by Violet Paige
I’m not going to say I was the kind of man who planned on having a typical life. I didn’t think those things were meant for me. I worked fucking hard to get where I did. I didn’t get there by daydreaming. I got there by putting in blood, sweat, and tears.
So when Ava told me she was having my baby I could either stay that man. The man who climbed and scraped, shoving and pushing his way to the top, or I could change. In a split second, I looked in her eyes and I knew it was worth every ounce of pain and struggle to change. It was worth every world record, every gold medal, to be the kind of man she could count on. To be the kind of father our baby deserved.
“Ready?” Jim signaled me as I sat on the bench in the locker room.
I nodded. I didn’t bother to take the earbuds from my ears.
My entire life might be different this morning, but the rituals weren’t.
I stood, reaching my arms overhead, and walked out of the locker room.
The crowd erupted in a chant: “Crews, Crews, Crews.”
I tried not to look at how many people had been packed into the aquatics center. My eyes darted to the one reserved seat I had in the entire building.
Ava smiled.
If she was here, the rest was all just noise. I didn’t need the cheers or chants. I didn’t need the TV cameras. I needed her. And our baby.
Jim walked up to me. “You’ve got this, Blaine.”
“Thanks.”
It was my gold to lose.
I adjusted my swim cap and goggles. The fans went crazy when we took our places on the blocks. I was in lane two.
I gripped the block and rocked back and forth to loosen my hamstrings. I took a deep breath.
The freestyle was mine. The gold was mine.
The buzzer sounded and I dove into the water, plunging beneath the surface with a solid start. The swimmer on my right was Swiss and the guy on my left was American. I had competed against both of them in world finals six months ago.
I kicked, propelling myself faster as I took quick breaths. I saw the wall and twisted into the turn I practiced yesterday. It was fucking flawless. I surfaced again, gaining at least a full body length on the Swiss guy.
I knew better than to look beside me. The drag would only slow me down. I focused on the wall, on my breath, on pushing the water out of my way.
I shoved off the wall again. There was only one turn left before the final lap.
It was close and I anticipated the turn, ducking with a swift motion. I pulled hard, forcing my body to move faster than it had before. I had to do this. Ava was watching.
I reached, stretching my fingertips long, and hit the wall.
I hung on the rope and looked up at the scoreboard. The times scrolled across the marquee.
Jim clapped and shouted. “Gold!”
I threw my arm in the air, pumping my fist. Ava laughed and waved from the crowd.
I had everything. A fucking incredible woman. A woman who was giving me a family.
And I had just won gold.
It was only the beginning.
Naughty Notes
I’ve always loved the Olympics. Always. Who doesn’t love two weeks when the world can come together and just play games? It’s amazing, right?
Putting my patriotism aside, the other part of it is two solid weeks of the hottest, sexiest athletes on the planet performing every day.
I started toying around with the idea of a fun series about what happens in the Olympic village. Because Rio is going to be hot, hot, hot! What do these guys do when they aren’t training? Or what happens when they win and they stick around for the rest of the games? What do they really do during their down time? I started to research what happens inside the village and I couldn’t turn off the stories that started rolling around in my head. I HAD to write this series this summer.
I wanted these books to be fun and sexy. Forget all the international politics and the zika problems. Just fantasize that somewhere in Rio an incredibly hot Australian swimmer falls head over heels for a beautiful American girl.
Let’s face it. We all need some fun, and a place to escape where zika isn’t a reality.
So, what’s next?
I’ve got two more sexy Alpha Athlete books headed your way this summer. Keeper is about a devilish British soccer player and Penetrate is about a delicious beach volleyball player—both take place at the summer games in Rio. Get out your flags and cheer for your favorite star. These two books are just as sexy, quirky, and exciting as Plunge.
Thank you for reading and reviewing. Y’all are the best!
I can’t wait to write more for you.
Don’t miss out on what’s coming up next…Newsletter Signup
XOXO,
Violet
Book Two
1
Lachlan
I pulled a pair of sunglasses over my eyes. I didn’t want anyone to know I was still fighting a bloody hangover. Fuck, it probably didn’t matter. The opinions were out there. The judgements about me had already been made. I stumbled through the revolving door and threw a hand toward the sky to block the glare from the sun.
Shit. Rio was a fucking sauna.
“Bloody hell,” I grumbled.
The bus gushed with a puff of diesel exhaust. I coughed and tossed my bags onto the different piles. One set was going to the stadium with us for practice, while the other would be delivered to our rooms in the Olympic village.
Since when did South American winters include a massive heat wave?
“Lach, nice of you to show.” I heard the wanker’s voice before I saw his smug face.
I scowled at Alex Conley. “What the fuck do you care?” I spit.
“Didn’t say I did.”
He was dressed in a full three-piece suit. His hair was slicked back and his face was clean shaven. I could smell the cologne rolling off of him. Did he think we were headed to a photo shoot? Prick. He turned his back to me and climbed on the bus. Even his shoes were shiny. I looked down at my trainers.
Ever since the team picked up that arrogant asshole, he and I had fought as if we were still rivals, not teammates. It was hard to put aside our differences for the games. “For the good of the country” didn’t apply when I had to share colors with that arse. There would always be bad blood between us.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it from the back pocket of my jeans and wiped the screen clean with my T-shirt to read the first alert that popped up. Fuck. My name was plastered everywhere. I scrolled through the posts before shoving the cell in my pocket again.
I was the last one on the bus and took a seat in the back as the driver closed the doors and the wheels jerked forward. I kept my head down. I’d already heard the guys muttering about my epic night out. The fucking press had followed me everywhere I went.
And then there were the pictures.
Let’s just say they involved drinks and certain body parts.
My head throbbed every time the driver took a sharp turn. Fuck. I couldn’t remember how many pints I had last night. Enough to give me one hell of a headache.
There had been at least three bars, and I closed down the club inside the hotel. I leaned my head against the tufted headrest. There was enough photo evidence on social media to prove it.
Rio de Janeiro was one big party. That was my plan. Party through the next three weeks. Enjoy the booze. Blow off steam. Fuck around. It was all the same to me.
I wasn’t here because I wanted to be. I didn’t give a shit about the Olympics. But my agent, Rick, convinced me my brand depended on me being here. He wanted me to care that I had a brand to protect. I had sponsorships. And if Lachlan Kenzie wasn’t at the summer games, I could kiss several of those contracts good-bye. England’s rock star keeper had to be seen on the world’s football stage, or my sponsors would be pissed. Rick pressured me into agreeing to this damn media circus.
So I flew to Rio. I stayed at the team hotel for a few nights. And I got on the bus.
By the time we pulle
d up to the stadium, my stomach growled. I skipped breakfast, coffee, and sleep. But the girl had been worth it. I didn’t know her name. I only knew she could fuck like a wild banshee. I left her sleeping while I grabbed my bag and headed to meet the team.
There was no reason to see her again. Practices started today. We moved into the village this afternoon. There would be more girls. I didn’t need to get tangled up with only one. I never did.
Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed women. Correction—I fucking loved women. My first year in the league, I learned just how much women loved me. After that, I didn’t see the point in getting tied down. Why choose one when I could have a hundred? Why limit myself? I never had to sleep alone. And I never dealt with the shit my mates did. No one nagged me. No one begged for phone calls. I didn’t get an ear bashing if I forgot her birthday. No—I had the perfect fucking scenario.
The bus lurched to a sudden stop. My head whipped forward.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
I looked outside the window at the stadium. It was enormous. The oblong building spanned several blocks. It was going to hold 78,000 screaming fans once the games began. These weren’t any kind of fans. They weren’t the same people who showed up at track, or the wanderers waiting on rowing and sailing results. These were football fans. Rabid, obsessed people who traveled around the world to cheer for their teams.
The guys in front of me stood up, ducking their heads as they exited the bus.
I trailed behind, hopping to the ground from the last step. The flags from around the world fluttered overhead. I knew this moment was supposed to resonate with me. The blokes around me seemed to take a minute to soak it in. I could see their eyes mist. I saw them take deep breaths when they spotted the British flag. I huffed. I wasn’t into the sentimental shit. I played football. Just give me my damn kit and boots and let me out there.
The equipment crew quickly sorted our bags and hauled them to the dressing rooms. I didn’t know how long we were going to stand outside and watch flags flap in the wind. I was ready to get on the pitch. I wanted to smell the grass. See the seats. Get a feel for the stadium. Standing out here didn’t get us ready to play Germany.
“Saw things got wild for you last night.” Taylor Dirks stood next to me.
I shrugged with a grin. “You should have joined me for a few pints.” I wasn’t going to let the paps dictate my life here. I’d almost forgotten about the headlines.
He shook his head. “I don’t think my wife would like that too much.”
“Is she here?” I looked around his shoulder, pretending she would pop up behind him.
“Yeah, she’s staying with my entire family in town. We decided to make it a family trip.”
“That’s too bad. The girls in Brazil are naughty.” I adjusted my sunglasses.
“Have you slept at all since you’ve been here?” he asked.
I liked Taylor. He was one of the older footballers on the team, but I respected him. He didn’t get in my shit and he played like hell once the whistle blew. He was seasoned and everyone knew he was a family man. It made sense he was the team captain.
“No. I’m trying to enjoy all parts of the Olympic experience. Haven’t had much need for sleep.”
“Just take it easy, okay? We need you out there. I’d hate for something to interfere with you on the pitch, Lach.”
I felt the tightness in my neck. Was he getting ready to cross a line I didn’t let other players cross? I hated fucking lectures. I hated rules. I hated the condescending looks I got from the guys.
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to turn on him. “Looks like we’re headed in.” I pointed to the assembly in front of us.
I walked away before I said something I couldn’t take back.
I followed the crew through the tunnel entrance that led to the dressing rooms. It was dark and cool inside. Some of the most famous world tournaments had been played in this stadium. There were huge painted canvases of the teams who had won matches here.
It was unspoken, but we wanted to end up on this wall. And fuck it, we should. We had the best footballers in the world. As much as I hated Alex Conley, it was no mistake he was on this team. Between him and Taylor, we had the top scorers in the world. The Football Association had hand-picked these athletes to represent the United Kingdom. They were the best of the best. We shouldn’t leave Brazil without a gold medal, but we’d never won one before. Hell, we couldn’t close out any top matches in world competition. We didn’t win in London when the world stage was in our own fucking backyard. It didn’t make any damn sense. All this talent. All this skill. Millions in paychecks and endorsements. The most famous players and we’d never clinched the big ones.
I strutted into the dressing room. I needed a bottle of water and a few aspirins to nurse the end of the hangover. I doubted I could get a pint delivered before practice started. I licked my lips, thinking how that would taste in the heat.
My T-shirt was stuck to the front of my chest. I pulled it away from my skin as I looked for my locker.
We shared these lockers with teams from the other countries in our assigned group. I didn’t expect to see my name engraved over the bench, but I expected more than what I had. I was an international name. I had my own cologne. My own sports clothing line. I had sponsorships for beverages and watches, and I had recently signed a contract for my own football video game with a US company. It was going to be the full Lachlan Kenzie experience. They were developing the smart phone app for the game as well. I had more corporate star power than anyone else in this room.
I stared at the empty locker. Where were my damn boots? Where was the practice kit? There wasn’t even water in this fucking place.
The rest of the guys started hollering at the equipment handlers. I wasn’t the only one who complained about this cock up.
I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. This was shit. Nothing but total shit.
“What the fuck?” I roared.
My temple throbbed with sharp pain. My fingers tingled. I drew back and knocked the side of the box where my equipment should be.
“Lach, calm the fuck down.”
I shook out my palm. Blood trickled from my knuckles. I had split the skin in a jagged line.
I stormed past the other players.
“Where are you going?” Conley tried to jump in front of me, but I shoved him out of the way. I’d had enough of his bullshit for the day.
“Lach, come on!”
I didn’t answer. I kept walking. I emerged through the tunnel onto the pitch. It was being lined on one side with white chalk. They weren’t ready for us. I grabbed a ball from the rack and kicked it halfway across the stadium. It curved in mid-air. I didn’t bother to see where it landed or if it hit anyone as it rocketed off my foot.
I strutted over the grass, leaving the stadium behind.
2
Aspen
I scrolled through the media blast again on my phone before the flight attendant told me I had to turn off all electronics. I smiled politely at him, but I was hesitant to be detached from the firestorm of bad press for over eight hours.
I hadn’t stopped reading about the British soccer star’s scandalous night out since I awakened this morning. And the pictures. It seemed as if it was the only thing anyone was talking about on Sports Now.
Oh my God, the pictures.
If Lachlan Kenzie could upend everything in one night, he had the potential to take down my biggest account before I even touched down in Rio de Janeiro.
I pulled the strap on the seatbelt and tried to relax. That was crazy—I couldn’t relax, not even with a drink in my hand—not with two. There wasn’t enough alcohol to undo the damage he had done to his reputation or to ours.
I wouldn’t be able to take a deep breath again until I knew that rogue of a soccer player was under control. What in the hell was he thinking?
He had to know everything he did in public was recorded. I had watched the same thirty seco
nd clip on repeat. I told myself I was repulsed an ambassador of our company would lick a woman’s stomach in a bar while someone filmed it, but every time I saw it, I squirmed in my seat. He had bad judgment, but it didn’t come without undeniable sex appeal.
He eyed her with primal hunger before he lowered himself over her half-clothed body. I didn’t know who she was, but she was exotic and gorgeous with dark hair that reached her waist and long eyelashes that fluttered every time he lapped liquor from her navel. The entire scene annoyed me, but I didn’t know if it was because the girl was the complete opposite of me. I was a blond-haired, blue-eyed Southern girl with creamy white skin. There was nothing foreign and exotic about me.
It didn’t matter what the reason was—what Lachlan Kenize did was a publicity nightmare for me.
I closed my eyes when I felt the plane reverse from the jetway. I hated flying. I took a sip of the champagne, hoping it would do something for the rolling queasiness I felt when we launched into the air. An eight-hour flight was not my idea, but unless I wanted to hop around for two days on multiple flights, it was the quickest way to Rio. I didn’t have that kind of time.
The plane slowly started down the runway. I think it made me hate Lachlan even more.
Not only was he about to cost me my position with Revolution, but he also made me fly—two things that shouldn’t be happening. I was on a plane because he couldn’t keep his rash ego in his pants. I squeezed my eyes tighter, avoiding the view from my cushy window seat. First class couldn’t make me forget I was getting ready to be shot into the sky like a bird. I hated not having control. I hated not being able to know what was happening.
I heard the captain rev the engines as we accelerated. Oh God. I cringed.
Within seconds, I felt the plane angle into the air. The ground was gone and we were airborne. I opened my eyes one lid at a time. It wasn’t as bad once we were up. It was the getting there that scared the shit out of me. I peered out of the window. Miami looked small from here.
