I crossed my arms like a petulant child. “Go away.”
She shook her head. “No. Let’s go. I’ll bet Freddie is down there and he’ll be so happy to see you. He’s been trying to get in touch with you all day.”
I glanced around for my cell phone. “Wait, where’s my phone?”
“In the living room. You threw it out there when your mom tried to call.”
Oh.
“You really think he’ll be down there?” I asked, suddenly desperate to see him. Did he know about the injury?
She nodded. “Maybe. Go shower and we’ll wait for you.”
I pushed off my bed and slid into the shower—yes, slid. I couldn’t stand and I didn’t feel like taking a bath. So instead, I turned the faucet to the hottest setting, sat at the end of the stream of scalding water, and let it beat down on me from above. I wasn’t sure how long I sat there before Kinsley yanked the shower curtain aside and pulled me out.
“I get that you’re drunk and injured, and I love you—but this is too much,” she said, throwing a towel at me. “I just saw your entire vagina.”
I smiled, drunk with self-pity. “Pretty good, right?”
I TRIED TO pull myself together after that. I mean, I couldn’t brush my hair or put makeup on, but I threw my chopped hair into a passable ponytail and pulled on a pair of mismatched sweats. The alcohol had numbed the pain from my wrist, but I still cradled it in my other hand as Kinsley and Becca led the way to the elevators.
“Do you want to tell us about last night? To get your mind off today?”
I glanced over to take in Kinsley’s gentle smile.
“We know you and Freddie have been sneaking around. You can tell us about it. We promise not to judge.”
A slow, easy smile spread across my face before I could help it. That was the silver lining in all of this. Sure, I’d traveled all the way to Rio to win gold, and in the matter of one morning, that dream was gone. Finished.
But then I thought of Freddie, of how I would never have met him had I not traveled to Rio. Even if I wasn’t going back to the U.S. with an earned medal, there was a good chance I’d return with a boyfriend—a super hot, super British boyfriend. Definitely better than nothing.
The elevator arrived on the first floor and we walked out into the lobby. I turned to Kinsley and Becca, trying to decide where to start. From the beginning? There was so much ground to cover and I couldn’t wait to fill them in on all the juicy details, but something caught my attention in front of the complex before I could start. Right past the glass lobby doors, Freddie stood watching a limo roll to a stop near the curb. His back was to me, but I knew it was him. After the night before, I knew that body well enough to recognize it from any angle or position.
“Speak of the devil,” I smiled, finally allowing myself to feel actual happiness after a day of misery. I broke off from Kinsley and Becca to step closer, excited to get to him. I hadn’t seen him since he’d walked me back to my condo the night before, stealing one last kiss before I slipped inside.
I pressed my fingers to my lips, trying to remember what his kiss had felt like, but I came up short. There was no word for it.
So much had happened since then. I wanted to tell him about my injury and ask for his advice. I wanted him to yell and shout with me, do something crazy with me. He’d understand more than anyone, I just needed to get to him.
I was nearly to the door when Freddie reached forward to open the limo door. The driver was walking around to get to it, but Freddie couldn’t wait. I stood in shock, watching through the clear glass as a tall, regal blonde stepped out. She was stylish and effervescent (whatever the hell that means) and I knew I didn’t like her right away. Mature adults don’t hate people on impulse, but I couldn’t help myself. Her hair was long and silky, not chopped and damp. Her outfit was fitted and wrinkle free, not stained with melted Hershey’s. I took a hesitant step back and succumbed to the feelings of inadequacy just as her identity sank in.
Caroline Montague in the flesh.
She was wearing a light blue wrap dress and nude heels. It was an outfit straight out of Kate Middleton’s closet. For all I knew, it was Kate’s dress; they were probably friends, after all.
“Frederick! Darling!” She squealed with excitement as she stepped forward and flung her arms around him. I lingered there in the lobby, watching from a distance, trying to connect the pieces of the puzzle. If the blonde “darling” was Caroline, betrothed goddess, then that meant the brunette climbing out of the limo was—
“Fred, you knobhead. I’ve been trying to phone you all day!”
Freddie’s sister.