But I see my wife laughing so hard with Indie that she has tears streaming down her face.

  God, I love seeing her laugh.

  The sight of her like that turns my insides to pudding and, despite my current get-up, all I can think about is how wonderful it is to see her so happy.

  Eyes locked on her, I lean over and murmur to Camden, “I can’t wait to get her pregnant.”

  “What?” Camden exclaims, but I don’t bother looking at him.

  “We’re ready!” I yell.

  Before Camden has a chance to ask another question, the gun sounds.

  Then, we—the four Harris Brothers—lead the pack, proving to everyone that there is absolutely nothing we wouldn’t do for each other.

  However, what I would do for Belle tops even them. And that is something I never realised was a possibility in my life.

  I think it was Oscar Wilde who said life imitates art. Well, to the Harris family, football imitates life. My brothers and I developed into our prospective roles in life by mirroring our spots on the pitch.

  Camden and I are strikers, both always poised and ready to attack. We create the rhythm of the pitch, a dance of giving and taking, passing and shooting. We control the highs. We gift the biggest moments. Together, we shoot for the glory, but it’s always in service to the greater goal.

  Booker is the gate keeper. He has blinders on to anything outside of the poles because nothing matters more than protecting what’s inside his web. He’s not intimidating at first glance, but when you look beneath his soft, quiet demeanour, there’s a ferocity to him that would kill for what’s his.

  Gareth is a defender. He’s a proud, solid guard, rugged in his style of play but strong in his attack. He shields what’s behind him with stoicism and grace, never buckling to even the most intense pressure. It’s all because what he hides from people is what he holds most dear.

  Above all of us is our sister, Vi, and our dad, Vaughn. They are the tactical manoeuvres. One battles for personal praise, the other, for professional excellence. Both immersed in the game, a tangled web of behaviours. Both fighting a slightly different goal, but each picking up where the other left off.

  But the women in our lives. The women who break us Harris men…They are the fiercest of all. Because it is they who inspire our Happily Ever Afters.

  Now, we wait to see what’s in store for Gareth and Booker. Hell, maybe even Dad someday.

  * * *

  *The End*

  There’s plenty more Harris Brothers Love available!

  1. Challenge (Camden & Indie)

  2. Endurance (Tanner & Belle)

  3. Keeper (Booker & Poppy)

  4. Surrender (Gareth & Sloan part 1)

  5. Dominate (Gareth & Sloan part 2)

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Oh my goodness! What FUN I had with Tanner and Belle! A mankini ending was an idea I had early on in the book. I knew it was a risky, wild, and wacky sort of finale to an love story, but if you’re a member of the Amy Daws London Lovers Fan Group on Facebook, then you know how hilarious I find mankinis. And if ever there was a couple to do something that crazy, it would be Tanner and Belle. I hope you loved my crazy.

  I have so many people to thank for helping me with this book.

  First, my alpha readers Jaci, Julia, Bethy, and Belinda. I like a lot of hand-holding with the Harris Brothers because they stress me out! Having you read as I write made this process so much more fun. I love that you become just as invested in these characters as I do, and I love that you push me! Thank you for dealing with my crazy author neuroses. Your endurance for me is astounding!

  My British sounding board, Lynsey! Thank you for replying to my copious amounts of British lingo inquiries. It’s not easy being an American author writing English characters, but having you on my team makes it miles more fun. I freaking love you, Bruv!

  To all my killer betas and proofers that read quickly and give me thoughtful feedback, thank you! You push me and I appreciate you helping me make my books the best they can be. I loved having you on my beardy Harris rollercoaster. (That almost sounds like mustache ride.)

  My editor, Stephanie! Thank you for knowing my characters inside and out and helping me stay true to them for every book. I owe you a new notebook for the awesome notes you keep of my work. You’re the best. Never quit me!

  My London Lovers reading group. This book was dedicated to you. You guys make writing fun. Thank you for allowing me to torture you with Mankini Mondays and embracing my crazy. Your love for the Harris family is unwavering and I am enjoying the hell out of this ride with you all.

  To my hubby. Thank you for accepting the times I need to be absent from life to get the words out. These characters consume me, but it’s your support that drives me. I’ll try not to release another book during tax season! (That’s probably a lie, but at least the thought is there.)

  To my Lolo girl. You get more like me every day and that both thrills and terrifies me. I will always embrace your crazy and I will always dance with you like no one is watching.

  To my sky babies. It’s crazy that there was a time in my life when I lost six babies. For how happy I am today and how wonderful I see life now, I know that I wouldn’t be where I am without having gone through all of that. You six are my life barometer. You help me see the beauty in the mundane because losing all of you was anything but ordinary. Thank you for making my life extraordinary.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Number 1 Amazon Bestselling author Amy Daws writes spicy love stories that take place in America, as well as across the pond. She’s most known for her footy-playing Harris Brothers and writing in a tire shop waiting room. When Amy is not writing, she’s likely making charcuterie boards from her home in South Dakota where she lives with her daughter and husband.

  * * *

  Follow Amy on all social media channels, including Tik Tok under @amydawsauthor

  * * *

  And for more of Amy's work, visit: www.amydawsauthor.com

  OTHER BOOKS BY AMY DAWS

  The London Lovers Series:

  Becoming Us: Finley’s Story Part 1

  A Broken Us: Finley’s Story Part 2

  London Bound: Leslie’s Story

  Not the One: Reyna’s Story

  A London Lovers/Harris Brothers Crossover Novel:

  Strength: Vi Harris & Hayden’s Story

  * * *

  The Harris Brothers Series:

  Challenge: Camden’s Story

  Endurance: Tanner’s Story

  Keeper: Booker’s Story

  Surrender & Dominate: Gareth’s Duet

  * * *

  Payback: A Harris Brother Spin-off Standalone

  Blindsided: A Harris Brother Spin-off Standalone

  Replay: A Harris Brother Spin-off Standalone

  Sweeper: A Secret Harris Brother Standalone

  * * *

  The Wait With Me Series:

  Wait With Me: A Tire Shop Rom-Com

  Next in Line: A Bait Shop Rom-Com

  One Moment Please: A Hospital Cafeteria Rom-Com

  Take A Number: A Bakery Rom-Com

  * * *

  Pointe of Breaking: A College Dance Standalone by Amy Daws &

  Sarah J. Pepper

  * * *

  Chasing Hope: A Mother’s True Story of Loss, Heartbreak,

  and the Miracle of Hope

  * * *

  For all retailer purchase links, visit:

  www.amydawsauthor.com

  THE SUMMER GAMES: SETTLING THE SCORE

  R.S. GREY

  As an Olympic rookie, Andie Foster has spent far more time in her cleats than between the sheets. For 21 years, her Friday nights have consisted of blocking shots rather than taking them. But now that she's landed in Rio, she's ready to see for herself if the rumors about the Olympic Village are true:

  • The athletes are all sex-crazed maniacs...

  • The committee passes out condoms like candy...

  • The games continue long after the medals have been handed out...

  As Andie walks the line between rumor and reality, she's forced into the path of Frederick Archibald, a decorated Olympic swimmer and owner of a sexy British accent—too bad he's unavailable in a way that "it's complicated" doesn't even begin to explain.

  In other words: off limits.

  It doesn't matter that he has abs that could bring peace to the Middle East and a smile that makes even the Queen blush; Andie fully intends on keeping her focus on the soccer field. But the Village is small. Suffocating. Everywhere Andie goes, Freddie happens to be there—shirtless, wet from the pool, and determined to show her a whole new meaning of the phrase "international affairs".

  The Summer Games: Settling the Score

  Copyright © 2016 R.S. Grey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: R.S. Grey 2016

  authorrsgrey@gmail.com

  Editing: Editing by C. Marie

  Proofreading: Jennifer at JaVa Editing

  Cover Design: R.S. Grey

  Cover Model: Lance Parker

  CHAPTER ONE

  Andie

  * * *

  EVERYONE HAS HEARD the rumors about the Olympic village—not the details of the world-class amenities and supercharged meal plans, but the whispers about the trouble athletes get into once they’re off the track and in the sack.

  The committee passes out condoms like candy.

  The athletes are all sex-crazed maniacs.

  The games continue long after the gold medals are handed out.

  In 2000, the IOC officials dished out 70,000 condoms. They must have felt the walls shaking harder than expected, because they reportedly ordered 20,000 more after the first week of competition. For the Sochi and London Games, they upped the ante to over 100,000 prophylactics for the 6,000 competitors in attendance. If you do the math, that’s 16 to 17 love gloves per athlete, for an event that lasts less than a month. So, whispers or not, the message rings loud and clear: when the flame is lit, let the games begin.

  Kinsley Bryant, my mentor on the women’s soccer team, assured me that all the rumors about the village were true. She’d competed in the last summer games and lived to tell the tale, but this was different. Her first games had been in proper London-town. This time around, we were in sunny Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, a city well acquainted with debauchery. The moment we stepped off the plane, I could feel the excitement in the air. Tourists and athletes flooded into customs. The crowds were alive, in a rush, and speaking a million different languages all at once.

  Outside the airport, I drew in a heavy breath, trying to make sense of the circus. Street vendors shouted for our attention (“Pretty necklace for a pretty girl!”) and taxi drivers promised low fares (“We take you where you want to go! Cheap! Cheap!”). My first five minutes in the city proved colorful, loud, and intoxicating.

  “This way, ladies!” our team manager said, waving her hand in the air to usher us toward a row of waiting shuttles. I hiked my backpack up on my shoulder and dragged my suitcase behind me. I wanted to take my time and soak it all in, but they were already dividing us into groups and shoving us into the shuttles. We were heading toward the Olympic Village and my body hummed with excitement. What would it be like? Would I even be able to walk outside my room without coming face to face with some German rugby player’s überdong? Would they be shooting condoms at us with a t-shirt cannon like at basketball games, or would there be an attendant in each room with a silver tray full of magnums? “Boa tarde, here’s your room key and some lube.”

  Surely they’d be more discreet than that.

  “If we have to sit for much longer, my legs are going to shrivel up and I won’t be able to compete,” Kinsley said, drawing me out of my obsessive thoughts.

  She turned from her perch in the middle row and assessed the three of us crammed into the back of the shuttle. Nina, another rookie, sat beside me, quietly working away on a Sudoku puzzle. Michelle was on the other side of her, checking her phone. So far, they’d both proved to be bumps on a log. I had tried to get them out of their shell during the long flight from L.A., but it was no use.

  “I agree,” Becca said, turning around and propping her elbows on the back of her seat. Kinsley and Becca were both veterans on the team, but at that moment they looked like two detectives about to interrogate us. “I think we need something to entertain us until we get to the village.”

  Kinsley suggested a round of fuck-marry-kill, but since the other rookies lacked both homicidal and matrimonial tendencies, we ended up just going around the shuttle and choosing which athlete we would have sex with if the opportunity presented itself.

  “What about you?” Kinsley asked me, wiggling her brows for emphasis.

  I smiled. “Sorry, I don’t have a dick-directory going.” I figured there would be enough good-looking guys roaming the grounds that I wouldn’t have to worry about preparing a hit-it-and-quit-it list beforehand. “Old fashioned, I guess.”

  She arched a brow. “Seriously, not one guy comes to mind?”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find one soon enough.”

  “Boo! You suck,” Becca chimed in. “Who’s next?”

  “Freddie Archibald!” Michelle exclaimed, finally glancing up from her phone.

  “Mmm, Freddie,” Nina agreed, pausing her Sudoku game long enough to stare wistfully out the window.

  I scrunched my nose. “Who’s that?”

  “He swims for Great Britain,” Michelle explained with a look of horror on her face. Apparently I should have already known who he was. “His full name is Frederick Archibald and he’s like British royalty or something. Total package.”

  With a name like that, I pictured a stuffy prince with a royal stick up his ass.

  “Okay then, what about you two? Who would you pick?” I asked, turning the tables on Kinsley and Becca.

  Kinsley flashed her left hand with the big fat diamond sitting on her ring finger. “Sorry, can’t play if I’ve already won.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. Kinsley was married to Liam Wilder, a soccer god and an assistant coach for our team. They’d met when Liam started coaching her college soccer team before the last Olympic Games. Becca was also married to a soccer player—one of Liam’s old teammates—and between the four of them, they were quite a photogenic bunch. Every time I checked out at the grocery store, there was a sports magazine with at least one of their faces plastered across the cover. When I’d been called up to the Women’s National Team, they’d enthusiastically adopted me into their fearsome foursome. Moving from Vermont to L.A. had been a rocky transition, especially when paired with Olympic training, but Kinsley and Becca had proven to be the older sisters I’d never had but always wanted.

  “So do those rings mean you guys can’t come to a party with me tonight?” I asked with a sly smile.

  Kinsley narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Brazilian swimmers messaged me on Facebook. They’re hosting a themed party and I was planning on going.”

  “Count me out,” Nina said. “Jetlag.”

  Michelle nodded. “Same here.”

  Shocker.

  Becca and Kinsley exchanged a worried glance over my party plans, but that wasn’t surprising. Over the last few months, I’d tried to convince them that I was an adult, but they still saw me as the wide-eyed rookie from Vermont.

  I understood their worry; I didn’t have much experience with partying and I’d only really traveled abroad during the qualifying matches a few months prior. Not to mention, we’d all been fed the same spiel about Rio’s crime rates during a “Safety at the Games” seminar, but it wasn’t like I’d be out walking the streets alone at night.

  “Ever since you moved to L.A., you’ve been like a little sister to me,” Kinsley had said on the way to the airport. “I feel responsible for you.”

  Technically, I was Kinsley’s little sister on the soccer team, and though I appreciated her concern, I was ready to live a little. For so long I’d focused all my energy on soccer, but we had one week until our first match and I was ready to see for myself what kind of mischief the village had to offer. Viva Brazil!

  * * *

  THE VILLAGE WAS spread out over seven compounds with high-rise condos and apartments lined up along one main road. The shuttle drove us toward the entrance of our building, and I counted the amenities along the way. There was a coffee shop beside a flower shop. Cafes were sprinkled in among a doctor’s office, banking center, salon, and post office. Anything we could possibly need was within walking distance.