Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1) - R.S. Grey Page 0,3
she stammered, eyeing the camera tentatively before turning to me. “It’s been four years since your last Olympic games and I understand that a lot has changed for you since then. Would you mind going into a bit of detail about the announcement of your—”
I shook my head to cut her off. I knew my manager had passed along a specific list of topics that were off-limits. “Nancy, this interview was meant to be about swimming.”
She smiled wider. “And it will be! I promise, it’s just that our viewers are dying to know what your plans are with the lovely Caroline.”
I stood and reached for my mic. “Sorry Nancy. Until my races are done in a few weeks, my focus will be in the pool and nowhere else.”
I passed my mic to the cameraman as I walked off the studio set. Thom wouldn’t stop laughing until we were back outside—the wanker. They probably couldn’t air the segment. It was less than two minutes, but I didn’t care. The media were vultures. They’d write what they wanted to whether or not I pretended to be a well-mannered gentleman.
“Freddie, do you think you’ll try to swim even faster this time around?” Thom echoed, doing his best impersonation of Nancy.
“Exactly!” I laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Of course I’m here to break my bloody records.”
“Did you really mean what you said to her?” He looked concerned. “About only focusing on the pool?”
“What? Have you already got plans for us or something?” I asked, reaching for my mobile. There were already three missed calls from my manager—she’d want to berate me for walking off the interview—but I skipped over them, content to ignore her.
“There’s a few swimmers heading over to Brian’s place, but I think we should stop in at this party the Brazilian swimmers are having. Blokes’ve got a theme and everything.”
Sounded ridiculous. “What’s the theme?”
“Says ‘Rubik’s Cube’ on the Facebook invite.”
I paused and turned to him. “Are they taking the piss?”
CHAPTER THREE
Andie
WE’D ONLY BEEN in Rio for a few hours, but Kinsley, Becca, and I had already begun to settle into place. We were sharing a condo on the same floor as the rest of the team and though the three of us each had our own room and bathroom, we’d probably be joined at the hip the whole time anyway. Even then, they sat in my room watching me rifle through my clothes instead of unpacking their own things.
“What exactly is a Rubik’s Cube party?” Becca asked.
“It’s simple: everyone wears different colors—red shirt, blue shorts, green socks, whatever—and once you get to the party, you have to swap clothes with people until you’re wearing all of the same color.”
Kinsley tsked. “Sounds like an excuse to see people in their skivvies.”
I tossed my luggage onto my bed. “Yes, well, isn’t that basically the meaning of life in the first place?”
I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know they were exchanging one of their trademarked worried glances. They weren’t used to seeing this side of me. In L.A., I hadn’t gone out much, but that was because my entire day—6:00 AM to 6:00 PM—had been dedicated to soccer.
“Do you guys have any purple or orange clothes I can borrow?” I asked, reaching for a blue tank top and pairing it with red shorts. There was enough red, white, and blue gear stuffed in my suitcase to last a lifetime. They basically shelled it out to us in bulk as soon as we were called up for the national eam.
“I think this will look better,” Kinsley said, reaching around me for a giant white fleece I’d packed as an afterthought. It was technically winter in Rio, but it felt more like a mild L.A. summer.
She laid the fleece out over the blue tank top and then offered me a proud smile. “Yeah, see. That’s adorable.”
Ten minutes later, I had the outfit I wanted to wear: blue tank top, red shorts, white knee-high socks, and a yellow trucker hat I’d picked up at the airport. It had Rio de Janeiro spelled across the front in scrolling cursive. On top of that outfit, Kinsley and Becca had laid out their choices for me: black track pants that covered every inch of skin from my navel to my ankles, the white fleece, and a red scarf they dictated should be worn like a burka.
“Oh, and you can keep the white socks,” Kinsley said, like she was doing me a big favor.