Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(44)

“How’s the shoulder?” he asked as we carried our workout bags over to the water fountain.

I shrugged. “Better than yesterday. That ice really helped.”

He laughed. “The ice on your shoulder, or that kiss with Andie?”

Andie.

Andie. Andie. Andie.

I shouldn’t have kissed her in the training center the day before; it’d been bloody foolish. I knew we needed to lie low; we needed to keep this thing between us under the media’s radar, but she had been wearing those tight workout pants. I could see the slight gap in her thighs and the curve of her ass when she turned back to follow her trainer. When she had first come over to talk to me, I’d nearly pulled her up to straddle me on the table. As far as I was concerned, I had shown saint-like restraint with that kiss, but Andie probably wouldn’t agree.

“What are you going to do about that, mate?”

“I don’t know. She declined dinner with me.”

He laughed, the prick. “What’s that? Your first refusal in history?”

“Glad you can have a laugh at my broken heart.”

“All right, ease up. Just because she doesn’t want to come to dinner doesn’t mean you can’t figure out some other way to spend time with her.”

I arched a brow. “What do you mean?”

Over lunch in the food court, he laid out his diabolical plan. It was simple, but brilliant, and for a moment I was concerned that Thom had missed his calling as a Disney villain.

“You don’t think she’ll tell me to piss off when she shows up?”

He reached out and cupped my chin. “Wivva face like that?”

I jerked out of his grasp and punched his shoulder.

He laughed. “Text her, mate. Let’s see what she says.”

I grabbed my phone out of my pocket, stood up, and threw my workout bag over my shoulder.

“What?!” he protested. “You aren’t even going to tell me how she responds?”

I flipped him off, stuffed my trash into the bin on the way out of the foot court, and tried to decide what exactly I should text Andie. It wasn’t until I’d stepped into the gym that I’d settled on something simple and easy.



Freddie: Thom and I are having a party at our flat later.



An hour went by and she hadn’t responded, so I texted her again.



Freddie: I want you to come.

Andie: Sorry, we have our second game tomorrow morning. I can’t go out.

Freddie: I’ll have you in bed—your bed—by 9:00 PM. Swear.

Andie: Can’t.

Freddie: I already phoned the Queen and let her know you’ll be in attendance.



Georgie called then, jarring me out of the conversation with Andie. I ignored the call and let it go to voicemail. A second later, she phoned again. Persistent little bugger.



Georgie: ANSWER YOUR BLOODY PHONE.



I deleted her text and instead, replied to Andie.



Freddie: I’m in flat 1120. Come over round 7:00 PM.

Andie: Jeez, now I get why we had to formally declare independence from you guys.



I laughed.



Freddie: See you then.

Andie: No you won’t.

Freddie: 7:00 PM.



I turned my mobile off and tossed it into my workout bag before she or my sister could reply. After I’d gone through my afternoon workout, I ripped my sweaty clothes off and checked the clock on my bedside table. It was already after 5:30 PM, which meant I didn’t have long to shower and get ready before Andie arrived. Her message said she wouldn’t show, but something told me she was having as hard a time staying away from me as I was from her.

I showered quickly, lathering body wash over my tired muscles before rinsing them clean. I hadn’t paid attention to the status of the flat when I’d first walked in, but I knew Thom wasn’t always a shining beacon of tidiness. I frequently found his boxers in the dishwasher, and his drinking glasses in the laundry pile. After I hopped out and pulled on a white shirt and jeans, I stood in the living room, horrified at its current condition.

“When did you get in?” Thom asked from his perch on the couch. He hadn’t been there when I’d arrived back home, but he’d managed to create a mess since then. He sat there, munching on crisps with his feet up on the coffee table. A pile of wrappers surrounded him on the floor and when I glanced over into the kitchen, the sink was full and nearly overflowing with our dishes.

“She’s nearly going to be here.”

He flipped the channel on the telly, less than concerned. “Who’s that?”

“Andie, you twit. Remember the plan?”

“Right, that. It’s only 6:00 PM.”

I ripped the remote out of his hand. “And what comes after six, you wanker?”

He tossed the bag of crisps aside. “Fine, what do you want me to do?”

I put him to work tidying up the flat, starting with the area near the couch. I washed the dishes as quickly as I could, layering them into the dishwasher in tight stacks. I wiped down the counters and took the rubbish out to the chute in the hallway. When I went back into the flat, there was a distinctive smell I couldn’t get rid of. I went round to the neighbors, begging for a candle or air freshener. A few English girls down the hall had a candle they lent me in exchange for an autograph. I lit it as soon as I returned and marveled at the ability of two grown men to spoil a brand new flat in only a few days.