Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(61)

“Tell me again why we have to go to this thing?” I asked.

“Because while reporters aren’t allowed in the village, they still need something to write about. The committee thought this would make everyone happy. We get good food and they get interviews.”

I smiled. “You already know what they’re going to ask you.”

She offered up her best broken record impression. “When are you and Liam going to start a family? When will you get pregnant? Are you pregnant NOW?”

I laughed. “It’s all anyone cares about.”

“Including Liam,” she added, turning back to the mirror so she could finish her makeup.

“What? Really?”

She nodded. “He’s turning thirty soon and he thinks after the Olympics we should start trying. You know, uh, take away the goalie.”

“Oh my god. I’m going to be an aunt.”

She laughed. “Hold your horses, I’m not pregnant yet.” I guessed she could see that my face fell because she continued, “but I promise you’ll be an aunt when the time comes. Becca already claimed both godmother and fairy godmother privileges, but we might have an opening for you in the diaper changing department.”

I laughed. “Well at least I won’t have to worry about anyone focusing on me during this stupid dinner tonight.”

“Don’t be so sure, Andie. The Olympic season is the only time the whole of America really falls in love with soccer, and you’re the fresh face of the brand. You have millions of little girls looking up to you now, and even though you’re injured, the media will want to tell your story of perseverance.” She paused, applying her makeup. “Plus, you forgot one other person who will be focusing on you tonight—Freddie.”

“Oh, he’s going?” I asked while I rifled through my makeup bag. I thought I was doing a good job of looking like I hardly cared. Freddie Schmeddie, right?

“Mhmm,” she said, passing her blush off to me when it was clear I couldn’t find mine. “And I’m almost tempted to disinvite you because of it.”

“What? I’ve spent the last hour getting ready with you. I DID MY HAIR.”

Well, truthfully, I hadn’t done my hair. Becca and I had gone to the salon in the village after practice so a stylist could fix my hack job. In the end, I liked it. It was short, just at my shoulders, and it’d be much easier to style.

“Do you know how rare that is?”

“Andie—”

“And I’m wearing a stupid cocktail dress!” I stepped back from the mirror and took deep, dramatic inhales to show her how tight the bodice of the dress fit. Each inhale only filled my lungs to like 2%. I’d probably pass out from lack of oxygen by the end of the evening.

She laughed. “You look gorgeous and it’s too late to disinvite you, so just stick by me and ignore him. This isn’t the place you want to have a scene. There will be cameras and microphones everywhere.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You sound like you have no faith in me.”

“It’s not that, really.” She spun around and flashed me a small, sympathetic smile. “I’ve just seen Freddie Archibald up close and it’s clear that he has a way of separating a woman from her senses. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize a bomb looking for its fuse.”

“Well tonight, I’ll only have eyes for food.”

She eyed me skeptically, but I ignored her and turned to check my appearance in the mirror one last time. My blonde hair was short and sleek, like that of a secret agent. I’d applied a smidgen more makeup than usual and it was making my gray eyes pop. My tight dress was doing wonders for my cleavage, something I usually tried to avoid, but tonight, it felt right. I felt beautiful, albeit uncomfortable. But who needs to breathe when your boobs look this good, right?

I turned to find my sky-high heels, the ones that made my legs go on for days, and then glanced back at Kinsley.

“Ready when you are, baby mama.”

“That is NOT funny!”





KINSLEY HAD PREPPED me as best as she could on the way over, but as I stepped out of the cab and into the madness, I was still taken aback. There were so many reporters stuffed inside the press box that as Kinsley and I walked down the carpet, shouts and grunts could be heard over the snapping shutters. I smiled through the audible oooomphs and laughed when one of the photographers tripped on his way to the front of the line.

“Kinsley!”

“Right here!” the photographers yelled, vying for her attention. I stepped back and gave her the limelight, smiling just enough that I wouldn’t suffer from Resting Bitch Face in any of the photos; I’d learned that the hard way. I used to think I was invisible when the paparazzi were snapping Liam and Kinsley, but then one day my mom called and asked me why it looked like I was picking my nose on the cover of US Weekly. From that day on, I kept my hands tucked by my side and a casual smile plastered on my face.

“Andie! Andie Foster!”

I nearly swallowed my tongue when a few of the photographers turned from Kinsley and aimed their flashing cameras at me.

I laughed like I thought it was a joke and waved them off.

“No thanks, I’m okay.”

“They’re not asking, Andie,” Kinsley laughed before reaching back to my hand. She tugged me forward and tucked me into her side. “Just smile,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.