Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(36)

Andie: Stay the hell away from me.



I didn’t reply; I turned off my mobile and slipped it into my back pocket. The party had only just begun, otherwise I would have left and taken a cab back to the village. If I left then, the media would spin it into something it wasn’t. The media consultant I’d ditched earlier found me at the bar after I’d ordered a drink. She’d become a nervous wreck; apparently disappearing for thirty minutes at the start of a party will do that to them.

“Mr. Archibald are you prepared for your interviews? I tried to find you earlier, but then—”

“I was here,” I lied.

“Oh. Right. Of course.” She fidgeted with the clipboard she had clutched to her chest. “Well, everyone is waiting near the foyer if you’ll just…”

I turned and took the drink from the bartender’s hand before he’d even extended it my way. I needed two more, but I didn’t dare ask, not when I caught Andie out of the corner of my eye, chatting with a reporter at the other end of the bar. She was beautiful and flush from the last thirty minutes and the lucky wanker she was talking to leaned in closer, probably spewing some excuse about how hard it was to hear over the crowd. She laughed and I turned away.

“Let’s go.”





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Andie




I WOULD HAVE let Freddie f*ck me in that bathroom. I wanted him to do it. He had me caged up against the sink. I could feel how much he wanted me. His hips were right there, pushing up against mine and driving me to the brink of madness. I thought he’d toss me up onto the counter and tear my dress in two—all right, that’s a little Tarzan, even for me, but still. I’d been right there with him, ready to let it happen, and then he’d turned away as if suddenly he wasn’t interested. Suddenly, it wasn’t worth the trouble.

Fuck him. I’d come to win games, not just play them.

After the cocktail party, I’d laid in bed stewing over the turn of events and replaying what it’d felt like to have his hands on me. I had been the one to push away first. I was the one trying to keep my distance. How dare he pull that stunt and then leave me like that with his hand up my dress and my heart on my sleeve?

Like I said, f*ck him.

“Andie! Is that water running in there? Are you showering again?!” Kinsley yelled.

I leaned forward and turned off the faucet, letting the last few drops hit the back of my head.

“What the hell are you doing in there?”

“Nothing! I’ll be out soon!”

Yes, I’d already showered twice that morning, but it was Freddie’s fault. I’d woken up with fantasies playing on repeat in my head (the dirty kind with a happy ending). I’d shoved the blankets aside and run to the bathroom to wash the shame off my body and then I’d tried to go on about my day. I’d returned a phone call from my parents, answered emails, and looked over the opening ceremonies itinerary they’d handed out the day before.

Then, like a dirty little habit, I started thinking about Freddie again. I closed my eyes, imagined what it would have been like if I’d slipped my hand past his belt and tried to affect him as much as he’d affected me, and yes, I couldn’t help it; I touched myself at 8:02 AM. Obviously, I’m a terrible person. I’d had two orgasms and no breakfast and I was showering again and hating Freddie for making me crazy.

By the time I walked out of my room, dressed for the opening ceremonies, I couldn’t even make eye contact with Kinsley and Becca for fear they’d find an admission in my eyes. They were in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, so I took a seat at the dining table and dropped my phone next to a red beret we were supposed to wear during the ceremonies.

“MORNING SUNSHINE!” Becca said. “Feeling squeaky clean now that you’ve used up all the water in the whole complex?”

I nodded.

“Want some granola and yogurt?” Kinsley asked.

I nodded again.

“You make our ceremony outfits look really cute,” Kinsley said.

She was lying; the outfits were way over the top. The Olympic committee had enlisted a young designer, Lorena Lefray, and she’d decided that every athlete from the United States should rock a bright red jumpsuit. I felt like I was about to parachute out of an airplane so, yeah, clearly, I didn’t understand high fashion.

“Thanks,” I muttered, staring out past the living room window. I could just barely make out the mountain range in the distance.

Kinsley and Becca carried over our bowls of granola and took their seats at the table. For the first half of breakfast, I ate in silence, more than happy to listen to their conversation take place without me.

“What’s wrong?” Kinsley asked. “You’ve hardly touched your granola when most mornings you almost eat the spoon on accident.”

“I’m just not that hungry.”

“Are you having cramps?”

I shook my head.

“Diarrhee-ree?”

I smiled. “No.”

“She’s lonely,” Becca offered.

“No I’m not.”

“When’s the last time you felt the touch of a man, Andie?” Kinsley asked.

I squeezed my eyes closed. “Never,” I lied. “I’ve never felt the touch of a man. Let’s drop this.”