Page 103 of Those Summer Nights (Sweet Cravings 2)

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."

My phone buzzed 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 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 h

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