‘Easy.’ Steadying her with my left hand around the back of her head, I swiped with my right until the poor little creature finally managed to free itself and zing back into the grass. I released a deep breath, reluctantly unwinding her hair from my fingers.
‘I promise, there was really a grasshopper and I didn’t produce it from my pocket on purpose.’
She popped one eye open.
‘In fact,’ I continued smoothly, ‘I think this makes me your hero.’
She drew back and eyed me. ‘I think it makes up foroneof your previous pranks.’
Six years down the line, it was still true: Leesa Kubicka was way too classy for me. ‘Which prank does it make up for? The fake bug in the light fitting was funny – admit it. I think maybe I’ve compensated for one of the worse ones.’
‘What? The cling-wrap incident?’
‘Thatwas harmless. Like the moustache bet. It’s not hurting anyone.’
‘Except my eyes,’ she mumbled. ‘But admit it: you’re trying to make Derek feel small.’
That pricked under my skin. It made me uncomfortable to think that was her opinion of me, but it was fair enough. ‘I told you it’s not a competition, not really. I don’t care who has the bushiest.’
‘Then why are you making him do it?’
Tension crept up my spine at the prospect of explaining. ‘The kid needs a bit of confidence. Yeah, he’s my support rider for the Tour, but he’s good. I want him to feel like he’s good enough to compete with me.’
She didn’t respond for a long moment. I glanced from my feet up into her face, awaiting judgement, but she was regarding me warily, as though she might believe me. ‘That’s… a worthy reason for mangling your faces with those things. As long as Derek realises it’s ugly.’
‘I tell him every day. But mine is a sexy little dirtbag moustache, so I think I’m rocking it.’
She shot me a doubtful look that was mostly a smile. We’d started walking again at some point after the grasshopper incident, but I hadn’t noticed. I could barely see anything when she had her eyes on me.
‘I’m not sure “sexy little dirtbag moustache” is on-brand for the client. I still think it’ll have to go.’
‘All right, but you’ll only have one chance to find out if it prickles when you kiss me.’
She rolled her eyes and I should have been relieved we were back on even ground with the fake flirting. ‘You need to give up on that joke. We both know you’re not going to let me kiss you.’
I strongly disagreed, but I let her think it.
‘Do you expect me to believe that all your pranks are for a good cause?’
‘I wouldn’t exactly say a good cause, but you know how it is. Training, testing, racing, recovering. It’s intense. It’s gotta stay fun somehow.’
She peered at me as though she knew something I didn’t and it gave me goosebumps. ‘That’s a good point. But what about that sex doll and all the stuff you pulled last year on Seb?’
She was way too sharp. ‘The sex doll was funny, but I admit, programming the wrong destination into his bike computer was low. I honestly didn’t think he’d get all the way up the mountain.’ It was odd thinking back to a time before my sister and Seb had got together, since it felt like their golden wedding anniversary already. ‘I was getting vibes from him,’ I grumbled. ‘I knew he’d be trouble for Lori.’
‘You know how badly that backfired, right? That was when she slept with him the first time, after she had to go collect him.’
‘Too much information,’ I said with a grimace. ‘I did apologise to him later. He’s practically my brother-in-law now, so he got the last laugh.’
She was quiet beside me for long enough that I could tell she was dropping back into complicated terrain in her busy brain.
I saw my chance. ‘I’m sorry for this morning. When I stopped to think about it, I could see it was a shitty thing to do.’
That got her attention. Her eyes were big and a little sad. The squeeze in my throat was back. It wasn’t fair that she was hurting – that she’d had to leave the sport we both loved because of the patriarchy and it wasn’t fair that there was nothing I could do about it.
‘Are you going to try to tell me it was for a good cause?’
The images from the video I’d made flashed in my mind, along with her graphic descriptor for her career: failure-porn. But telling her she should be proud of herself when she was hurting wouldn’t be productive and it wasn’t my only reason either.
