Page 45 of Don't Brake My Heart
He grinned, leaning his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers between. ‘You’re so much nicer to me than Leesa.’
Even though I knew Morgan was supportive, a shiver of unease still snaked up my spine.
‘Whatever she’s doing, it’s getting results, so I’m all in favour of Leesa being a hardass,’ Morgan said with a chuckle. ‘The footage is really something.’
Was there a hint in Morgan’s tone? Colin’s gaze slid to me, as though he’d sensed it too. Although I’d been careful to edit out anything too personal, every time I watched the video of Colin shaving, or my GoPro shots from Friday’s ride, I worried it was obvious we’d had our tongues down each other’s throats off camera.
‘I think you should set up your phone to take a close-up,’ Morgan continued. ‘It would be a shame to waste that bone structure on a wide shot.’
Colin pointed at my phone, peering up at me. ‘You never compliment my bone structure. Are you still learning from your supervisor?’
‘You have a lovely skull, Colin,’ I responded drily.
Morgan guffawed. ‘I cannot wait to see this interview, you two. It’s looking good, so go get personal!’
I waved to Morgan and ended the call so I could set up the close shot.
‘Morgan’s nice,’ Colin commented, a smile in his voice.
‘I’m lucky they’re understanding. They noticed you and I have… rapport.’
‘Is that what we have? I was going to say chemistry.’
‘We don’t want anything to show up in your drugs testing,’ I quipped with a straight face, keeping my gaze on the phone in its tripod, rather than on Colin’s grin.
‘I could get disqualified from the Tour. Traces of Leesa Kubicka in my blood, one of the strongest substances known to sport. For the first time in my life I might be interested in doping.’ I hoped he didn’t know how his words rippled through me when he spoke in that low, smooth tone.
‘Except I doubt it would be performance-enhancing,’ I managed to warn him.
‘I dunno. It could be.’
I couldn’t be certain what he meant by ‘it’, but my mind immediately returned to that moment on Friday, his hand tugging at my hair and his body pressing me into the ground. If someone had told me a week ago that I’d be rolling in the grass with Colin Gallagher and it would be the single hottest moment of my life, I would have laughed them out of town.
Taking a deep breath, I started the phone recording and settled in the chair by the camera. Colin fidgeted, rubbing his hands together.
‘Got your scalpel ready?’
‘This is an interview, not a flaying.’
He met my gaze with amusement. ‘What do you want me to say? PowerFuel gives me wings?’
I ignored him. ‘Why do you think you’ve had such good form this year?’
‘I’m just getting better with age,’ he responded flippantly. ‘Like expensive whisky.’
‘I’m not asking for secrets,’ I said with a sigh. I’d tried to warm him up gently, but the worry was returning – worry that I’d screw this up, because of this inconvenientchemistrybetween us.
‘Then the answer is: I don’t know. We’ve always had great training personalised on data. If I knew how to do this every year, I would have done it before.’
I recognised the edge to his voice.
‘Sorry,’ he said, shooting me a quick glance. ‘I’m doing shit. You want some motivational crap, right?’
I couldn’t tear my eyes off him, wondering if this darkness had always been there and how people didn’t seem to notice it – how I’d never noticed it.
‘What keeps you going when it hurts?’ The question wasn’t planned, but I couldn’t stop it from tumbling out.
‘Stubbornness,’ he answered, eyeballing the camera as though he couldn’t bring himself to look at me. ‘Pride. Spite, occasionally. Spite is a powerful motivator.’
