“I wasn’t checking you out.” I practically stutter over my words. “I mean, I was, but it wasn’t on purpose.”
“You were accidentally checking me out?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head like that can erase the past thirty seconds of this conversation.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.” Her tone is soft and apologetic. “I would definitely hit on you. I just wouldn’t take advantage of someone. That’s all.”
I look around the room and notice she does the same thing. Thankfully, nobody is watching us.
My phone buzzes for the fourth time since I’ve started yelling at the counter snob, and in a panic, I say, “Listen, I don’t know your name or what I said to you last night, but I apparently trusted you enough to let you take me back to my room.” Her eyebrows lift at that last part of my statement. “But I don’t really know anyone here, and it would be nice to have a friend. At least for as long as I’m here.”
I open the contacts app on my phone and hand it to her. She stares at it like I’m giving her a bomb.
“It’s not going to bite.”
She still hasn’t taken the phone.
“Can I please just get your number? I’ll take you out for coffee or something as a thank-you for making sure I was safe last night. Nothing more than a thank you.”
Her eyes soften at that, and she accepts my phone. Without saying anything, she types for a few seconds and hands it back to me.
“I’ll call you… No, I won’t.” I shake my head and squeeze my eyes closed before sighing and looking back up at her. “I hate talking on the phone. I’ll text you and see when you’re free. I’m here until after the Olympics are over.”
She nods. “Me too.”
I give her a shy smile, suddenly feeling extremely exposed. “Okay.”
“Alright.”
And with that, she turns on the heels of her sleek, black sneakers and heads out the front doors of the hotel.
That’s when I notice the Olympic logo on the back of her jacket.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself as the hotel doors close, and I give myself a few seconds to let it register before picking my jaw up off the floor. My stupidhangover brain heard her say she was an athlete, but never put the two pieces together that she’s anATHLETE.
“AN OLYMPIAN?!” Cassie screams into my ear. “YOU SLEPT WITH AN OLYMPIAN?!”
“Cassie,” I shout as I flip my turn signal and pull into the studio parking lot. “I didn’t sleep with her. She brought me back to my hotel room after I’d apparently spilled my relationship story to the hot bartender.”
“Did you sleep with the bartender?”
“I didn’t sleep with anyone!”
I can hear her sigh through my car speakers. “You need to live it up while you’re there, girl. And you need to get more information on S.”
“Skye,” I correct. “She put her name in my phone as Skye.”
“What’s her last name?” she asks immediately.
“I didn’t get her last name.” I’m thankful that my new friend gets to dodge a full background check from my best friend. She thinks she’s an FBI agent every time I start talking to someone new. And I love her for that because it’s her way of trying to keep me safe with everything I’ve been through.
She’s the best.
“When you find out her last name—”
“You’ll be the second to know.” Implying that Michel will need to know first as my security detail. “I’m at the studio, so I have to go in and get to work, or Ollie is going to have my head.”
“Alright,” she whines. “My break isn’t over for another ten minutes, but I guess the famous pop-star schedule trumps boring hospital hours.”
