Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(88)

“Stop making it sexual!” Becca yelled beside me. “Get to the good part!”

The crowd laughed as Kinsley continued, “Okay so after my goal—off of Becca’s team-leading fifth assist of the Olympic games—we were up one-nil! But that only made them angrier after the half.”

Becca wrapped her arm around my shoulder and pulled me into the crook of her neck. She stank—god, we all did. We hadn’t stopped celebrating since the end of the game, but no one seemed to care.

“They came storming back, first with the header, which Andie tipped off the crossbar, and then with the penalty kick, which Andie blocked as well. But Japan wasn’t going down without a fight. After Kawasumi tackled the shit out of me,” Kinsley said, holding up her bloody and bruised knee to prove it. “And breezed right past Michelle—”

“Hey!”

“—nothing stood between her and our own little Andie in the net.”

“I KNEW ANDIE HAD HER!” Michelle shouted, tossing her beer into the air so that most of it spilled out onto the crowd around her.

I laughed and shook my head, trying my best to hide against Becca’s shoulder.

“But did Andie panic? Did she charge out at her like we were all shouting at her to do? No! She stood poised, daring her to take the shot!”

Becca jostled me around. “And it worked! She got a little too confident, drove a little too deep, then what happened Kins?”

“Andie pounced and blocked that ball like it was the easiest thing she’d ever done!”

I could feel my cheeks burning red with all the attention. I wasn’t nearly drunk enough to have an entire bar full of people focused on me.

“Kawasumi was no match for our Andie!”

“TO ANDIE!” Nina shouted, and the bar echoed back. “ANDIE!”

Kinsley was embellishing the story a little bit. I hadn’t blocked the shot that easily. I’d blindly dove, praying it’d be enough to stop it. And it had. But we hadn’t won the game because of me. Our offense was the reason we had two scores on the board by the time the whistles blew.

“Andie! Andie! Andie!”

Oh Jesus. No matter how much I tried to quell the chanting, the crowd just grew louder. I assumed it couldn’t possibly get any worse, until I heard a loud Scottish brogue bellow my name behind me. I turned in time to find the same pack of Viking rugby players I’d met my very first night in Rio. They looked just as tall and thick and bearded as when I’d last seen them. Gareth—the redheaded giant who’d accidentally dropped me—was leading the way and he didn’t waste any time.

Becca shouted at them to haul me up to the bar beside Kinsley and they followed her directions.

“Holy—” I shouted as Gareth tossed me up onto his shoulder like a rag doll. I felt like his pet parrot.

“It’s okay!” I shouted in his ear. “I can walk!”

“Nonsense, las! I shan’t drop you this time!”

I’d assumed he would take me straight to the bar so I could hop up there beside Kinsley, but instead he paraded me around the room as people continued to chant. It was all very embarrassing, and I needed a drink. We passed by Becca again and I reached down for her beer. I chugged down a quarter of it, desperately needing liquid courage to make it through the night.

“Here you are, Andie!” Gareth said as we approached the bar—except he actually bellowed my name like “AHHHHHNNNNDDDDDEEEEEEEHHH.” I swore he’d missed his calling as a seafaring pirate.

Kinsley helped pull me up beside her and I leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I’m actually going to kill you for this, so enjoy your fun while you can.”

She laughed and grabbed hold of my arm. “Oh come on! You’re the best goalie in the world! You’re a national treasure! You’re Andie freaking—”

“Foster.”

My heart stopped.

My breath caught.

My smile fell as I slowly turned to find Freddie standing in front of the bar, positioned right beneath me with his hand over his heart and a smile that tipped my world upside down. He had a little American flag tucked in the front pocket of his white shirt and when I didn’t make any move to welcome him, he pulled it out and waved it back and forth like a little peace offering.

Seeing him there, with his earnest gaze, his bashful smile, his one isolated dimple, was enough to make the last few days all but disappear. I’d tried my best to forget about him, including ignoring his calls and his text messages. But there he stood, waving his little American flag and breaking his way back into my heart.

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling.

He shook his head and glanced around him, recognizing that everyone within a ten-foot radius had stopped to stare at us. He glanced back to me and dropped the American flag on the bar.

Maybe I should have asked what he was doing there—what about Caroline, what about the baby—but I didn’t. I stared down at him, nervous for his next move.

“I know I owe you an explanation,” he said just before he reached up to grip my waist. He pulled me off the bar and I reached out to grab his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall. Our bodies were flush by the time I had my toes back on the ground.

“Not here,” I said, conscious of all the people around us.

“Then let me steal you.”