Kinsley flashed her left hand with the big fat diamond sitting on her ring finger. “Sorry, can’t play if I’ve already won.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. Kinsley was married to Liam Wilder, a soccer god and an assistant coach for our team. They’d met when Liam started coaching her college soccer team before the last Olympic Games. Becca was also married to a soccer player—one of Liam’s old teammates—and between the four of them, they were quite a photogenic bunch. Every time I checked out at the grocery store, there was a sports magazine with at least one of their faces plastered across the cover. When I’d been called up to the Women’s National Team, they’d enthusiastically adopted me into their fearsome foursome. Moving from Vermont to L.A. had been a rocky transition, especially when paired with Olympic training, but Kinsley and Becca had proven to be the older sisters I’d never had but always wanted.
“So do those rings mean you guys can’t come to a party with me tonight?” I asked with a sly smile.
Kinsley narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“The Brazilian swimmers messaged me on Facebook. They’re hosting a themed party and I was planning on going.”
“Count me out,” Nina said. “Jetlag.”
Michelle nodded. “Same here.”
Shocker.
Becca and Kinsley exchanged a worried glance over my party plans, but that wasn’t surprising. Over the last few months, I’d tried to convince them that I was an adult, but they still saw me as the wide-eyed rookie from Vermont.
I understood their worry; I didn’t have much experience with partying and I’d only really traveled abroad during the qualifying matches a few months prior. Not to mention, we’d all been fed the same spiel about Rio’s crime rates during a “Safety at the Games” seminar, but it wasn’t like I’d be out walking the streets alone at night.
“Ever since you moved to L.A., you’ve been like a little sister to me,” Kinsley had said on the way to the airport. “I feel responsible for you.”
Technically, I was Kinsley’s little sister on the soccer team, and though I appreciated her concern, I was ready to live a little. For so long I’d focused all my energy on soccer, but we had one week until our first match and I was ready to see for myself what kind of mischief the village had to offer. Viva Brazil!
THE VILLAGE WAS spread out over seven compounds with high-rise condos and apartments lined up along one main road. The shuttle drove us toward the entrance of our building, and I counted the amenities along the way. There was a coffee shop beside a flower shop. Cafes were sprinkled in among a doctor’s office, banking center, salon, and post office. Anything we could possibly need was within walking distance.
We arrived at a crosswalk and our shuttle paused to let the crowds cross in front of us. It looked like move-in day on a college campus. Athletes spilled out of cars and vans, sporting their national colors. Everyone was weighed down by their suitcases and duffel bags, tired from hours of travel. We were all there to work hard and represent our countries in the games, but now that we were all mixed together, there was an undercurrent of excitement in the air.
“There he is!” Michelle shouted, tapping her finger against her window. “Freddie! Look!”
I followed her finger, trying to discern a British athlete in all the madness.
“Where?” Kinsley asked, shoving past Becca to get to the window.
“That’s my boob, jerk. Get off!” Becca said, pushing her back.
I tried to find him, but the sidewalk looked like an explosion of color. Athletes were weaving between one another and the second I’d spot what looked to be someone sporting British colors, they’d disappear back into the crowd.
“I don’t see him!”
Michelle groaned. “Look! He’s the tall guy with the brown hair!”
“Right, Michelle, because that really helps,” Kinsley said, giving up and falling back onto her seat.
I laughed, prepared to give up as well, but then Michelle screamed and pointed out the front window. “THERE! HE’S RIGHT THERE!”
I wedged myself in between Becca and Kinsley and froze as Freddie came into view, framed in the center of the windshield as he crossed the street.
God save the queen.
“Damn,” Nina whispered, clawing her fingers into my arm so she could push herself up for a better view. Damn didn’t begin to cover it. Damn was a word for ugly peasants. This Freddie? The sight of him begged a rousing “good heavens” with a polite undertone of “new pair of panties, please”. His face was so handsome I blinked three times before letting myself believe I was looking at a real live human.
“Look at his jawline,” Nina said in awe.
“Look at those lips,” Michelle whispered.