him stumble.
‘Nice ’tache, mate. Well done!’ He offered his hand in one of those bro handshakes, since normal handshakes apparently weren’t macho enough.
‘You can grow a real moustache – a fine one.’
God, he was good. I had whiplash; one minute he was brewing a cock-and-balls coffee and the next he was building genuine rapport with a junior member of the team, although I was pretty sure he didn’t mean for anyone to know he was serious.
He grinned, his usual cheeky number. Stretching his arms out wide, he gave a bow. ‘You have learned from the master,’ he murmured. ‘You going to keep yours if mine has to go?’ he asked Derek.
I suspected Colin had never looked so uncertain at Derek’s age. ‘What do you think? Does it look any good?’ Derek’s gaze darted to me, but Colin grabbed his arm and turned him away, inspecting him critically.
‘I think you can rock it.’
I rolled my eyes, making sure Derek caught the action.
‘Don’t listen to her,’ Colin continued with a dismissive flick of his fingers. ‘I have no choice, but you keep that ’tache if you want to.’
‘I’m a bit worried if the only woman in the room is advising against it,’ Derek said with a dry smile. Good man, he was learning not to trust Colin on everything.
‘Nah, she secretly loves mine,’ Colin insisted, biting his lip and shooting me a wink that zinged rather annoyingly right through the centre of my body.
‘She’ll be sad to see it go. In fact, I bet she’ll stop me before I get the razor near my face.
This moustache makes me irresistible – right, Lees? ’
‘Yes,’ I said sweetly. ‘It’s impossible to resist teasing you, when it looks like you smeared peaches and cream on your lip.’
Nelson and Amir hooted with laughter, but Colin stepped closer to me, his gaze never leaving my face, and I couldn’t help feeling as though whatever this was, it wasn’t over yet.
‘Peaches and cream, hmm?’ he repeated slowly, tugging one lip into his mouth for the briefest moment. ‘Sounds delicious.’
My skin went up in flames, culminating at my hairline, as he stood, hesitating expectantly.
‘You coming, Kubicka?’ He gestured to the door of his room.
‘Hmm?’
‘Don’t you want to record this, for your viewers or continuity or whatever?’
Not really, now that my stomach was twisted in knots and my brain was hanging on an image of his serious eyes that I was certain no one else could see. Or I was fixating on his lips with too much curiosity.
He’d scraped off too many layers of my outer shell to do this right now, but it seemed I didn’t have a choice.