“’Ello Georgie,” Thom said, trying to take the phone from my hand. “Goodbye Georgie.”
“Not yet, mate.” I stepped back out of his reach. “She’s advising me.”
“When’s she coming to Rio?” he asked, ignoring me.
“Next week!” Georgia yelled back.
I worked the door out of his hand and tried to shut it.
“And she’s not hanging out with you,” I said just before shutting the door in his face.
“Fine, I’ll leave, but I’m eating ALL THE CRISPY BACON.”
“You really ought to be nicer to him,” Georgie said once I’d shut the door and turned back to find a clean pair of workout shorts. “He’s the only one who can stand you during competition, and it wouldn’t do you any favors if you scared him off.”
“I have loads of friends.”
“Your eighteen-year-old sis doesn’t count.”
I laughed and checked the time on my watch where it sat on the bedside table. I had twenty minutes before practice, which meant I needed to get a move on.
“Don’t discredit yourself, Georgie. You’re just as good as any of my mates. Nearly as hairy, too.”
“Ha ha, very funny, Fred. I’ll have you know I’ve morphed into quite a beauty since you’ve gone. Can’t walk down the street with all the drivers crashing from craning their necks.”
I laughed.
“Now piss off and DON’T mention the whole betrothal thing to Mum again. She’s going mad over here. Wait ’til I’ve arrived in Rio and we’ll get it sorted.”
I agreed and hung up, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d manage. It’d been one day since I’d nearly had my wicked way with Andie in the bathroom at the cocktail party. Keeping my distance for the remainder of the party and then again during the opening ceremonies was testing my patience in new and unusual ways. I’d already replayed every encounter we’d had in my mind and a bloke can only wank it so many times before it starts to feel shameful.
I’d nearly texted her the night before after returning from the opening ceremonies. It was late and I was missing her, wondering if she’d had a good time carrying the flag. I’d tried to find her during the Parade of Nations, but Great Britain and the United States were separated by too many countries to make it possible.
“Mate, honestly,” Thom shouted. “Come get this bacon or I’m going to chuck it out the window.”
I laughed and walked out into the living room to find Thom standing at the open window, ready to haul the bacon out onto unsuspecting pedestrians. I yanked the pan out of his hand and plated it beside the eggs he’d made as well.
“We’ve got practice in fifteen and then afternoon workout after,” he said, reading our team’s itinerary off his phone.
I shook my head. “I’ve talked it over with Coach already. I’m going to work out this evening instead.”
He glanced up. “What? Why?”
“There’s a soccer match I want to attend.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Andie
I COULDN’T SLEEP the night before our first game. I’d lain in bed worrying about my wrist and wishing the dull ache would go away on its own. I was nervous about the game. I could stop a ball like no other woman in America, but I didn’t trust my wrist. I knew that at any time, my sprain could take a turn and I’d be benched, or worse. I tried to find a sleeping position that offered some comfort, but in the end, I’d lain like a mummy staring up at the ceiling, willing sleep to take me.
When the alarm beside my bed blared three annoying chimes at 6:30 AM, I threw off my blankets with a plan. I’d take three Advil and have the trainer compress my wrist even tighter than usual. It needed to be secure if I was expected to stop balls hurtling toward me at 60 mph. I didn’t care about the pain? but I wanted my mind clear and focused.
I was sitting up on the trainer’s table when I glanced to the section in the stands where the Olympic Committee had placed the athletes. It was expected that athletes from different sports would show up to support one another in different events, to the extent that the TV channels demanded they be squashed together. Thus, with one quick pan of the camera, viewers at home could see them all—including Freddie Archibald—at once. He was wedged in between a few other athletes in the front row, sporting a neutral white button-down and jeans. When he saw me glance over, he smiled.
“What are you doing here?” I mouthed. My words were mixed with savvy hand gestures, and after two more tries, he finally understood my question.
He pointed to me with a shrug. I was too far away to make out his dimples, but his smile sent a warm swell through me, momentarily numbing my nerves. My family was a million miles away and the only friends I had in Rio were about to take the field with me. Except Freddie. The stands were packed with screaming fans, but Freddie was the only person there for me.
“Good luck,” he mouthed with a thumbs up.
I nodded. “Thanks.”