Home > Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(14)

Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1)(14)
Author: R.S. Grey

“As fun as the documentary sounds, I think I’m going to go out.”

They frowned in tandem.

“Look, I don’t expect you guys to understand. You’re both married, and well, boring.”

“Hey!” Becca said.

I threw them an apologetic smile. “I mean, it’s the truth. If you guys were single, you’d be coming to this poker night with me.”

“Not true,” Kinsley argued.

I laughed. “Right. Let’s see. Remember when you broke the rules to date Liam Wilder even though he was your college soccer coach?”

Becca burst out laughing, but Kinsley turned and narrowed her bright blue eyes on me. “That was different.”

I shrugged. “It just seems strange that you’re so adamantly against me going out and meeting a cute guy here when you both have had your fair share of fun.”

Becca hummed in thought. I knew I was making a valid point.

“I just think I should get the choice to make the most of being in Rio.”

Kinsley nodded. “You’re right. But just so you know, you’re gorgeous, Andie. And I’m not just saying that because I like you. You could be betrothed to a million Freddie Archibalds if you wanted to be.”

I shook my head. “Thanks for your confidence in my polygamy skills, but really, I’m not even thinking about that—him—any more.”

“And if you want to go out and have fun, be my guest, but I’m not going to stop being overprotective of you. I made a promise to your mom that I’d watch out for you while we’re down here.”

“My mom called you?!”

Kinsley shot me a glare. “Christy has me on speed dial.”

Of course. I should have known.

I grabbed my small clutch from the dresser in my room and then slipped on my favorite pair of brown leather flip-flops. When I walked back into the living room, Kinsley and Becca stared up at me, assessing my outfit.

“You’re wearing a bra right?”

I rolled my eyes.

“And underwear? Are they your own this time?” Becca asked.

I ignored them and walked to the door.

“Stay safe. Text us and don’t stay out too late. We have an early practice tomorrow.”

“Wow you really have been talking to Christy lately,” I teased over my shoulder just as a knock sounded on the door. As anticipated, Liam stood on the other side with a bag full of takeout clutched in hand. He’d just showered and his hair was damp and mussed up a bit. Kinsley had definitely gotten lucky with him. I smiled and stole a handful of French fries as I sneaked past into the hallway.

“Hey! Wait. Aren’t you watching the documentary thing with us?” he asked.

“No, unlike you losers, I actually have plans.”

“Stay safe!” he shouted as I leaned forward to press the elevator call button.

Staying safe wasn’t really hard to do. While Rio at large had issues with crime, the village in contrast was secure and locked down after 8:00 PM. Athletes were free to roam as they pleased. The Portuguese guys were assigned a condo two buildings down from mine. The breeze from the ocean picked up my hair and blew it every which direction. I twisted the long strands in a low bun to keep them from sticking to my lipstick. I’d kept it simple in the makeup department. I still had a tan from outdoor practices back home, so I didn’t have to worry about foundation. I’d swiped on a subtle shade of red lipstick and mascara, and felt confident as I rode the elevator up to the third floor.

The noise from their condo could be heard even before I stepped off the elevator. I double-checked the Facebook invite and confirmed that the rowdy, bass-filled condo was the one I was supposed to be heading toward. 312. I offered a soft knock on the door though I knew it would go unheard. After another try, I turned the handle and stepped inside, surprised by the butterflies that swarmed my stomach as I entered.

Though the music was blaring, the condo was far less crowded than the Rubik’s Cube party had been the night before. There were a few guys in the kitchen mixing up a batch of sangria in a cooler on the floor. They waved me in and pointed to the living room where the rest of the party unfolded before me.

The soccer guys had pushed all the furniture aside to make room for three poker tables. I was running a little late, so the first two tables were already full of people drinking and talking and waving at me as I passed. I slid through the gaps in the chairs and headed for the last table where four empty chairs were waiting to be claimed.

I was about to take a seat when a hand reached out to grab my arm. I turned over my shoulder and came face to face with a tan, smiling guy I recognized from the Facebook invite. I couldn’t remember his name, but he was definitely on the Portuguese national team.

“Hey,” he said warmly.

He looked handsome, but it was hard to tell with the throwback green visor on his head—a prop for poker night. A few other guys around the living room had them on as well.

“Hey. I’m Andie.”

He shook my hand and did a poor job of concealing his gaze as it slid down my body.

“Andie Foster,” he said with a smile. “I was hope to having you here.” He spoke in choppy English with a thick, seductive accent.

He pulled my chair out for me and took one of the open seats beside me.

“I’m Nathan Drake.”

My brows rose in shock. Nathan Drake was a popular name and though I hadn’t noticed him at first—probably because of his visor—I’d definitely seen him on a few commercials; he was a heavily sponsored European soccer player in the same stratosphere as David and Liam.

   
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