Arrogant Devil(103)

That’s it. I’m moving to America after the games. It’s such a beautiful, beautiful country.

“Ahem!” She cleared her throat. “I need those boxers. My butt cheeks are cold!”

I’d survived more high-pressure situations than most blokes have by the age of twenty-seven. I’d competed in two Olympic games and swam in hundreds of races at the international level. None of those situations were half as difficult as facing away from Andie in that moment. I knew she was standing behind me. Her bare skin was right there, all I had to do was turn around; she probably wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Freddie!”

Bloody hell.

I pulled my boxers off, ignoring the slight tenting situation occurring in the front. I walked backward, trying to hand them off to her like a gentleman. It seemed like a good idea right up until my hand brushed against her bare ass.

“HEY! Hands off the tush,” she said, yanking the boxers out of my hand.

“Ah, sorry,” I said with a cheeky smile. “My mum told me never to throw my knickers at a girl.”

She laughed, though I was more focused on trying to push aside the memory of how soft her skin had felt. I pulled my jeans back up and buttoned them.

“All right, they’re a little big, but it’ll work.”

I turned to find her rolling up my boxers so they wouldn’t fall down her hips. They were rather large on her, but by the second roll they seemed secure enough.

“How do I look?” she said, adjusting the hat over her hair.

Un-fucking-believable.

“ANDIE!”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“ANDIE FOSTER! We’re coming in!”

Fists pounded on the bedroom door right before it crashed open. Two girls jumped forward, one with pepper spray and the other with a bottle of beer poised to strike.

“We’re too late!” The brunette one had zeroed in on Andie’s knickers still clutched in my hand. “HE ALREADY HAS HER PANTIES!”



Chapter Five



Andie



I WOKE UP to Kinsley and Becca standing over my bed, doing their best impersonation of FBI agents. Their arms were crossed and their glares would have sliced me in half had I not been burrowed safely beneath my covers.

“What do you two want?” I asked, clutching a spare pillow beneath my chin.

“Sleep well, Andie?” Kinsley asked with an arched brow.

Apparently they had practiced the good cop, bad cop routine.

“Or was it pretty…drafty down there?” Becca asked, yanking the covers back to expose my blue tank top and matching pair of boxers—the pair Freddie had given me. They were loose around my hips, but I liked the feel of them and, SUE ME, I didn’t see the point of taking them off before going to bed.

“Planning on wearing those things to practice as well?” Kinsley asked, eyeing the boxers like they were contagious.

A quick glance at the bedside clock revealed I’d slept right through breakfast. I felt like total shit, but I wouldn’t let them know that. They wanted me to suffer after what I’d put them through the night before, but I wouldn’t.

I shooed them out of my room and changed into my soccer gear, taking care to shove Freddie’s boxers safely into my suitcase. I dragged my shin guards and cleats out into the living room and tossed them near the door before rifling through the cupboards for something of substance. The food court would have been my first choice, but I didn’t have time to go down before practice.

“Finding anything, Andie?” Becca asked.

The committee had filled the cupboard with snacks and food prior to our arrival. I reached in and grabbed the first thing my hand touched…a bag of kale chips, salt and vinegar flavored. “Yup. Mmmmmmm. I love the taste of vinegar in the morning.”

Kinsley held a granola bar between her thumb and pointer finger. I snatched it without a second thought. It was a peace offering of sorts, and as I trailed them to the bus waiting on the first floor of the condo complex, I decided to push the subject.

“You guys can’t be mad at me forever. I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“You went off by yourself!” Kinsley said.

“Fraternizing with the enemy!” Becca added. “When you were supposed to be pooping!”

All right, they were being ridiculous, so I had to take extreme measures. I took my seat at the back of the bus beside Kinsley and dialed her husband’s number. Most people knew Liam Wilder as the rowdy ex-professional soccer player who’d been forced to retire due to a knee injury, but I knew him as Kinsley’s husband, the man who donned a chef’s apron on Sunday mornings to whip up enough eggs and bacon to feed a small village.

He answered on the third ring and sounded genuinely happy to get my call. “Andie!? What’s up? Are you guys headed to the practice field? I’m already here.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah we’re on our way LIAM.”

“What?” Kinsley tried to reach for the phone, but I pulled it out of her reach. “LIAM—don’t talk to her, she’s a traitor!”

Fortunately, he didn’t hear her. “I just spoke with Kins earlier—”

“Yeah, that’s great,” I said, cutting him off. “Listen, Liam, when you were in London for the last Olympics, did Kinsley ever go to any parties?”