Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(9)
“Listen, I’d like to talk to you about Freddie for a second after practice. Seriously, wait for me.”
I promised her I would, though I really had no intention of sticking around for another Kinsley and Becca lecture. How quickly they’d forgotten what it was like to be young and single during the Olympic games. For years, my life of training and preparing for the games had left little time for anything outside of soccer. Sure I’d had a few random dates through the years, but nothing compared to what other girls my age were doing.
Giving up boys to play soccer on a professional level was hard, but in the end it was an easy decision. Growing up in Vermont, the only time I ever saw real action was on the soccer field. It thrilled me in a way no boy ever could. Most of the popular girls in my high school had assumed I was a lesbian because I preferred Adidas over Tory Burch and I didn’t know the difference between “beach waves” and “curls”. No, really, someone tell me what the difference is. To put the rumors to rest, I’d forced my first kiss behind the bleachers of my high school’s soccer stadium with pimple-faced Kellan who was a year younger than me and had the breath of a walrus. He was tall and spindly, and when he pulled away, he accidentally bonked his head on the bottom of the stadium seats and had to get three stitches. Once that story had spread, no other guy in school thought I was worth the risk.
Fortunately, college was better after I completed the duckling-to-swan metamorphosis that often graces early adulthood. (Goodbye braces, acne, and pudgy cheeks.) College guys weren’t so intimidated by my talent and I’d managed a boyfriend here and there. Still, nothing serious. Dating didn’t exactly go hand in hand with competing at the Olympic level. For so long, I’d dreamt of going to the Olympics, not only to win gold for Team USA (duh), but also because I wanted the chance to meet other people who got it. Just like me, they’d dedicated their lives to a sport they loved, and they understood the sacrifices that came with the territory.
Kinsley and Becca could lecture me all they wanted, but at the end of the day, how could they blame me for wanting more than gold? I would be in Rio de Janeiro for nearly a month and I wasn’t going to waste it. I’d work my ass off on the field, but in my free time I was going to make memories that would last a lifetime. And, sure, if Freddie Archibald somehow worked his way into those memories, then so be it.
CHAPTER SIX
Freddie
I WOKE UP thinking of Andie, trying to recall the bits and pieces of her I’d found so appealing the night before. She wasn’t like any of the posh British girls I was used to. They’d have willingly thrown themselves over a bridge before tossing their knickers at my head, and yet Andie had done it without a second thought. I was intrigued, but I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly made her so different—the light behind her grayish blue eyes, her confident laugh, or her body. Her body. It’d taken all night to tear the image of her standing in my boxers out of my mind. Now that I was awake, I wanted to selfishly cling on to it, just for memory’s sake.
My mobile buzzed on my nightstand and I rolled over to find I already had two missed calls from my mum, three texts from my sister, Georgie, and one voicemail from Caroline.
I pressed play on Caroline’s voicemail first, hoping it would realign my world and push thoughts of Andie to the side.
“Freddie! My gorgeous sportsman, I’ve missed you so much. I hope you’re doing well. Give me a ring later. Kisses, Caroline.”
Andie was nothing like Caroline Montague, though maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. I knew exactly what I was getting into with Caroline. She’d grown up in British high society, beloved by everyone. There wasn’t a utensil she couldn’t name, nor a duchess she didn’t know personally. I’d grown up alongside her and knew her to be polite, quiet, and predictable—quite possibly the exact opposite of the enigmatic goalkeeper I’d met the night before.
I pressed delete on her voicemail and then read Georgie’s texts.
Georgie: Mum is LOONY. She’s phoned Caroline and told her you’d LOVE her to join you in Rio. I tried to pry the mobile from her hand, but you know how strong those bony digits of hers are. I think I’ve strained my wrist…
Georgie: She’s absolutely mad. I’m putting myself up for adoption. Think anyone will have an adorable, house-trained eighteen-year-old?
I smiled and sat up in bed. Georgie had been dramatic from birth, though she’d never admit it. I rang her and then reached for my laptop to glance over the day’s itinerary: practice, workout, phone interview, more workouts. I’d be running round the village until supper.
“FREDDIE!” she squealed after picking up on the third ring.
I smiled at the sound of her voice. “Morning Georgie.”
“You sound dreadful. What have you been doing all night?”
“Nothing. Honest. I just woke up and listened to a voicemail from Caroline.”
“Oh.”
There was a pregnant pause before she spoke up again.
“Well let’s not talk about that. How’s Rio? Has it given your pale English arse a tan yet? Or have you been loitering in the shade of Christ the Redeemer all day?”
I wiped sleep from my eyes and pushed the blankets aside.
“Honestly, I haven’t seen much of the place.”