Page 58 of Don't Brake My Heart
He nodded.
‘For all of them?’
‘Just one.’
I couldn’t help but ask. ‘The dragon?’
He shook his head. ‘The compass.’
That was all he had to say for me to remember him sprawled on my bed, his hair mussed.
‘Leesa? Are you coming back with me?’
I turned to find Wil approaching hesitantly. My face was hot, wondering how much she’d seen.
‘I’ve just convinced Leesa to get the tattoo she’s been planning for years.’
I froze, ready to sock Colin in the guts, although preferably without witnesses. He nudged me in the back, an unsubtle plea to go along with him.
‘I’ll bring her back. She doesn’t want anything big, so we won’t be long.’
‘Uh, okay then,’ Wil said, her expression doubtful. I pasted on a smile, which seemed to be enough for her. ‘See you later.’
Remaining frozen until Wil disappeared around the corner, I whirled on Colin. ‘What did you say that for?’
‘It’s a great cover story. You got the tattoo, not me.’
‘Except that I won’t have an actual tattoo!’
He shrugged, trying not to smile. ‘You just say it’s somewhere under your clothes that no one can see. Easy.’ He seemed to like the idea of that. ‘Or you could really get a tattoo.’
He wasn’t serious, but my skin prickled at my hairline as I remembered all the girls in the team getting matching tattoos and me, watching, unable to take the plunge without at least a month of thinking time – then spending two years regretting my decision.
‘You know you want one. You could take the appointment.’
‘You are a menace,’ I grated out.
‘But I’m good, right? Are you going to save me?’
The way his words so often wedged deep, I was in a lot of trouble. ‘Let’s just go inside.’
15 June, three years ago
Leesa
I showed up to the press conference before the women’s Tour de Suisse with eyes like sandpaper and a body that believed it was one in the morning – local time in Denver, where I’d just flown in from. No one would have any questions for me anyway. They only wanted to talk to Lori.
I only hoped I stayed mostly out of the shot. I’d swiped on some eye make-up but, given my barely five hours of uncomfortable sleep last night, I couldn’t say whether I’d achieved Taylor Swift or Amy Winehouse. My hair was an oily mess, but I couldn’t wash it because I hadn’t had time for it to dry. A blow-dryer always resulted in spongy frizz instead of the complex curls I had to work hard to maintain.
As I hoped, the questions passed me by and my job was simply to make sure Lori didn’t look as though she had no friends – not that we were friends exactly. It was more begrudging respect between us, which I’d learned not to analyse.
I would never understand these Gallaghers.
Speaking of Gallaghers, I thought for a moment it was just my scratchy eyes, but a blink and a rub proved I wasn’t imagining it: there was Colin, lounging against the back wall with his usual laid-back stoop. The men’s race was ongoing and he really should have been resting before today’s stage. His gaze flickered over me and away again quickly, making me worried I had something on my face.
‘A question for Leesa Kubicka!’
Huh?I blinked wildly to try to switch my brain on as the reporter continued speaking.
