Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(15)

The noise from their condo could be heard even before I stepped off the elevator. I double-checked the Facebook invite and confirmed that the rowdy, bass-filled condo was the one I was supposed to be heading toward. 312. I offered a soft knock on the door though I knew it would go unheard. After another try, I turned the handle and stepped inside, surprised by the butterflies that swarmed my stomach as I entered.

Though the music was blaring, the condo was far less crowded than the Rubik’s Cube party had been the night before. There were a few guys in the kitchen mixing up a batch of sangria in a cooler on the floor. They waved me in and pointed to the living room where the rest of the party unfolded before me.

The soccer guys had pushed all the furniture aside to make room for three poker tables. I was running a little late, so the first two tables were already full of people drinking and talking and waving at me as I passed. I slid through the gaps in the chairs and headed for the last table where four empty chairs were waiting to be claimed.

I was about to take a seat when a hand reached out to grab my arm. I turned over my shoulder and came face to face with a tan, smiling guy I recognized from the Facebook invite. I couldn’t remember his name, but he was definitely on the Portuguese national team.

“Hey,” he said warmly.

He looked handsome, but it was hard to tell with the throwback green visor on his head—a prop for poker night. A few other guys around the living room had them on as well.

“Hey. I’m Andie.”

He shook my hand and did a poor job of concealing his gaze as it slid down my body.

“Andie Foster,” he said with a smile. “I was hope to having you here.” He spoke in choppy English with a thick, seductive accent.

He pulled my chair out for me and took one of the open seats beside me.

“I’m Nathan Drake.”

My brows rose in shock. Nathan Drake was a popular name and though I hadn’t noticed him at first—probably because of his visor—I’d definitely seen him on a few commercials; he was a heavily sponsored European soccer player in the same stratosphere as David and Liam.

My reaction to his name made him smile wider, revealing a pair of perfectly straight teeth and a single dimple that rimmed the edge of his lips. I was staring there as he spoke up again.

“You have done poker playing before?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not recently, but I’m hoping I can keep up.”

I glanced around the table to check out my competition. Poker was a wise choice for an international party, as the game could be played primarily with universal hand signals and gestures. Fortunately, no one seemed like they’d be taking the game too seriously, and Nathan assured me we wouldn’t be playing with real money.

Our table was split evenly between three girls and three boys.

“That is Tatiana and Sarah,” he said, pointing to two girls across the table. “Eric and Jorge.” I waved and smiled as he introduced everyone I’d be playing with for the next few hours. The majority in attendance were Portuguese athletes, but Eric was an American rower and Tatiana was a Russian diver.

Nathan started shuffling the cards. “We will starting soon. There is a few people still to arrive.”

“Sangria estará pronto em breve!” cheered the guys mixing the fruity wine in the kitchen.

They started passing out small cups filled with the concoction as more guests filtered inside, filling the empty seats. The sangria looked good but smelled like equal parts brandy to wine, so I politely declined a cup. Kinsley, though overbearing at times, was right about our early morning practice; I didn’t need to be throwing up liquor while we did our workout.

“Sabe Frederick?” Nathan asked. “The swimmer?”

I pulled my attention from the room and glanced over. Nathan was beaming over at me, proud of himself for something.

“Um, yeah I know him, sort of. Why?”

He smiled wider. “He’s coming. Is the guest special for the evening.” He hesitated through the sentence, trying out the words for what seemed like the first time. Freddie was going to be a special guest?

My gut clenched at the thought and I stood from my chair like someone had lit a fire beneath me.

“What is wrong?” Nathan asked, staring up at me.

I shook my head and frowned just as the front door opened again. One of the British swimmers I’d seen in the food court walked in with Freddie right behind him. Everyone greeted them excitedly, but my heart rioted in my chest at the sight. He could slip on a pair of jeans and a gray Henley t-shirt. He could put a baseball cap on and pretend like he was Freddie, not Frederick, but I knew better. He had a certain charm about him—a faultless charm he was fully aware of—and when he glanced across the room and leveled me with his dark gaze beneath the rim of his hat, I knew it’d be a hopeless cause to try and get over him by flirting with a few soccer players.

There was no getting over him.

I wasn’t surprised when he slipped past open seats at the other tables and made his way toward me. I wasn’t surprised when he stopped at the seat beside mine, standing a foot away and stealing my comfort, my resolve, and my senses as he pulled the chair out from the table. I tried to focus down on the green felt, but it was no use. I still caught a whiff of his cologne—or maybe it was his body wash; I couldn’t tell. It was subtle but strong, and I found myself wishing for a stuffy nose so I wouldn’t have to keep smelling it. We get it. You’re a duke and you smell divine. Did he need to keep rubbing it in?