Streaking for Silver (An Olympic Medal Romance Book 2) (2 page)

“No, believe you me, I know a thing or two about cherishing family.”

“I lost my father in my junior year of high school and my twin brother in my junior year of college. How’s that for losing half a family in short period of time?”

“My dad died when I was in seventh grade. Cancer,” she said. “It’s been tough without him, but Mom and I stay in touch, and she’s remarried.”

“And you’re good with that?”

She thought for only a split second. “Yeah, he’s okay as stepfather’s go.”

“Good. My mother hasn’t seemed interested in finding anyone. I mean, she hasn’t indicated that she is, but I’d be all for her getting back into the dating game if she wanted to. She’s always said Alex and I were enough of a handful. Now, I guess I am.”

“So, tell me about your mother, if you don’t mind that is,” she said, completing the sentence after only a brief hesitation.

And so they talked on, and Hunter found himself telling her all about his life. He felt at ease with Solange, almost as if they had known each other their whole lives. She did not talk much about herself, but instead fired him with questions about his life, and she seemed to appreciate what he had achieved so far.

Solange wasn’t judgmental like most of the women he had come across in his recent past. Her reaction to the fact that he lived with his mother wasn’t met with scorn or ridicule, but she seemed to find it endearing. Hunter found himself liking Solange a whole lot more than he was willing to admit. He did not even seem to notice how fast time went, and at some point, they both fell asleep.

He woke up later to find her leaning her head against his shoulder, still sleeping. The scent of her apricot shampoo filled his nose and his heart skipped a beat when she realized that she had one arm draped innocently over his torso. He felt the heat within his crotch coming to life in ways that he had never felt before and he shifted to make himself a little more comfortable.

Her body felt warm against his as she leaned on him, and with her so close to him, it was impossible for Hunter to think straight. Why had Solange Marcus had such an effect on him, and yet he did not even know her? It was unlike him to get such feelings from people that were virtually strangers but for her, it was as if she had crawled right under his skin, and now she was all he could think about.

The pilot finally announced they were about to begin descending, and they should buckle up. Hunter hated doing it, but he had to shake Solange awake.

“What happened?” she asked, sounding groggy and confused. “No, don’t tell me that I drifted off to sleep against your shoulder, I'm terribly sorry!”

She pulled away from him quickly, a light pink blush covering her cheeks. Before he could conceal it, her eyes ran over the bulge in his pants, widening as she turned back up to look into his eyes. Hunter had never felt as embarrassed as he felt at that moment. He wished the ground would swallow him up. How had he allowed such a thing to happen? Losing control like that.

The pilot interrupted his embarrassment, thank God. “I'll repeat again, please fasten your seat belts as the plane begins to descend,” the pilot’s voice crackled over the speakers, and she seemed to forget about what she had just seen, panic forging a deep frown on her face.

“The paper bag, where is it?” Solange’s voice was shaky and her hands were trembling.

Hunter quickly held the paper bag for her and then held her hand like they had done on their way up.

Solange felt as if she and Hunter were characters in an old movie as she waited for him at the entrance to the Olympic Village. Her mother was particularly fond of old movies, and “An Affair to Remember” was one of her favorites featuring a leading lady and leading man who were to meet on the top floor of the Empire State Building after a brief affair on a cruise ship.

While she and Hunter hadn’t had an affair on the plane to Rio, they had shared a connection, one which she was eager to explore further. And unlike Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr, they were meeting six hours rather than six months later and in front of a water fountain.

On the plane, they’d become fast friends of forced proximity, but the attraction she’d felt and witnessed from him couldn’t be denied. Just before deplaning they’d made furtive plans to meet once they were settled, which worked because they’d arrived a full day before the Opening Ceremony. Now, as she paced near the fountain, she wondered fleetingly if she’d made a mistake. Her life was a hot mess right now and bringing someone else into it could prove disastrous.

She had literally decided to head back to her dorm when she saw Hunter’s tall, lean frame headed her way.

Too late.

When his mossy green eyes locked with her own, she felt as if she were trapped inside of a tractor beam. She couldn’t have left then if she wanted to.

If his brilliant smile were any indication when he spotted her, it might be safe to say that Hunter felt the same way.

“Hey,” he said.

Hunter stopped so close to her, she could feel his minty breath waft across her face. Solange found herself wishing he’d come the rest of the way and embraced her. She found that she missed the closeness they’d shared on the plane, how she’d clung to him unashamedly, despite having just met.

“Hey yourself.” She grinned up at him. “So, what’s the plan? Looks like the Cafeteria is open 24-hours, so we can either go there now, or later.”

He canted his head toward the main thoroughfare. “What do you say we explore a bit, work up an appetite and eat later?”

“Okay.”

Hunter touched her lightly in the small of her back as they began a slow promenade through The Village checking out this place that would be their temporary living quarters during The Games. Rio’s Olympic Village seemed as impressive as any—a true city within a city—given its thirty-one seventeen story towers which were said to house eleven thousand athletes and six thousand coaches. It also boasted swimming pools, tennis courts, bike lanes, a beauty salon and other amenities to rival any five-star resort. When they’d checked in, Solange and Ashley, her best friend and fellow trainer, had found the rooms as austere as a basic college dorm room with no televisions.

But Solange wasn’t thinking long nor particularly hard about their accommodations at the moment, not as long as this contemporary Aquaman-like superhero was in her presence.

Hunter didn’t possess the ego of the average jocks she worked with every day. In fact he didn’t conform to the mold of someone who considered himself
sports royalty
. He was gentle and self-deprecating as they conversed.

She found they had similar tastes in music, liked a lot of the same books, and were very close to their mothers. They’d walked the entire length of the compoun
d
where flags hung from windows and music blared from balconies.
H
alfway back to the Cafeteria her stomach rumbled loudly.

“Looks like someone’s ready for dinner,” Hunter said.

Solange wrapped her arms around herself, embarrassed that her hunger made itself known so boisterously.

“I could definitely eat now,” she said, eyeing the door to the Cafeteria where a team of what looked to be members of a Scandinavian track team were holding court at the doors.

The quartet eyed female Olympians in particular as they passed either speaking to them amicably if they passed some pre-determined muster and were deemed hot, or made crass gestures when they didn’t. Perhaps this was their system of deciding which they would approach for a possible hook-up later.

Solange had read somewhere that pre-competition testosterone and estrogen ran high, and to add credence to this they all had been recently armed with condoms and pamphlets about safe sex. She felt a bit like a piece of meat as they approached the group.

Sensing her hesitation when she moved closer to his side, Hunter slid an arm around her shoulder, giving the young men a dirty look that if she had to put words to it said, “Don’t you dare disrespect this woman in any way, or it’s on.”

The runners quieted as they passed, but then cranked up again as a group of women athletes came behind them.

“Ms. Halter top’s face is an 8, but her body is 15. Damn!” One of them said under his breath.

Entering the pristine, brightly-colored cafeteria felt much like they were beginning high school again. The room was buzzing with activity and chock full of athletes in tapering mode, all full of excess energy because they were maintaining training diets of up to 9,000 calories per day while not actually training as hard. They entered a pretty wild scene, making the idea of a melting pot in America look like a weak imitation compared to the diversity in the Village Cafeteria.

It was so wild in there it was like a frat party with a gene pool that wouldn’t quit, with pledges from the most popular sororities and fraternities competing to see who could perform the best hazing-styled stunts. Loud cheering emanated alternately from several points in the room. The atmosphere in the cafeteria made quiet conversation impossible, so they ended up scarfing down their meal and carrying out fruit and drinks for later.

They found a relatively quiet spot near the pool and shared a chaise to continue their conversation from earlier. However, it was hard to concentrate because everywhere they went, they encountered couples going at it like there was no tomorrow. Their current entertainment, if you will, was a group of German and French athletes. Other than wearing clothing that sported their countries’ flags, their language was interspersed with an odd
merde
and a requisite
scheisse
, which totally gave them away.

Solange eyed the kissing couple of the group which looked as if they were swallowing each other’s tongues.

“They probably just met today,” she said.

Hunter peered at them. “I don’t know. They look pretty comfortable.”

Solange laughed. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

Hunter nudged her shoulder with his. “According to my friend who went to London in 2012, scenes like this are par for the course.”

Solange nudged him back. “I’ll bet he participated in that scene.”

“Knowing Marty, I’m sure he did,” Hunter said, with a chuckle. “And this time, he’s hoping to one-up himself.”

“What about you?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m not seeking to one-up myself because I didn’t go to London.”

Solange shoved him playfully. “You know what I mean, Mr. Exacting Fitzpatrick.”

Hunter settled back next to her on the chaise and cleared his throat. “I haven’t dated anyone casually or seriously in the last couple of years.”

“I can hardly believe that. The athletes I know enjoy their pick of women on campus.”

“It wasn’t for their lack of trying,” Hunter said, looking into her eyes. “I just wasn’t in the right headspace for a long time.”

Solange could see pain in his eyes even though his lips were smiling at her. This man was more sensitive than any she’d met in a long time. She wanted desperately to make him happy, if only for one night, or the seventeen days they’d be in Rio, whichever occurred first. This would not be a pity fuck, because she wanted him, maybe at this moment, even more than he wanted her. It had been evident on the plane, and was evident now in his hungry gaze, laced with pain though it was.

“You know, being here, and meeting you may be an aberration that just might self-destruct when we go back to the states, but I’m content to see how it unfolds here in Rio.”

She stood up and reached for his hand. When he unfolded himself to his full height, she pulled him close to her, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like the German and French couple had been doing the entire time they’d been by the pool.

Chest heaving like the heroine in her favourite old movie, she said, “Let’s go back to your place.”