Fuck, it hurt.
I deserved the pain today, tricking Leesa into getting a tattoo, letting her think she’d saved me from the same fate, even though I’d had no intention of leaving here without new ink.
But, truthfully, I was a wimp with tattoos. The road could rip my skin open, I could push my muscles until I had bushfires raging in my legs, even my broken collarbone hadn’t reduced me to tears, but the needle spiking my skin over and over again turned me into a whining, bleating weakling and it was a good thing she was behind a curtain and couldn’t see me right now. Norbert had turned on some heavy rock music and she couldn’t hear me either – thankfully.
‘Zitto, ragazzo. Tutto va bene,’ Olga crooned, one of her hands gentle on my back as the other held the gun steady.
For the fiftieth time, I glanced at the curtain, wishing I knew what was going on in there. It was her first tattoo and I’d got her there, even though it had taken some well-meaning subterfuge.
‘Ungh,’ I grunted as Olga started up again after a brief pause.
‘The boy is growing up?’ she asked with a smile in her voice. I had no idea what language Olga spoke natively, but she’d switched back to Italian once Leesa was out of the room.
‘Apparently not,’ I said, my voice high as I struggled to lie still. ‘That needle still freaks me out,’ I added in English.
She chuckled and I hoped her hand was steady. ‘I meant you found a girl.’
That assumption tightened up everything that wasn’t already tense inside me. ‘I found her, but that doesn’t mean I can keep her. She’s just here for her job.’
‘She’s notherefor her job, is she?’
A twinge of something powerful in my chest. ‘No, but she’s not here for me. It’s fair enough.’ But I wanted to be here for her.
The sound of voices carried through the curtain, but my thoughts were dim and I couldn’t work out what they were saying. A moment later, the curtain drew aside and there she stood, a bright smile on her face that punched the air out of my lungs – a smile that quickly faded when she saw me.
‘Colin!’ I felt like the luckiest man in the world when she said my name, even in that disbelieving tone. ‘You told me if I got a tattoo, I’d stopyoufrom getting one!’
‘Yeah, well,’ I managed through a grimace, ‘I lied.’
‘It’s small,’ Olga assured her, looking up from her work. ‘It will heal quickly.’
‘What is—?’ The way she cut off her sentence with a strangled sound suggested she’d seen it. She didn’t have to be quite so horrified.
‘Relax, Kubicka,’ I grumbled. ‘It’s my number for the Tour this year. Nine for the team and one for my rider number.’ At least it was a convenient coincidence. ‘Did you think I’d tattooed your favourite number on my arse?’
Her spluttered response would have been more satisfying if I’d been telling the whole truth.
‘I can’t believe you got a number tattooed on your ass two weeks before the Tour de France,’ she said, her voice high.
‘It’ll make me faster. I promise.’ I shot her a smile. ‘And it’s not quite my arse, as you can see.’ It was right at the top of the slope of my butt. All Olga had had to do was pull my shorts down a bit.
‘I am taking no responsibility for this,’ Leesa said, scrunching her hair at her temples as though she were about to pull out a handful – because of me.
‘Of course it’s nothing to do with you,’ I lied as smoothly as I could.
As Olga finished up her work, the next few weeks yawned before me and I struggled to stay still. I’d made the tattoo appointment in a moment of restlessness, the team, my dad, my fixation on Leesa Kubicka all too much.
It didn’t take a genius – like her – to work out that she wouldn’t be happy to know she was affecting my head, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I couldn’t seem to stay away from her – I didn’twantto. After the Tour, she’d be gone from my life – maybe this time for good.
I’d already said goodbye to her once and it had been so awful I hadn’t known what to say.
She was quiet, her arms crossed, as I drove the team car back to the hotel in the golden light of the early evening. I had to confess – only to myself – that my fresh tattoo was uncomfortable when I sat in the driver’s seat. I had a feeling I’d regret this one one day.
‘Are you going to tell me what tattoo you got? Or did you chicken?’
‘I did not chicken,’ she answered with her chin in the air.
‘Of course you didn’t.’ It was a miracle I could say anything, my lungs were so tight. ‘Can I see it?’
