Freddie

“YOU NEED MY trousers?” I asked, confirming that she had in fact said what I thought she’d said.

This girl was cute—more than cute, really. Her blue tank top rode up an inch or so on her trim torso, and one look at her long legs proved she played a sport in which she ran—loads. Her bluish gray eyes were hard to ignore, even with the lopsided yellow cap covering half of them.

She looked like that type of American girl blokes dream about: pale blonde hair and sun-kissed skin, as if she’d just walked off the beach. I told myself this was the reason why I wasn’t leaving her alone. She’d had an entire team of titans more than ready to keep her occupied for the night, and yet my curiosity had gotten the better of me.

She pointed to her red shorts and I caught another glimpse of her long legs. “Yes, we have to swap so that I can have blue pants and a blue top. It’s for the game. We have to leave the party wearing one color, and I guess my color is blue.”

I had no clue what she was going on about, but there was no way we were swapping trousers. Her shorts would hardly fit around my ankle.

“C’mon, you have to play,” she said, jutting out her bottom lip. Something told me she got away with murder having a pair of lips like that.

“I can’t give you these,” I said, “but my boxers are blue.”

Freddie, you dim perv. She doesn’t want your boxers.

Her brows rose in shock, but it didn’t last. The surprise faded into a smile and she reached out for my hand. “C’mon, we can change in here.”

I’d braced for a slap for even suggesting the idea, but maybe American girls were different. She led me past the drink table and we turned a corner down a long hallway. The party was less crowded back there, and every person we passed took one look at us, her hand in mine, and assumed the worst. The lads clapped me on the shoulder and the girls flashed jealous stares.

“Wait, I don’t even know your name,” I said as she knocked on one of the doors at the end of the hallway.

She turned and smiled at me over her shoulder. “Andie.”

I knew that name. “Andie Foster?”

“How’d you know?”

“You and the other football girls are the talk of the games.”

She arched a brow and nodded, not bothering with a response.

The room she pulled me into was an unoccupied bedroom. It had the same furniture as all the other rooms in the Olympic Village: standard queen bed, chair, and dresser. There wasn’t a suitcase or bag in sight.

“Looks like we’ll be safe in here,” she said, turning to face me. “But you’ll have to turn while I change.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but she was already working on the waistband of her shorts. I turned and stared at the opposite wall, trying to talk down the excitement in my pants. I could hear her pushing down her shorts. I pictured them sliding down her tan legs and I shoved my hands into my pockets and pinched my eyes closed. I had as much willpower as any bloke, but this was pushing it.

“Hey, I don’t hear you taking your boxers off over there,” she said with a laugh.

Oh, right.

I unbuttoned my trousers, pushing them down to the ground.

“Rest assured, I put these boxers on right before the party,” I said with a smile.

“I don’t care,” she said. “Here.”

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and then something landed on my shoulder…a red, silky something.

“Jesus.” I groaned under my breath. She’d tossed her panties at me, a red, lacy pair that felt like heaven in my palm.

That’s it. I’m moving to America after the games. It’s such a beautiful, beautiful country.

“Ahem!” She cleared her throat. “I need those boxers. My butt cheeks are cold!”

I’d survived more high-pressure situations than most blokes have by the age of twenty-seven. I’d competed in two Olympic games and swam in hundreds of races at the international level. None of those situations were half as difficult as facing away from Andie in that moment. I knew she was standing behind me. Her bare skin was right there, all I had to do was turn around; she probably wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Freddie!”

Bloody hell.

I pulled my boxers off, ignoring the slight tenting situation occurring in the front. I walked backward, trying to hand them off to her like a gentleman. It seemed like a good idea right up until my hand brushed against her bare ass.

“HEY! Hands off the tush,” she said, yanking the boxers out of my hand.

“Ah, sorry,” I said with a cheeky smile. “My mum told me never to throw my knickers at a girl.”

She laughed, though I was more focused on trying to push aside the memory of how soft her skin had felt. I pulled my jeans back up and buttoned them.

“All right, they’re a little big, but it’ll work.”

I turned to find her rolling up my boxers so they wouldn’t fall down her hips. They were rather large on her, but by the second roll they seemed secure enough.

“How do I look?” she said, adjusting the hat over her hair.

Un-fucking-believable.

“ANDIE!”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“ANDIE FOSTER! We’re coming in!”

Fists pounded on the bedroom door right before it crashed open. Two girls jumped forward, one with pepper spray and the other with a bottle of beer poised to strike.

“We’re too late!” The brunette one had zeroed in on Andie’s knickers still clutched in my hand. “HE ALREADY HAS HER PANTIES!”