Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(89)

He wound his hand around mine before I could reply.

“Where are you taking her?!” Kinsley shouted as he pulled me through the crowd.

He waved over his shoulder. “I’ll have her back in a few minutes!”

My heart dropped. I didn’t want him to “have me back” in a few minutes. I’d had enough celebrating with my team and I’d see Kinsley and Becca bright and early the next day anyway. I wanted to spend the rest of my night with Freddie. I wanted his hand clutched tight around my mine for as long as possible, but I didn’t know what he planned to do about people that might see us together.

He pushed through the front door of the bar and led me toward the curb. There was a cherry-red Vespa sitting there.

“Is that for us?” I asked with a laugh.

He nodded and reached for one of the helmets locked onto the side. I stood, waiting patiently as he slipped it onto my head. He leaned forward and tightened the strap beneath my chin. He was so close to me, his lips were inches away, and it’d been three days since he’d last kissed me. I could hardly remember what his lips felt like; he needed to remind me.

“I lied,” he said, taking a step back and sliding the dark visor down to cover my face.

I frowned. “About what?”

“I won’t have you back in a minute.” His dark eyes gleamed. “Now that nobody knows it’s us, I’m going to keep you for the rest of the night.”





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


Andie




I GOT MY first taste of the real Rio on the back of that cherry-red Vespa. We wove down ocean boulevards and I closed my eyes, letting the wind whip against me. I could taste the salt in the air as Freddie pulled over and parked on Avenida Atlantica. The sun was heading south and dusk was in full effect. The sunset painted the ocean waves in orange hues and for a minute, I stood mesmerized.

There were thousands of people out on the beach and walking along the avenue. It was a bustling street with six lanes of traffic and honking cars and confident pedestrians weaving in and out. Vendors lined the shore, selling everything from fried corn to flip-flops. On the other side of the street, there were hotels and condos—all tan and stucco with large windows.

In the Olympic village, it’d been easy to miss how far from home I’d been for the last few weeks, but on Avenida Atlantica, there was no mistaking it. The thick humidity, the salty air, and the mountains standing tall in the background—it was all unfamiliar and new and exhilarating.

Freddie took my hand and led me along the walkway. We skipped over the shops with the woven friendship bracelets and colorful ceramic trinkets until we stumbled upon a shop a little bigger than the rest. It was set up along the beach, surrounded on four sides by a thin white tarp that whipped in the wind as we stepped inside. There were sarongs lining an entire side of the tent. Small, cheap ones for children sat up front, but I reached out for one at the very top. It was soft and purple, with tiny tassels lining the edges.

“That’s a good one,” Freddie said, coming up behind me.

I smiled. “For you.”

“What?” I ignored the adorable shock on his face and pointed back to the sarong.

“You can’t be serious,” he continued.

I nodded.

“I’ll look like an arse.”

I angled around him to find the shopkeeper. He was a short man propped behind the counter, scrolling through his iPhone until I held the purple sarong right up in front of him.

“How much for this?” I asked, hoping he spoke enough English to understand my question.

“Thirty-eight,” he said with a thick accent.

My eyes almost bulged out of my head. “DOLLARS?!”

“Reais.”

“That’s not much,” Freddie said, coming up behind me with something blue clutched in his right hand. He tossed it up on the counter, on top of the sarong, and then threw two pair of cheap black aviators onto the pile. “We’ll take the lot.”

“What’s this thing?” I asked, picking up the corner of what looked to be a blue bungee cord. Or was it a small bracelet…“DEAR GOD.”

“Fio dental.” The shopkeeper laughed, pointing at what I could only assume was a bikini that was supposed to go under another, more modest bikini.

After Freddie paid, he picked up our bag of embarrassing items from the counter and led me out of the store.

“I think the literal translation is dental floss.” Freddie laughed.

I shot him a side-eyed glare. “You’re insane if you think I’m putting that thing on.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into the bag, pulled the tag off the aviators, and slipped them on, handing the other pair to me in case anyone recognized us. It wasn’t fair how easily he made cheap sunglasses look good.

“Seems we both have things we’d rather not wear,” he said, taking my hand. “I think that’s called a stalemate.”

“Fine, let’s switch. You’ll wear the bikini and I’ll wear the sarong.”

He tossed his head back and laughed. It was an infectious sound that had me smiling as he pulled us out of the store. With our sunglasses in place, we walked until we found a small beachside restaurant that had an intoxicating smell wafting out the front door. We ate leisurely, appreciating the fact that nobody thus far had recognized either of us.