Ilias came out of the water, drenched and grinning, surrounded by teammates and, she assumed, family. Then, to her horror, after the interview, he made his way up toward their group. That smug smile firmly in place, hazel eyes locked on her.
Thankfully, Jamie rushed forward and wrapped him in a hug. Distracting him. “You did amazing out there. I’m so proud of you.”
“You wanted me to win, and here I am.”
“Oh, you delivered, bro,” Carlos added, doing that annoying bro-style handshake thing.
Ugh. Men.
“You did good.” Alejandra hugged him with genuine affection. They had been friends since they were kids, but somehow, life had never put him on Sofia’s radar. According to Alejandra, and then to her own self analysis, she had been too focused on her own career to even care about something more than the Neptune Institute or Thomas.
“Just good?” Ilias grinned, peeling off his competition shirt, then slowly unzipping the top of his wetsuit. The fabric slid down to his hips, revealing a powerful chest marked by a few pale scars. Her eyes—traitorous—followed the V of his abs down before she realized what she was doing and yanked her gaze upward.
Gosh, Sofia, you are so weak. Have you never seen abs?
He was looking right at her. Of course he was.
“Aren’t you going to compliment me, habiba?”
She’d looked the word up. Arabic forsweetheart, darling, beloved.The kind of word someone might use when flirting. Which, of course, Ilias was doing without a shred of shame.
“Congratulations,” she replied stiffly, keeping her voice pleasant only because Jamie was nearby, now chatting with Alejandra.
Ilias stepped closer. As if personal space was a concept he simply refused to acknowledge.
“You’re my new lucky charm, you know that?”
Sofia frowned. “Why’s that?”
“You wished me luck. Look at the score I got. Now you’re stuck with me.”
Ugh.She had just wanted to be a good person and not an asshole, and now he thought she was going to be his lucky charm. Surfers and their ritualistic bullshit. She was a scientist, luck didn’t work like that.
“Sounds like a threat.”
“Nah.” He chuckled. “Are you coming to the final?”
“For Ale.”
“And for me,” he added with a wink. “For me, too, habiba. Remember, Spanish to Spanish.”
She rolled her eyes. His smirk didn’t budge.
God, his ego was ocean-sized.
“Ilias, Sofia, photo time!” Jamie called, pulling them into a group shot with Alejandra, her family, Elvira, and herself.
Sofia stepped into frame, only to feel Ilias press against her side, his arm slinging over her shoulders. His long fingers curled around her arm, warm, casual, far too at ease. As everyone posed, he leaned in, mouth brushing close to her ear.
“Smile and act like you like me. Might help your case with Jamie.”
His low voice in Spanish sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt her cheeks burn.
Sofia exhaled through her nose, trying to regain control. It was just biology. Fucking, useless biology. Her brain and body were wired—genetically programmed—to respond to a healthy-looking male: low voice, confident posture, symmetrical features. Every instinct designed to make her weak, to make her lean in, to make her heart race. Evolution’s cruel joke, and she was falling for it anyway.
Then her gaze snagged on Alejandra’s. She was looking at her with a smirk, and before she could stop herself, she shot her best friend a murderous look.
“All say cheese!” the photographer called in broken English.
