MY TRAINING SESSION with Lisa was about as enjoyable as a bikini wax paired with a nipple piercing (the latter being something I could only make assumptions about), but it felt good to have a goal again, and the pain distracted me from thinking of Freddie. After she was done torturing me, I dragged myself back to our condo, showered, and threw on the first thing I touched: the unicorn onesie Becca had insisted on hanging in my closet. I had to hand it to her though—after I slipped it on and zipped that sucker up, I decided I’d wear it for the rest of my life. It was soft, and it did make me feel a little bit better. Glitter will do that to you.
Kinsley and Becca were still at their evening practice, and if I had my timing right, they were probably in the middle of watching footage for their game against Canada. I’d been excused from the practice so I could attend my physical therapy session, but also because Coach Decker didn’t want to see me. I’d already sent her three emails and left two voicemails. She knew how I felt about the situation. She could get her way with the semifinal—I wasn’t prepared; I couldn’t play—but I’d be damned if I was missing that final. I’d be at every practice and I’d go to therapy twice a day. I’d play through a compound fracture with my bones sticking out if I had to.
I pulled out a prepared meal from the fridge and popped it in the microwave. Though I wasn’t really looking forward to a heaping plate of chicken and vegetables, I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to play in that final game, everything had to stay the same. I had to keep up my workouts and diet. Sure, I’d nearly chugged a bottle of vodka the day before, but sometimes vodka counts as medicine.
The microwave dinged and I pulled out my meal just as a soft knock sounded at the front door.
“One sec!” I yelled as I set the plate on the counter. Ouch. The plate had been scalding and I’d nearly burned off my hand pulling it out without an oven mitt. I ran my fingers under cold water and shouted over my shoulder. “Just a minute!”
Whoever it was, it wasn’t Kinsley or Becca. They’d have been shouting at me to hurry up already. I peered through the peephole and spied a heap of honey-brown hair just before a soft British voice spoke up.
“Hello? I know you’re in there, I have a keen sense of smell for asparagus.”
I yanked the door open and stood back to find Freddie’s sister standing on the other side, wearing a friendly smile.
“Georgia?”
She shook her head. “Jor-jee, not Jor-juh.” She stepped past me and plopped her purse on the kitchen counter like she’d done it a thousand times before. “Well, I mean, Georgia is my real name, but I despise it, so please, call me Georgie. And may I call you Andie?”
I nodded, still standing with the door in my hand.
“Cute onesie,” she said with no hint of sarcasm. She was already moving around the condo, taking in the space and flipping through a stack of papers on the table. Her cool brown eyes met mine and I was momentarily silenced. She looked so much like her brother, but smaller and—obviously—feminine.
“Well, Andie, I’ve been dying to meet you, of course.”
She grinned and stepped close so she could wrap me in a tight hug. I stood frozen, confused by her obvious approval. Wasn’t she friends with Princess Caroline? “You’re just as gorgeous as I imagined,” she said before stepping back and holding me at arm’s length. “The photo I saw online had you with long hair. Have you gone and chopped it?” She reached up to feel one of the uneven strands. It was still damp from the shower, so hopefully she couldn’t tell how terrible it looked.
When I didn’t answer right away, her smile fell. “Oh no, I’m scaring you already, aren’t I?” She spun around and went back to rifling through the condo. “Or not…if my mangy brother hasn’t frightened you away, I couldn’t possibly deter you. Although why are you even hanging with him? In just a few hours, I’ve spied dozens of better-looking blokes roaming about. Have you seen that Argentinian basketball player, the one with a bum like—”
“Why are you here?” I asked, interrupting her.
She didn’t seem to mind. She turned back and glanced at me over her shoulder. She truly was gorgeous, all big brown eyes and pink cheeks. “Because Caroline is a naff cow, of course.”
I smiled, appreciating the sentiment even though I had no clue what it actually meant.
“I take it you two aren’t friends?”
Georgie leveled me with a serious gaze. “Caroline Montague has the brain of a dim weasel and the personality of a dead mouse.”
I burst out laughing and Georgie smiled. “Was that a bit harsh?” She shrugged. “Ah, well, sometimes the truth hurts. Now, go put some shoes on because I need a tour guide to take me around the village so I can find a handsome athlete of my own.”
I frowned. “What? I can’t…”