Inked onto her side in colour – the only colour in the photo – was a pair of flared wildflowers, their stalks bowed, with round, textured leaves emerging from a cover of snow at her waist. The image was striking, all the more so because it was on her body – it was part of her body.
Feeling pressure on my shoulder, I was almost surprised to find Colin still in the room, his arm now draped casually over me.
Norbert approached as well, gesturing to the photo. ‘This is my friend Silvia, with the Alpenglöckchen, spring flowers in the mountains where she walks.’
Something in his tone made me wonder if Silvia was a little more than a friend.
‘Would you like to see more flower designs?’
Instead of flowers, my mind produced the image of Colin’s bare chest, the dark, delicate ink of the compass pointing northeast towards Europe – or his heart.
I couldn’t keep the words in. ‘I know what I want.’
The arm over my shoulders tightened. ‘Leesa…’
‘Youbrought me here,’ I pointed out, shrugging off his arm. ‘What did you think would happen?’
‘I didn’t think I’d fall the rest of the way in love with you.’
I had to force a choppy breath into my lungs. Drawled in his usual cheeky tone, I knew better than to take his words seriously, but they still seized my heart and squeezed. There was no happy ending here, but this moment belonged to whatever it was that drew us together.
‘It doesn’t hurt too much,’ he reassured me.
‘I’m not worried. I was a cyclist, remember?’
‘I won’t forget. What are you going to get?’
I followed Norbert’s beckoning to a curtained-off reclining chair with gleaming equipment set neatly in drawers and on racks.
‘I’m not telling,’ I answered Colin over my shoulder, enjoying his hitched groan of disappointment.
‘At least tell me where.’
‘Nope!’
The curtain swished closed behind me and I took a deep breath. It felt good accepting that maybe I didn’t have to be a nice girl all the time. I couldn’t know – or rationalise – everything. I was prepared to get this wrong and screw the consequences – today, at least.
‘What’s your favourite number?’ Colin called from the other side of the curtain, making me wonder at the change of topic.
‘Nine,’ I answered without needing to think about it, while Norbert took up a sketch pad and an enormous folder of designs.
‘Really? It’s one of my recent favourites too,’ Colin replied. ‘Is it because I came ninth in last year’s Tour that you like that number so much?’
I’d forgotten he came ninth last year. I’d spent most of the men’s Tour on training camp, trying to stop Lori moping about her troubles with her boyfriend.
‘No. It’s been my favourite number since school,’ I replied. ‘It’s the base-minus-one in our number system and can be used to solve all sorts of math problems. When you add all the digits of any multiple of nine, you get another multiple of—’
‘You lost me, but it’s fuckin’ sexy when you talk about multiples,’ Colin drawled. I suspected he was trying to distract me from any lingering nerves, but I was quite bright with anticipation, despite the wicked-looking stainless-steel implements spread around the room.
‘What’s your favourite number then? Sixty-nine?’ I teased, wondering when he was going to tell me what this was about.
‘That’s my second favourite.’
Wow, if he could bottle and sell that voice, he’d have a record-breaking following on OnlyFans, if he ever wanted to stop racing. ‘What’s your favourite, then?’
He didn’t hesitate. ‘Number one, of course.’
Colin
