Arrogant Devil(100)
Kinsley tsked. “Sounds like an excuse to see people in their skivvies.”
I tossed my luggage onto my bed. “Yes, well, isn’t that basically the meaning of life in the first place?”
I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know they were exchanging one of their trademarked worried glances. They weren’t used to seeing this side of me. In L.A., I hadn’t gone out much, but that was because my entire day—6:00 AM to 6:00 PM—had been dedicated to soccer.
“Do you guys have any purple or orange clothes I can borrow?” I asked, reaching for a blue tank top and pairing it with red shorts. There was enough red, white, and blue gear stuffed in my suitcase to last a lifetime. They basically shelled it out to us in bulk as soon as we were called up for the national eam.
“I think this will look better,” Kinsley said, reaching around me for a giant white fleece I’d packed as an afterthought. It was technically winter in Rio, but it felt more like a mild L.A. summer.
She laid the fleece out over the blue tank top and then offered me a proud smile. “Yeah, see. That’s adorable.”
Ten minutes later, I had the outfit I wanted to wear: blue tank top, red shorts, white knee-high socks, and a yellow trucker hat I’d picked up at the airport. It had Rio de Janeiro spelled across the front in scrolling cursive. On top of that outfit, Kinsley and Becca had laid out their choices for me: black track pants that covered every inch of skin from my navel to my ankles, the white fleece, and a red scarf they dictated should be worn like a burka.
“Oh, and you can keep the white socks,” Kinsley said, like she was doing me a big favor.
Becca nodded. “Yeah, and maybe just wear the hat over the scarf?”
“I think I can handle it from here.” I started to usher them to the door, sweeping my arms back and forth so they’d get the picture. “You guys have helped enough.”
After they left, I used my suitcase to barricade the door. I changed quickly, pulled my blonde hair out of its ponytail, and shook it out. Loose, long waves framed my face, and when I put the trucker hat on backward, it took the edge off my feminine features. I smirked at my tan reflection in the bathroom mirror. Night one in Rio was going to be a good one.
“ANDIE! Let us in!” Kinsley yelled, banging on my bedroom door.
Or not.
I grabbed my phone from my bed, pushed my suitcase aside, and pulled the door open to find Kinsley and Becca changed and ready for the party. No. Just no. They looked absolutely ridiculous in matching red Adidas track suits, black hats, and sunglasses. Either they’d just walked off the set of an 80s music video or they were now officially part of my security detail. Either way, I wasn’t going anywhere with them.
“What the hell, you guys? I’m not walking into the party with you two dressed like that.”
They followed me out of the condo, adjusting their hats and assuring me they’d blend in just fine. I knew better. Sure they were still sexy, confident, kickass soccer players, but they’d lost a little of that edge. Once Liam and Penn had “put rings on it”, there was nothing left to keep them from becoming real adults. (They literally got excited over a Friday night spent watching Parks and Rec reruns before turning in at 9:00 PM.)
“What about your husbands?” I asked, reaching for some legitimate reason to block them from coming with me. “Surely they don’t want you two mingling with a bunch of eligible bachelors.”
“While you’re correct in your assessment that I’ve still ‘got it’,” Kinsley said with a gesture at her bright red tracksuit. “I’ll have you know Liam trusts me and made me promise I wouldn’t let you go alone.”
I groaned. Liam too?! How many parents did I have on this trip? I tried to walk faster, hoping that if I took four steps for every one of theirs, I’d eventually lose them. No such luck. They picked up the pace and linked their arms with me, successfully shackling me to my embarrassment.
“This will be fun!” Becca said with a little skip in her step. “Girls night!”
Kinsley nodded. “We don’t have practice until noon tomorrow so we should be able to let loose.”
Kinsley and Becca were only four years older than me, but when we arrived outside the party, it felt like I was walking in with my parents.
“Whoa, a disco ball!” Becca said, pulling us through the door. “Who packs a friggin’ disco ball for the Olympics?”
The Brazilian swimmers ushered us inside with big smiles.
“Good evening, ladies,” one of them said with practiced English and a heavy accent.
“Sorry! Liam Wilder already put a ring on it,” Kinsley said, waving her left hand in the air like Beyoncé. Becca did the same, and since they had death grips on my arms, I couldn’t slink away. Their wedding rings formed a veritable force field of chastity around us that no one seemed to notice but me.
“Should we get some punch?” Becca asked.
“We should really only be drinking water this close to competing,” Kinsley said.
Dear god, I needed to get away from them.
“Guys, I’m going to head to the bathroom,” I said, sliding out of their grips.
Becca looked alarmed, as if needing to pee was an admission of some untold guilt. “Oh, should we all go?”
“NO!” I shouted, then lowered my voice to a whisper. “I, uh…I need to poop.”