Going for Gold (8 page)

Bryce lowered his eyebrows slightly. "How would you put
it?"

"She bullied me until I broke and ran home. I don't
know. Like I said, it was silly." I laughed awkwardly.

"It's not silly."

Something in my chest tightened. Chris had always told me it
was stupid and that I should get over it. That it shouldn't bother me anymore.
But he didn't understand. He didn't know what it felt like to be humiliated
every day for months. To dread leaving your dorm room each morning. To always
be on edge. Bryce wasn't looking at me like he thought I was ridiculous. He was
looking at me like he understood. "And how would you know what it's like
to be bullied? Bullies don't pick on guys that look like you."

"I didn't always look like this. I was a scrawny little
kid."

"I can't picture you as scrawny or little."

He shrugged. "Let's just say that I run because I had
something to run from."

He wasn't just handsome, sweet, and funny. He was real. And
honest. I barely knew him, but I trusted him more than I had ever trusted
Chris. I wanted to know what he was running from. Actually, I wanted to know
everything about him. But before I could ask, he had another question.

"How complicated is it?"

I sat down on the stool beside him. "Complicated."

"Enlighten me."

I bit my lip. I wanted to know more about him. I didn't want
to talk about Chris. Maybe it wasn't complicated at all. "He cheated on
me."

"Then he must be an idiot."

I laughed. "Thanks for saying that."

"I don't really see the complication, though."

"We've been dating for two years. He made one
mistake."
That I know of.
"I don't know if that means I should
throw it all away. And you've seen what people do in the middle of the
athlete's village..."

"Wait, he's here?"

"Yeah, he's on the swim team."

"What's his name?"

I didn't see why telling him that mattered. "Chris
Hamilton."

His jaw seemed to tense.

"What, do you know him?"

"No, I've seen him around." He shrugged his
shoulders like it didn't matter. But I had seen him clench his jaw. He had
reacted to hearing Chris' name.

"I told him it was over right before Operation Red Rip.
And I haven't heard from him since. I guess it really isn't that complicated.
He seems perfectly happy with my decision."

"Are you happy with it?"

"I'm trying to focus on winning the rest of my
games."

"Well, I personally think you made a great
decision."

"You do?" My heart seemed to flutter.

"You deserve better than him."

"What, like you?"

He raised his eyebrow. "I never said that. Are you
hitting on me?"

I laughed. "Like you aren't hitting on me."

"Let's just say that I wouldn't mind making things a
little more complicated for you."

It took me a second to realize I had stopped breathing. I
wasn't sure if him liking me complicated things, or made them way less
complicated. Because from everything I knew about Bryce, he was worth taking a
chance on. He seemed to understand me. And I couldn't stop thinking about his
hands on me and his perfectly sculpted torso. Especially when his gaze was
fixed on me like that. My whole body felt overheated.

He picked up both glasses of water. "I think our food is
ready." He nodded toward our table.

Our dinner had just been served. Alex and Tim looked like
they had both moved a little closer to Kristen. It seemed like she might be
getting close to achieving that devil's threesome Tim wanted so badly.

"I know how much you're craving meat in your
mouth," Bryce said. "I'm surprised you're not running over
there."

I laughed and grabbed one of the glasses out of his hand so
that one of his would be free. "I'm never going to live that down, am
I?"

Bryce smiled. He placed his free hand on the small of my
back, just like I hoped he would. This time I didn't try to justify the shivers
that went down my spine. It wasn't just the sex ban. I liked Bryce. I really
liked him.

"What's actually going on between Alina and her kind of
boyfriend?" Alex asked as we sat down.

Apparently they had continued playing the game while we were
away. Which didn't really make any sense, since I wasn't there to answer the
questions for Kristen.

Kristen shrugged. "He cheated on her with her arch
nemesis. And they're taking a break. Hopefully a permanent one."

I could feel Bryce's eyes on me. When I told him about Chris,
I had left off the part about who he had cheated on me with. I didn't want him
to pity me. But he wasn't looking at me like that. I couldn't really place the
expression on his face. It almost looked protective.

I cut into my steak and took a big bite. Despite the teasing,
I really did like meat in my mouth.

"On a scale of one to ten, how interested is Kristen in
that devil's threesome?" Tim asked.

"At least an eight," I said when I finished
chewing.

Kristen laughed.

"Whoa. No. I'm not your third," Alex said.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not gay."

Bryce and I both laughed.

"I'm not gay either," Tim said. "I fully
appreciate the female body in all its grace and beauty." He was staring
intently at Kristen.

She blushed.

How was Kristen attracted to this guy? Despite what he had
just said, he was clearly gay. I took another bite of my steak. For the first
time since seeing those photos of Chris and Gabriela, I felt completely
relaxed. I hadn't laughed like this in such a long time. Maybe things had been
going south between me and Chris for longer than I had realized. Or maybe I had
been too focused on volleyball. But how could I not be? This was the biggest
competition of my life. Chris wasn't allowed to make me feel guilty for caring
so much. He had put me second while he trained too.
Stop thinking about him.

When I was upset, I tended to eat way more than usual. I was
the first one done my steak.

"You weren't kidding about liking meat in your
mouth," Alex said.

I shrugged and looked at Bryce out of the corner of my eye.
"I never joke about meat in my mouth."

He choked on the sip of water he had just taken and everyone
at the table laughed.

"Do you think they have anything good for dessert?"
Kristen asked.

"I'm completely stuffed," Tim said as he pulled his
napkin off his lap with a flourish and placed it on the table.

"Me too. But Alina never goes anywhere without getting
dessert and she always lets me steal one bite."

"How do you keep such a slim figure?" Tim asked me.

"I'm an athlete? Maybe they have some Brazilian delicacy
I haven't tried."

"Have you tried a brigadeiro yet?" Bryce asked.

I turned toward him. "No. What is that?"

"They're these little chocolate balls that Bryce can't
stop eating," Alex said with a laugh.

Bryce ignored him. "They're these sweet, gooey,
absolutely delicious chocolate things with chocolate sprinkles. Or you can get
coconut instead of sprinkles. You have to try them."

Chris had this way of making me feel guilty about ordering
dessert. "You don't need that," was something he said to me all the
time. I never knew if it was because he was being cheap, was in a rush, or if
he was just calling me fat. Either way, it always made me feel horrible. I
loved dessert. Was that really so bad? And how was I supposed to own a bakery
if I didn't taste other people's creations and scope out the competition?

And after one bite of a coconut covered brigadeiro, I
realized that Bryce wasn't just a great guy. He also shared my taste in
desserts. There wasn't a single thing about him that I didn't like. And the
more time I spent with him, the more I realized how lacking my relationship was
with Chris.

Monday

Alina

I wanted Bryce to press me against a wall and kiss me again like
he had during Operation Red Rip. This time I'd kiss him back. I thought about
his tongue tracing my lips. I had wanted it then, before I even knew anything
about him. And everything I had learned since then, I liked. Not to mention
that I had never been this instantly attracted to anyone in my life. Except
maybe Owen Harris.

But Bryce was being respectful. His hand wasn't even hovering
on my lower back as we waited for our Uber outside of the restaurant.

"What time is your game tomorrow?" he asked.

"2 o'clock."

"Do you mind if I come cheer you on?" His shaggy
hair blew in the warm Brazilian wind. He ran his hand through his hair to get
it out of his face.

I smiled. Everything he did seemed to exude sex. "No, I
don't mind."

"You can count me in too," Tim said. "Those
spandex shorts really do something to a man."

Kristen blushed under his gaze.

"But we might be a little sweaty, because that's the
same time that our practice ends."

Kristen whispered something in his ear and Tim smiled.

Alex cleared his throat. "Ubers in Brazil really are
fast."

An SUV had just pulled to a stop in front of us. I couldn't
deny the fact that I was eager to sit on Bryce's lap again. To feel his fingers
on me. Bryce seemed equally excited, because he was the first one that approached
the car.

He opened the door and hopped in. I was about to join him,
but before I could, the tires squealed and the car sped off, nearly running
over my foot in the process. I screamed and jumped back. The hasty getaway left
the smell of burnt rubber lingering in the air.

"What the hell was that?" asked Kristen.

"I dunno. That jackass almost ran over my foot."

"I guess that explains how he got here so quickly. He's
a crazy driver," said Alex.

Tim glanced down at his phone. "I think that was
actually someone else's Uber. The map shows that ours is still two minutes
away."

"Is Uber Psycho a new service option that they
offer?" asked Kristen. "Or is that a Brazilian exclusive?"

I laughed for a second and then started to get worried.
"Wait. What if he just got kidnapped?"

"Relax, Alina," said Kristen. "The car had an
Uber sticker on it, so it must have been legit. He probably just took someone
else's Uber."

I looked around, but there was no one else waiting to be
picked up. And her logic about why it had to be legit wasn't terribly
convincing.

"Why don't you text him?" suggested Alex.

"Good idea." I pulled out my phone and typed out a
text: "Are you okay?"

But there was no response.

Monday

Bryce

"Dude, what was that?" I asked as the driver floored
the acceleration.

He eased off the gas and turned back to look at me.
"Where to?" he asked in a thick Brazilian accent.

"The athletes' village. But first can we go back and get
my friends?"

"N
ão entendo
.
You have map?"

"What?"

"Map." The driver picked up his cell phone and
pointed to it.

"Uh, yeah. Hold on." I pulled up google maps and
put in the village square. It calculated for a second and then told me to take
a right in 800 feet. "Right up ahead."

"Give map," said the driver, reaching back with an
open palm.

I handed him my phone. He looked at it for a second and then
closed the app and put it in his cup holder. I guess he knew how to get there.

"Can I have my phone back?" I asked. I wanted to
text my friends to make sure none of them had been run over by my crazy Uber
driver. They must have been thinking the same thing, because I heard my phone
buzz to signal I had a new text.

"Ten minutes."

What?
"Okay, great. Can I have my phone
back?"

The driver responded with something in Portuguese that I
didn't understand.

Oh well. I guess he'll give it back when we get there.

His driving had improved considerably once I told him where
we were going, so I decided to just lean back and take in the sights. I hadn't
really explored the city that much yet, so it was nice to get to see it. At
first we were just driving through the new part of town. Most of it had been
built within the past few years with the hopes of capitalizing on all the
tourists coming to town for the games, but there were also some shops that looked
like they had been there for decades. We passed a ton of restaurants with
patios packed well beyond what could be safe or comfortable.

And then the scenery started to change.

Glamorous restaurants and high-rise hotels gave way to shoddy
looking apartment buildings and warehouses connected to a grid of makeshift
wires and satellite dishes that looked more like something you'd see at an
elementary school science fair than in a city connected to actual electricity.
The ride grew bumpy as the quality of the roads quickly deteriorated.

Why did the Uber driver have to pick the route through the
sketchiest part of town possible?

I turned away from the scenery and let my mind wander to
Alina. She ordered steak instead of a stupid salad. She liked dessert just as much
as me. She was funny and sweet. And she deserved way better than Chris
Hamilton. I had seen him around the athletes' village. Maybe he had only
cheated on Alina once, but if I had to take a guess, I'd say it was way more. I
never would have thought that Alina was his girlfriend after seeing him with a
different girl every time we had crossed paths. The fact that one of the many
times he cheated on her he chose the girl that had picked on Alina in school
made it a million times worse. The guy was a total dick. But it wasn't my place
to tell Alina that. I couldn't butt in on her decision. She needed to realize
that she deserved more on her own. And I'd be waiting when she made the right
call.

I leaned back and put my head on the headrest. Alina was
gorgeous. It was going to be hard to control myself around her. But I needed to
give her time to get over Chris. I wasn't interested in being her rebound. I
wanted more than that. She knew I liked her. Now I just needed to wait. But
after dinner, all I had wanted to do was kiss her. Each time I touched her I
felt this spark. I couldn't exactly explain it, but I knew it wasn't a feeling
I wanted to let go.

The SUV came to a stop outside of an unmarked, run down
building.

"We're here," said the driver.

"Um, sorry, this isn't right. I said the athletes'
village. For the International Tournament of Athletes." I looked out the
window. We were in the middle of the slums, far away from the cushy hotels they
had built specifically for the games. If I hadn't grown up in places similar to
this, I probably would have been terrified. But I wasn't in America. I was in
Brazil, which automatically made this situation more alarming. "Let me
bring up the map again," I said.

A giant Brazilian man with a shaved head opened the car door
before the driver could respond. He was wearing a black suit over a black
button down. Even Lil Wayne would have thought that the amount of gold chains
around his neck looked tacky. Despite his laughable fashion decisions, the man
had an aura of danger about him. I was quickly realizing that this situation
was more sinister than a simple misunderstanding with an erratic Uber driver.

"Follow me," said the man. His English seemed to be
much better than my driver. And his tone didn't leave much room to disagree.

When I hesitated, he pulled back his suit coat to reveal a Glock
tucked into his waist band.

Shit.
I put my hands out to show I wasn't going to
make any sudden movements. "Alright, I'm coming." I slowly slid out
of the back seat and followed the enormous Brazilian. I looked around to size
up my options. Follow the guy with the gun, or make a run for it. I could
probably sprint to a nearby corner and get around the side of the building
within a few seconds. If he was anything like the thugs I grew up with, the
ones who held pistols sideways when they shot to try to look cool, he had no
chance of hitting me. But there was a chance he was ex military or something,
in which case I'd be toast.

I decided to cooperate and see where this was going. There
was no reason to provoke him if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

The big Brazilian knocked twice on a door that was really
just a random collection of plywood and sheet metal. The door swung open and he
stepped to the side to let me pass. As I tried to slide past him, the smell of
Brazilian barbeque mixed with musky sweat stung my nostrils.

The inside of the building was much nicer than the outside,
besides for the fact that the enclosed space intensified the smell of my
kidnapper. We were in a dimly lit hallway with wainscoting and gaudy
chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. We passed a few open doors. I couldn't be
sure, but I thought I caught a glimpse of three men counting piles of cash in
one of the rooms. As we progressed down the hallway, the sound of rap music
grew louder.

The hallway ended in a staircase that led down to the back of
a gentlemen's club. Tan girls in very skimpy lingerie and heels danced on poles
while men covered in tattoos reached for them. I quickly realized that
classifying this as a gentlemen's club was far too kind. At best, this was a
strip club. Possibly a brothel.
Maybe they were supposed to bring Alex here
instead? He would love it.

Directly in front of me, a man with a short mohawk wearing a
crisp white suit sat on a leather couch. Two strippers in white lingerie sat on
either side of him. Three men just as large as the guy who had escorted me down
the hall stood in front of the couch to prevent anyone from approaching from
the VIP section of the club.

As soon as he saw me, the man in white stood up and smiled.
"Boa noite," he said, holding his hand out for me.

"Boa noite," I said and shook his hand. Before
coming to Brazil I had learned a few phrases, and that happened to be one of
them.

"I'm Rodrigo, and this is Isadora and Giovanna. Thank
you for coming to see me. How was the drive?" His English was surprisingly
good, despite his thick accent.

"It was okay. Although I would have preferred if your
driver had taken me to where I wanted to go rather than kidnapping me."

"Kidnapping is such a strong word. I just wanted to talk
to you discretely, so I figured that was the best way to arrange such a
meeting." Rodrigo gestured to the chair next to his couch. "Please,
take a seat."

I couldn't run away now. There were too many people in my path
that could stop me. I hesitantly sat down and Rodrigo did the same.

"Before we begin, would you like anything to
drink?"

"No, thank you." I didn't want to give him a chance
to roofie me. He was giving me kind of a rapey vibe.

"Alright then, we'll get right down to business."
Rodrigo took a sip of his drink and leaned back on the couch with one arm
around each of the strippers. "Are you much of a gambler, Bryce?"

I shrugged. "I've never really gambled much unless you
count my yearly fantasy football league."

"What does the winner of your league get?"

"I think most years it's like $500."

Rodrigo shook his head. "Doesn't it just drive you crazy
watching the games and not knowing if your players are going to perform or
not?"

"Yeah, but isn't that kind of the whole point of
gambling?"

"No. No, no, no. The point of gambling is to make money.
At least, that's why I gamble."

"Okay."

"Do you know what a parlay is?"

The term sounded vaguely familiar. It took me a second to
remember, but then the voice of my college stat professor filled my head,
describing a parlay in his accent from God-knows-where. A parlay is when you
only get a payout if a series of events all occur. So, for example, you could
have a five part parlay that depends on the results of five different games. If
you get any of them wrong, you get nothing, but if you guess them all right,
the payout can be quite large. The more scenarios and the less likely they are
to occur, the more money you can make for getting them all correct. The small
investment combined with the extremely low probability of winning a large sum
of money made parlays a lot like playing the lottery.

"Yeah, I know what they are," I said.

"Good. I recently made a parlay that included a number
of events from the International Tournament of Athletes. My odds of winning are
less than a percent of a percent. I don't like those odds much, do you?"

"No."

"Then maybe you can help me make them better."

"Sure. Just cut your losses and invest in something with
better odds. I know a guy who does financial planning if you're
interested."

Rodrigo laughed. "Ah, so you're a funnyman, are you? I
should have known you'd be funny after that prank you pulled on Yao Kai."

I tried to maintain my poker face. "I don't know who's
giving you your intel, but that wasn't me."
How the hell did he know
that was me?

"Good, deny it to the end. See, I knew you were the
right man for the job."

"I'm sorry, but I'm really not. If you're trying to rig
the games, you'll need to get a ton of the top athletes on your payroll. I
couldn't possibly rig however many events you have in your parlay. It'll never
work."

Rodrigo shook his head and turned to one of the strippers
next to him. "I don't get it, Isadora. Why doesn't he want to work with
us?"

"It is possible he wants a payment," said Isadora
with a sexy accent.

"What kind of payment do you think he wants?"

"I could suck his cock." Isadora stood up and
unhooked her bra. It fell to the ground to reveal her oversized, tan tits. On
paper, she was attractive. Big tits, tiny waist, flat stomach, toned legs -
every physical trait a man might describe he wants in a woman. But none of it
was real, especially her smile. Sure, her lips formed a smile, but her eyes
just weren't in it. Seeing her just made me kind of sad, not horny. I'd take a
real woman over Isadora any day of the week. Especially a real woman with a
volleyball ass like Alina's.

"Not a bad idea. What do you say, Bryce? Is this what
you were holding out for?"

"No, I just really don't think I can help." All I
wanted to do tonight was get to know Alina better, not contract HIV from some
Brazilian stripper.

Isadora made a pouty face. "You like Giovanna more,
yes?"

The other stripper stood up and dropped her bra. Her tits
looked exactly the same as Isadora's. They must have had the same surgeon.

"You're both very beautiful, but..."

"Maybe you want us together?" The girls started
kissing and rubbing each other's tits.

"Come on, Bryce," said Rodrigo. "You can have
both of them at the same time. You'd really pass that up?"

"I'm sorry, I just don't think I'm the right man for the
job."

"What if they fuck you?"

"Right here?" asked Isadora. "In middle of
club?" She glanced at Rodrigo. She must have gauged his reaction, because
she quickly added, "Yes, this will be such fun."

I sighed. I clearly wasn't going to get out of here without
agreeing to give Rodrigo what he wanted. It didn't mean I had to follow
through. "As lovely as you ladies are, I think I'm going to have to
pass."

Anger flashed across Rodrigo's face.

"But," I continued, "I will help you. I'll
need a nice budget to work on, though. Rigging events isn't easy."

Rodrigo clapped his hands together as the girls sat back down
next to him. "Now we're talking! I knew you'd come around."

"So how are we gonna do this?" I asked. "Do you
have a list of events and your desired results?"

"Not exactly." Rodrigo pulled a smartphone out of
his pocket and tossed it to me. "Check the drafts folder every morning. If
I have any jobs for you, I'll put them in there. Delete the drafts immediately
after you read them so that there's no trace of what we planned."

"Okay. Done."

"If you need money for supplies, I have ways of getting
it to you."

"Good. And payment for my services?" I asked. If I
was going to pretend to help him, I had to act legit. He'd know something was
up if I didn't want money.

"Ten grand, once everything is finished."

"Twenty."

"Fifteen."

"Deal." I stood up and we shook hands. I was just
glad this shit was over. I'd dump the cell phone as soon as I could and
hopefully never hear from him again.