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The three semesters of Portuguese I took in college didn’t necessarily prepare me for nearly a month in Brazil, but I had brushed up on a few podcasts during my morning runs before I flew out.
“Oi,” I greeted the girl behind the counter.
She smiled at me. “What for today?” she asked.
Even though her sentences were mixed up, her accent was beautiful. I doubted I sounded that sexy trying to speak her language.
I looked at the menu scribbled in chalk next to the register.
“Do you have anything for jet lag?”
She looked at me questioningly.
“Travel sickness?” I tried again. I had no idea how to translate the concept. “Time change?”
“Ahh.” She nodded. “Bee pollen. Lots of energy. Make you feel better.”
“Sure. I’ll take a mango smoothie with bee pollen.” I placed my order, hoping the Rio bees had something that would shake this feeling.
She started working on my drink, measuring and pouring.
“Lots of ice,” I added. I didn’t know the Portuguese word for ice, but she tossed in another scoop. I could only imagine how many times a day Americans walked in asking for more ice.
I discovered this quirky café my first night in the city. It was too freakin’ hot for coffee. Big, lazy fans spun overhead as I waited.
Maybe it was because I was an American I was so impatient, or maybe it was the sweat dripping down my neck that made me irritable, but it felt as if the girl was making my drink in slow motion. I teetered between my feet, drooling over the bucket of ice on the counter.
I considered asking her if it was for sale.
And that was when Blaine Crews walked in.
3
Blaine
I pushed through the door to the juice café on the outskirts of the Olympic village. It was blistering hot. Hotter than fuck. Jim had tried to run me hard in the gym, but he couldn’t distract me from the pool. It was still closed, and we hadn’t gotten an update.
I stopped two feet short of the counter when I looked up. My eyes locked on those crystal baby blues of hers and my chest seized. Ava.
What the fuck was she doing here?
I thought she might pretend she didn’t see me. But other than the girl making a drink, we were the only two in this place. There was nowhere to hide. I thought about turning around and walking back out the door. It was what I should have done.
She pressed her pouty lips together. Shit, she was beautiful. Everything in me tensed.
“Hi,” she greeted me quietly.
“Didn’t know you would be here.”
“At the Olympics or in this bar?” she smarted off.
I folded my arms. “Don’t tell me you’re pissed, sweetheart.”
“Me? Why would I be?”
“No reason.”
I could tell she wanted to say something. Her eyes flickered.
