I kept my head down on the way back to the village, throwing my hoodie up even though it was scorching hot. The advantage of being inside the Olympic city was the privacy it gave all the athletes. No press. No fans. It was the one place we could all be ourselves. Out here I couldn’t hide. I knew I was one of the most recognizable faces of the games.

In the village, I didn’t have to worry about that bullshit. The other athletes weren’t star-struck. To them, I was just another bloke competing like them.

Some of the athletes were in the zone. They barely spoke to anyone, fearful it would interfere with their concentration before their event.

Then there were the so-called competitors who came to the Olympics to party. I don’t mean any kind of party. I’m talking about the kind you see in American movies, where epic fraternity bashes last for days.

Four years ago, I tried to claim my place on the podium in London. I did what was necessary to cut my time. I fucked when I needed to let off steam. I left the partying to the Germans or the Dutch. Those guys knew how to do it right.

That was one of the things about the village. There were women everywhere. Women who looked like supermodels and had the bodies of athletic goddesses. There were bowls of condoms in the lobbies and in the gym. I heard a report that Rio set a record for ordering the most condoms of any Olympics.

Everyone knew what happened in the village. It was accepted and most of us expected it. It didn’t matter if it was to celebrate a gold medal, or to forget a fourth place finish. There was no judgement.

But as I walked the few blocks toward the high rises, I knew I didn’t want to go back and fuck a soccer star or volleyball player. The only woman I wanted in Rio was Ava.

That kiss was still on my lips. I could feel her tight little ass in my palms. Hear the whimper she made in my ear. Shit. I wanted another taste. And I wanted her.

I knew I had fucked up in Sydney. And now it was costing me.

I waited in line at the security gate to enter the village.

The guard waved me through without making me pass the regular X-ray machine checkpoint. I nodded.

I wiped the sweat from the back of my neck. I glanced across the greenway. There was a volleyball being splashed around in one of the lounging pools. The place looked like something out of a travel brochure. There were palm trees and bright flowers. It didn’t look like the kind of place where the top athletes competed. It looked like a damn singles resort where people met to fuck.

“Blaine! Blaine, come on over. The water’s warm.” The French volleyball players waved and giggled.

“No, thanks,” I hollered. “Getting out of the sun.”

“Aww,” they pouted in unison.

I thought about diving in. I could swim to the other end and have my pick of the team. In less than an hour, one of those girls would be on her back in my bed, but I wasn’t interested. Maybe in London, but not now. I ducked inside and headed toward the elevator, pushing the button for the tenth floor.

I walked in my room, looking for a distraction from the feeling.

I felt caged. I felt trapped. The room was standard. I didn’t receive preferential treatment. I even had a damn roommate from the Australian team. He was out.

I sat on the edge of my bed. Jim was hanging out with the other coaches. I was ready to crawl out of my skin, but it wasn’t from swimming. It was Ava. I pushed off the bed. Like hell I was going to sit here while she was a few blocks away.

I grabbed my keys and slammed the door behind me.

* * *

5 weeks ago

“Hi there, love.”

“You’re-you—” She spoke in between gasps.

The girl had practically fallen into my arms. I held her tightly against my body, enjoying the feel of her curves. Her long hair fell over her chest, hiding her breasts from my view.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” I wasn’t ready to let her go. She had gorgeous eyes. They sparkled with bits of blue like water.

I set her feet on the floor, giving her a second to regain her balance.

“Blaine Crews.” She straightened her skirt. “What are you doing in a pub?” She shook her head.

“Same as you. Boozing.” I grinned at her wickedly.

“I just saw you swim. Congratulations. It was incredible. Amazing, really.”

“Thanks.” I don’t know why I did it, but I leaned against the wall, planting my hand over her shoulder. She backed up and her blue eyes widened.

“I take it you’re a swim fan?” I asked. I always enjoyed talking swim.

“I’m covering it. Covering you. I mean, the sport. I’m here covering the trials.” She dropped her eyes to the floor. “Shit,” she whispered.

I felt a sudden jolt of disappointment. She wasn’t a fan. She was a reporter. I didn’t like to talk to the press. I thought about making an exception for this pretty girl, though.

“Ahh, one of the American reporters.” Those blokes were as bad as mozzies hanging around the place, but she seemed harmless.

“Actually, not anymore.”

I cocked my head to the side. “What do you mean by that, love?”

“You don’t want to hear my stupid sad story. I’m sorry. You’re probably celebrating with friends. This is a huge night for you. I’ll let you get back to your group.”

I looked over my shoulder. “No one there. I’m all ears.”

“You’re here alone?” I could tell she didn’t believe me.

“All alone.” I leaned in closer. It wasn’t entirely true. I rarely went anywhere when I wasn’t swarmed by fans.

I never had to pay for another drink for the rest of my life if I didn’t want to.

She wiped at her cheeks and that was when I noticed they glistened. She had been crying when I bumped into her. Shit.

“I’m at a disadvantage. You know who I am. I think it’s only fair you tell me your name.”

“Ava. Ava Gold.”

“Are you here with someone, Ava Gold?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. I traveled by myself for work.”

I felt good. The kind of good after a victory. It wasn’t a small victory. I had just set a world record in the 200-meter freestyle and butterfly. It was an incredible rush. My body surged with powerful adrenaline. I felt like a fucking rock star. And I needed an outlet for all the energy coursing through me.

Over my shoulder was a crowd of rowdy fans who wanted to celebrate with me. But in front of me was a stranger. A beautiful, sexy woman with tears in her eyes and all alone in my country.

“If we keep walking through that door, it’ll take us out the back and no one will know we left.” I smiled, brushing an auburn curl from her forehead.

“And?”

“And I think we both know where things could go from there.”

“You’re serious?”

“Love, I just set the fucking world record in two different strokes. I couldn’t be more serious.”

“Well, I just lost my job. So I don’t know that this is the best time to… to start something.” She had a funny way with her expressions. I liked it. I liked how the words sounded on her tongue.

“Sorry to hear about your job. Want to talk about it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

I ran a finger along her arm, taking my time to trace the skin from her shoulder and across her bicep, and linger at her wrist. She shivered under my touch.

“Why don’t you tell me about your night and I’ll tell you about mine?” I suggested.

“I know about you, Blaine Crews.”

I chuckled. “And what do you think you know?”

She twisted her lips together. “Your reputation has made it to the United States. Your reputation with women,” she added.

“I hope it’s a good one.” I waggled my eyebrows. I knew what the press reported about me.

“You seriously don’t care what people think about you? That you’re known as the swimming Casanova?”

“Don’t give a shit.” I pressed my thumb into her wrist. “I like women. I like beautiful, sexy, smart women.”

I saw her chest rise with a deep breath.

“And this is normal for you? You pick up women outside the ladies’ room?”

“This might be a first for me, but you sort of fell into my arms.”

“I didn’t fall. You ran into me and knocked me over.” Her brows knitted together. It was cute and feisty.

“I also caught you, didn’t I?”

“How do I know you didn’t knock me over on purpose?” She folded her arms over her chest, pressing her breasts together.

“You don’t.”

She tried to smile, but a tear slipped from her lashes. Damn it. A crying woman was usually something I tried to avoid, but she was so fucking beautiful I was running out of reasons to turn around and walk away.

There was only one way this was going to go.

“Come on.” I grabbed her hand in mine and led her toward the back exit. “You’re upset. You need a shoulder to cry on.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“But you didn’t say no.”

I pushed through the swinging door and we emerged into the parking lot. The lights from the arena lit up the sky. It hadn’t sunk in yet that less than two hours ago, I had broken the world record in that building while my entire country watched.

I was a star. I was their hero. I was Blaine Crews.