Going for Gold Read online

  Going for Gold

  By Ivy Smoak

  Copyright 2016 Ivy Smoak

  All Rights Reserved

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  CONTENTS

  Title

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Read More

  ARC Team

  Also by Ivy Smoak

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Saturday

  Alina

  My team USA tank top clung to my skin as Kristen and I pushed through the hot, sticky air on our way to the practice arena. We had been blessed with unseasonably cool weather for the first week of the games, but today we were finally getting a taste of the infamous Brazilian humidity.

  "So how many do you think we'll see today?" asked Kristen.

  "I'm guessing three," I said.

  "Less than yesterday? Even though more people are finished their events?"

  "Yeah. It's too hot to be doing that outside. What's your guess?"

  "I'll say four."

  "You're on."

  "Well, I think I already see one." Kristen pointed up to the third floor balcony of one of the skyscrapers that had been built specifically to house all of the athletes for the games. A girl was leaning over the railing. Anywhere else it would have just looked like she was enjoying the view, but in the athletes' village, we had to suspect that something else might be occurring.

  We took a few steps away from the building to try to get a better view.

  "I dunno, I'm not sure if..." I started. Just then, someone from behind the girl reached around and grabbed her breasts over her shirt. She opened her mouth in a way that could only mean one thing was happening. "Okay, yup. They're having sex."

  "That's one," said Kristen.

  "How is that girl okay with that? It's so awkward. Anyone walking by can see them."

  "Oh come on. Don't pretend like you wouldn't enjoy that."

  "Um, no. I'm actually kind of glad that our final game is on the second to last day. Otherwise I'm pretty sure Chris would have tried to make me do something like that."

  "Better not let Coach Hammond hear you talking that way."

  "I don't think it's any of her business if Chris is into public sex!"

  Kristen laughed. "I meant the part about our final game."

  "Oh, right. Well what are the odds that we don't make it that far?" Everything was setup perfectly for us to make it to the final. The volleyball portion of the International Tournament of Athletes consisted of two groups of six teams each. For each group, every team would play every other team one time, and at the end of those games, the four teams with the best records in each group would move on to the quarterfinals. We had played four out of our five group games and won all of them, meaning we were guaranteed to finish in the top four and advance to the quarterfinals. Brazil, on the other hand, who had been considered favorites to win gold, had lost three out of four of their games. Their fifth and final group game was against us, and if we beat them, they'd be eliminated. From there it would be a cake-walk to the gold medal podium.

  "I actually think Coach is right on this. We shouldn't get too cocky." Kristen stopped and pointed to a girl kneeling in front of a muscular guy in an alleyway between two dorms. "Speaking of getting cocky..."

  "Ew, gross pun."

  "That's two. And we're not even halfway there. Looks like I'm going to win."

  "Good thing we forgot to specify what the loser's punishment would be today." The first few days we had played we had just been counting for fun, but yesterday we kicked it up a notch by saying the loser had to post a picture on their Instagram of the winner's choosing. My Instagram account now featured a selfie of me making a platypus face. Thanks, Kristen.

  "Any ideas?" asked Kristen.

  I looked around to try to come up with a punishment that wouldn't be too horrible. A group of beautiful, shirtless men were walking towards us with bags of McDonald's. "Maybe the loser should have to buy dinner."

  "All the food here is free."

  "I know." It was the perfect punishment since I was almost certainly going to lose the bet.

  "Nice try. But I think we should have higher stakes. What if the loser has to participate in the very activity we're betting on?"

  "Have sex in public?" I asked.

  "Yeah."

  Of course Kristen would suggest that. "Hmmm..."

  "Wait, are you actually considering that?"

  "No, of course not," I said, laughing it off. Shit, am I really considering it?

  "Oh my God, you totally are." Kristen's face lit up in a way I knew all too well. I saw the same face every time I had come back to our dorm room after a long night out with Chris. Even though she hated him and wanted me to date someone else, she still loved making me dish on all the juicy details of our dates. She was not a strong proponent of the old saying that a lady never kisses and tells.

  "Well we haven't been allowed to have sex for four freaking weeks! God, I'm so tired of Coach's stupid sex ban. It's like these games are designed to make people crazy horny. They take the most physically fit people in the world, put them all in coed dorms, and then all the coaches tell us we can't have sex until we're done competing. Not to mention there's an unlimited supply of free condoms available."

  "You don't have to tell me. I can't wait for our competition to be over so I can have some fun. The guys here are all so hot."

  "But it's so awkward to do that in public!"

  "Yeah, but it's not really in public. It's more like doing it in the middle of a frat party that only accepts the best looking guys in the world who aren't total douches."

  "So not like a frat party at all?" I asked.

  "Okay, fine," said Kristen. "That's kind of a bad comparison. But you get the point."

  "So if you lost the bet, you really wouldn't mind having sex out in the open?" Would I? The idea is kind of enticing... God, what is this sex ban doing to my brain? Get a grip, Alina!

  Kristen shook her head. "Nope. So it's settled then? The loser has to have sex in public after our final game."

  "Whoa! I never said I agreed to it, I was just saying that I understand why they're doing it."<
br />
  "It sure sounded a lot like a yes to me."

  "It wasn't." I need to change the topic immediately. I looked around for something to distract her. The only thing I found was some tan brunette in a thong bikini lying out on a beach towel surrounded by three guys. "If we hang around for a few minutes, that will probably be number three. And maybe number four and five as well. Actually, we probably should discuss the rules on group sex. Does it count as one per group? Or one per pair of guy and girl? Or the total number of people in the orgy divided by two?"

  "Wait, isn't that Gabriela Santos?" asked Kristen, ignoring what I thought was a very valid point that needed discussing, especially if the stakes were going to be so high.

  Please don't be Gabriela Santos. I had been dreading seeing her ever since I stepped foot in Brazil.

  When we got a little closer, I realized Kristen was right. It was indeed Gabriela Santos, the star of the Brazilian volleyball team. She was good, but she wasn't as amazing as the media made her out to be. They just had a hard-on for her because she was gorgeous and had huge breasts. And based on her current outfit, she wasn't afraid to flaunt them.

  She also happened to be my arch nemesis. I thought I was finally getting over what she did to me, but I was wrong. The sight of her still made my blood boil.

  "Yeah, that's definitely her," I said through a clenched jaw. I took a deep breath to try to get rid of the lump that had formed in my throat and that uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. "No wonder the Brazilians have sucked so bad this year. They're more concerned with their tans than with practicing."

  "Fine with me."

  I felt my phone buzzing in my sports bra. I reached in and pulled it out. It had gotten disgustingly sweaty in my cleavage. I made a mental note to find a better way of carrying it. Perhaps I needed to invest in a super stylish fanny pack.

  "What's up?" asked Kristen.

  I looked at the screen and read the message from my boyfriend, Chris: "Hey babe, you watching?"

  "Shit, Chris' race is in five minutes." I typed out a response to let him know I was watching.

  "What's the big deal?" asked Kristen. "Just watch it on your phone while we walk."

  I shook my head. "This stupid phone won't stream video unless I'm connected to wifi. I'm just gonna run the rest of the way to the arena. See ya there!"

  Before Kristen could respond, I stuck my phone back in my sweaty cleavage and took off. I wanted to make sure to catch Chris' race, but I also didn't want to have to see Gabriela for one more second. I hated how just seeing her took me right back. Screw her.

  On the way, I passed three more couples having sex. Oh well. I'll tell Kristen that I didn't see any. I certainly wasn't going to admit that I lost the bet and get forced into having sex in public.

  When I finally got to the arena, I sat down on a bench outside the locker rooms, connected to the arena wifi, and pulled up the broadcast on my phone.

  The familiar face of Owen Harris popped up on my screen. It was the summer before my freshman year of high school eight years ago when Owen Harris landed the job of being the anchor for the broadcast of the International Tournament of Athletes. My friends and I all had the biggest crush on him with his dimples and deep brown eyes. My parents had no idea why I got so interested in sports that summer, but as a result, I signed up for the volleyball team at my high school. I had been playing since I was a kid, but had never taken it that seriously. It turned out that once I focused hard I was pretty good at it, and now here I was representing the US at the ITAs.

  I refocused my attention back on the broadcast. Owen Harris was in the studio relaxing in a comfy looking armchair talking about the day's events so far. Shit, did I miss it already?

  "Before we head out to the aquatic stadium, let's take a look at the updated medal count."

  I let out a sigh of relief. Or maybe I was just panting from running in the ridiculous humidity or from seeing Gabriela Santos. Either way, I was glad I made it on time to see Chris' race.

  The screen switched to a graphic showing a list of countries and how many medals they had earned. The United States was first with 14 gold, 9 silver, and 13 bronze, followed closely by Brazil who had an identical count, except for 2 fewer gold.

  "The US is ahead in the count," said Owen. "But the real story here is Brazil. Bob, what do you make of all this?"

  Owen had been joined in the studio by Bob Stimpson, a former four-time gold medalist at the International Tournament of Athletes.

  "What Brazil has done here has been extraordinary," said Bob. "Before the tournament started, they were targeting 30 medals total, and now here they are with that many medals and we're only halfway through the games."

  "And it's not like the tournament was front loaded with sports that they're traditionally strong in," added Owen.

  Bob nodded and shuffled a stack of papers. "That's a great point. In fact, they've been struggling in many of the events that you'd expect them to win. Their men's soccer team has looked okay, but they certainly aren't firing on all cylinders, and their number one ranked women's volleyball team has really failed to impress. They're actually in danger of not even making it out of the group stage if they can't beat the US tomorrow."

  No way they'll beat us. Especially if Gabriela has a foursome with those guys.

  "Looking at the schedule here," said Owen, "how many more medals do you think Brazil can expect to win?"

  "Before the games began, I would have said maybe 10 or 15 more, but we seem to have grossly underestimated their home field advantage. At this point I wouldn't bet against them finishing in the top three."

  "Alright, we'll have more on this later, but first let's take it out to the aquatic stadium and see if Brazil can continue to rack up the medals or if Chris Hamilton can bring home a gold for the US after his dominant performance in the heats yesterday. Over to you, Jim."

  "Thanks, Owen," said another announcer as the camera switched to a view of my insanely sexy boyfriend stretching next to the pool.

  The races were fun to watch, but watching his abs while he stretched was even better. The bulge in his swim suit wasn't bad, either. After dating Chris for two years, I realized that a good standard to measure men by was whether or not they could look hot in a swim cap and shaved legs. Chris certainly passed that test. I still couldn't believe how lucky I was. When I met Chris in college he was the ultimate player. But he gave up that lifestyle for me. Sure, girls still stared at him and tried to make passes at him, but he denied them every time. I was enough for him. My eyes and probably millions of girls back home rooting for him to win were glued to Chris on the screen. And I couldn't help but smile at the fact that I was the one that he wanted. Owen Harris may have been my first major crush, but Chris was my first everything else.

  "So here's the lineup for the final of the men's 100 meter butterfly." A list of swimmers and their times in the heats popped up on the screen. Claude Beaumont was his biggest competition for the gold, and he was in the lane right next to him. According to the list, Claude had only been half a second behind Chris in the heats.

  Come on, baby, you can do this.

  The swimmers were finishing their stretches when Kristen walked into the building.

  "Did he win?" she asked.

  I glanced up for a second. "Should start any minute."

  "Oh. Well, you should probably bring that in the locker room so you're not late."

  She was right. Coach Hammond had a rule that we had to be in the locker room five minutes before practice started or we were considered late. And being late meant being benched for the next game.

  "Right, okay. Be right in," I said.

  With my eyes still glued to the screen, I got up and made my way towards the locker room.

  "Alright, it's time to see if Chris Hamilton can do it again. If he can match his time from yesterday, he'll almost certainly come away with the gold," said the announcer as the swimmers all got on the blocks.

  A voice on the PA sai
d, "On your marks," and then the buzzer sounded and the swimmers were off. The screen zoomed out to show all the swimmers. Chris had gotten off to a decent start. He was maybe one arm's length behind Claude. Not a big deal. He always finishes strong.

  I pushed through the locker room door as the swimmers hit their first and only turn. Chris had caught Claude and looked to be a few fingertips in front of him.

  "You got this," I whispered.

  Chris was two strokes away from the wall when I walked directly into someone. My phone flew out of my hands and crashed to the locker room floor.

  "Whoa!" yelled a guy. "What are you doing in here?!"

  I looked up for the first time since the race had started. The guy in front of me had his hand on his junk and was scrambling to put his towel back on. My mouth dropped as my eyes landed on his chiseled abs. His chestnut hair was shaggy and stopped right above his baby blue eyes. His bewildered baby blue eyes. Oh my God. I had wandered into the men's locker room. And I'm staring at a naked man that's not Chris!

  All I could think to do was scream and run away.

  Chapter 2

  Saturday

  Alina

  "Did he win?" asked Kristen as I sat down next to her at our lockers. "And why is your face so red?"

  I shrugged and tried to play it cool. "I dunno."

  "What do you mean you don't know?"

  "Don't worry about it. Hey, can I borrow your phone for a second?" I had accidently left my phone on the floor of the men's locker room, but I couldn't tell her that. God, why do I always have to do the most embarrassing stuff?

  "What do you need my phone for? I already put it in my locker."

  "Mine uh...stopped working."

  "So you didn't see if he won or not?"

  "Nope. I was just sitting on the bench when you told me I should hurry. When I looked back down, the screen had gone black. I tried turning it off and on again, but nothing happened. I even tried to take the battery out. I'll tell you, those iPhones just aren't made the way they used to be."

  "Okay, you can use my phone. If you tell me what really happened to yours."

  "What do you mean? I already told you." Shit! How does she know I'm lying?

  Kristen raised an eyebrow at me. "Oh come on, you always ramble when you lie. And you can't take the battery out of an iPhone."