Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(39)

I agreed and hung up, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d manage. It’d been one day since I’d nearly had my wicked way with Andie in the bathroom at the cocktail party. Keeping my distance for the remainder of the party and then again during the opening ceremonies was testing my patience in new and unusual ways. I’d already replayed every encounter we’d had in my mind and a bloke can only wank it so many times before it starts to feel shameful.

I’d nearly texted her the night before after returning from the opening ceremonies. It was late and I was missing her, wondering if she’d had a good time carrying the flag. I’d tried to find her during the Parade of Nations, but Great Britain and the United States were separated by too many countries to make it possible.

“Mate, honestly,” Thom shouted. “Come get this bacon or I’m going to chuck it out the window.”

I laughed and walked out into the living room to find Thom standing at the open window, ready to haul the bacon out onto unsuspecting pedestrians. I yanked the pan out of his hand and plated it beside the eggs he’d made as well.

“We’ve got practice in fifteen and then afternoon workout after,” he said, reading our team’s itinerary off his phone.

I shook my head. “I’ve talked it over with Coach already. I’m going to work out this evening instead.”

He glanced up. “What? Why?”

“There’s a soccer match I want to attend.”





CHAPTER TWENTY


Andie




I COULDN’T SLEEP the night before our first game. I’d lain in bed worrying about my wrist and wishing the dull ache would go away on its own. I was nervous about the game. I could stop a ball like no other woman in America, but I didn’t trust my wrist. I knew that at any time, my sprain could take a turn and I’d be benched, or worse. I tried to find a sleeping position that offered some comfort, but in the end, I’d lain like a mummy staring up at the ceiling, willing sleep to take me.

When the alarm beside my bed blared three annoying chimes at 6:30 AM, I threw off my blankets with a plan. I’d take three Advil and have the trainer compress my wrist even tighter than usual. It needed to be secure if I was expected to stop balls hurtling toward me at 60 mph. I didn’t care about the pain? but I wanted my mind clear and focused.

I was sitting up on the trainer’s table when I glanced to the section in the stands where the Olympic Committee had placed the athletes. It was expected that athletes from different sports would show up to support one another in different events, to the extent that the TV channels demanded they be squashed together. Thus, with one quick pan of the camera, viewers at home could see them all—including Freddie Archibald—at once. He was wedged in between a few other athletes in the front row, sporting a neutral white button-down and jeans. When he saw me glance over, he smiled.

“What are you doing here?” I mouthed. My words were mixed with savvy hand gestures, and after two more tries, he finally understood my question.

He pointed to me with a shrug. I was too far away to make out his dimples, but his smile sent a warm swell through me, momentarily numbing my nerves. My family was a million miles away and the only friends I had in Rio were about to take the field with me. Except Freddie. The stands were packed with screaming fans, but Freddie was the only person there for me.

“Good luck,” he mouthed with a thumbs up.

I nodded. “Thanks.”





HE WAS GONE by the time the game ended and I walked off the field sweaty, bone-tired, and cradling my wrist. Adrenaline proved to be the best drug for the pain, but I knew once the shock of our first victory wore off, I’d be in a world of hurt. I stood over the trashcan near the trainer’s table, slowly unwrapping the tape between long swallows of my sports drink.

“Good game,” Liam said, patting my shoulder as he trailed behind Coach Decker. Kinsley and Becca were right behind him, but they waited until I’d finished unwrapping my wrist before the three of us walked out of the stadium. We looked like a bunch of zombies, and we definitely smelled like them. My jersey stuck to my skin, and though I tried to pry it away, nothing seemed to help.

Once I returned to the condo, I called my mom and tried to recount the entire game as best as possible, but my heart was still racing and my delivery was choppy.

“Your father and I watched the whole thing, sweetie. You played so well.”

“Thanks. The crowd here in Rio was the loudest I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh! Speaking of the crowd, you’ll never guess who we saw in the stands!”

I already knew the answer, but I humored her nonetheless. “Who?”

“The duke! Frederick Archibald! Can you believe it? Your meemaw said everyone on the news was speculating about why he was there. It would have made sense if you were playing Great Britain, but he must have been there to watch a friend or something. I swear the cameras showed him nearly as much as they showed the game.”

“Maybe he just likes soccer,” I offered.

She hummed. “Maybe, but he could have just watched it on the CBS.”

I smiled. “Listen, I need to shower. I’m about to lose consciousness from my own stench.”

I promised I’d call her again the next day and she promised to watch the news for any mention of Frederick’s attendance. After I hung up, I stripped off my jersey and threw it into my dirty clothes hamper. I went into the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go, feeling my muscles starting to ache from the game. There’d been a few hard blocks and diving saves. I could already feel the bruises forming as I rubbed my hands down my arms, massaging the muscles as I went. I stepped into the shower, wincing at the temperature, but left it there nonetheless. The water beat down my back as I rolled my neck and shoulders out. My wrist was a little swollen and tender to the touch, so I left it by my side and shampooed my hair with my other hand, lathering up twice before sliding it down to the rest of my body.