Emotional betting

Violet’s Pov

His touch landed on my skin again, but this time, I stepped back. I didn’t care how good he looked or how charming he acted. I’d seen it all before. The muscles, the easy grin, the kind of confidence that made every woman look twice. Michael had that energy, like he knew the effect he had on people. But I wasn’t just anybody. I’d learned the hard way that charm usually comes with a price.

He tried to laugh it off, like I hadn’t just rejected him, like he hadn’t noticed the stiffness in my body. But I had to shut the door before he even got close to opening it. I wasn’t going down that road again. Michael was tempting, yes, but temptation had never brought me peace. Only pain and I was done hurting.

I swam to the far side of the pool, letting the cold water cool the heat in my chest. I didn’t look back, though I felt him watching. It was better this way. Distance was safe. Distance kept me in control. I cleared my throat and asked the first thing that came to mind. "So, you and Richard are twins?"

He paddled over, his tone as relaxed as always. “Yeah, twenty minutes apart.”

“Let me guess, Richard came out first?”

He chuckled. “Bingo. What gave it away?”

“He's got that ‘bossy older brother’ vibe,” I said, kicking lazily but keeping my eyes forward. I didn’t want to see that smile again. It messed with my head more than I liked to admit.

He let out another laugh, smooth and deep. “He talks big, but deep down, he’s all soft. Don’t tell him I said that.”

I didn’t answer. I just kept swimming. The silence between us was thick but not heavy. Just full of things neither of us was saying.

He got a little closer. “I heard your mum call you Kath.”

I nodded.

“But I like Violet better. Sounds elegant.”

I stiffened slightly. “I don’t,” I said quietly. “That was my dad’s name for me. No one else really uses it.”

The words stirred something I hadn’t felt in a long time. I hadn’t talked about him in years. Losing him was like losing a piece of myself I’d never get back. Michael didn’t press. He just kept swimming beside me like we were two strangers drifting in the same direction, both pretending we weren’t affected by the undercurrent.

I watched him move, strong, confident, determined. He had that ‘never back down’ attitude written all over him. I knew the type. Competitive. Always pushing, always reaching. And yet, even with all that strength, there was something calm about him. Something that tried to pull me in. But I’d built a wall around my heart for a reason. Men like Michael could climb it in seconds if I let them. So I didn’t. I just kept swimming.

“Do you want to race?” he asked, that smug grin stretched a little too wide across his face.

I raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

Michael clearly assumed his height, muscles, and athletic build gave him the upper hand. He had no idea what I was capable of in the water.

“Ten laps,” I said, choosing a distance that wasn’t long, but long enough to make it count.

“Fine. What do I get if I win?” His confidence was impossible to miss.

A kiss crossed my mind before I shut the thought down fast. That would be a disaster. “A foot massage. Every day for a week.”

His grin widened. “Sweet. And if you win?”

I shrugged, keeping my expression cool even though a buzz of excitement ran through me. “Same deal.”

He squinted at me like he was trying to read my game. Then he pushed off from the edge, his body tense with anticipation. “Ready?”

“Are you?” I replied.

His smirk deepened. “Go!”

He launched forward with a splash, and I dove in after him, the cold water rushing over my skin like a shot of adrenaline. I hit my rhythm quickly, arms reaching, legs kicking, breath controlled. Years of swimming made it easy to fall into pace, even with someone like him just ahead. To his credit, Michael was no amateur. His strokes were clean, his turns sharp, and his breathing steady. Definitely not just some gym guy who relied on muscle. He knew what he was doing.

We swam neck and neck, each lap pressing the limits of what our bodies could handle. The sound of our gasps filled the space between strokes. My muscles burned, my lungs fought for every breath, but I wouldn’t let him win. I couldn’t let him win. By lap eight, my arms felt like lead and my legs were starting to lag. Pain laced through every stroke, but I kept going. I wasn’t going to hear Michael gloat about beating me, not today.

Somewhere deep, past the fatigue and fire in my chest, I found another gear. I pushed harder, kicked faster, forcing every bit of strength into my strokes. Lap nine blurred into ten, and I surged forward. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I just focused on the wall ahead and then, my fingers hit the cool tile. I touched it first. I’d won.

“Damn, girl,” Michael panted, water dripping down his face. I turned toward him with a smirk, pulling myself up onto the poolside, doing my best to hide how out of breath I really was.

“I’d like my foot massage before bed,” I teased, even though I had no intention of letting him anywhere near my feet.

Michael rested his arms on the edge of the pool, wiping the water from his eyes. His muscles flexed with the movement, and for a second, I caught myself staring. He looked like he belonged in one of those cheesy hot guy calendars, tall, strong, and practically shining under the glow of the pool lights. All he was missing was a fluffy kitten on his shoulder. I blinked, snapping out of it, and grabbed my towel. As I dried off, the last of the race’s tension began to melt from my shoulders.

“Thanks for the swim, Michael,” I called over my shoulder, already walking away. I needed to put some distance between us. I couldn’t afford to linger, not when I was feeling... this.

I threw on my cover-up and wrapped my hair in a towel, careful not to drip water everywhere as I hurried inside. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t look back. It was easier that way. Safer. Because if I looked at him, I might start to feel something I wasn’t ready to deal with.

Once inside, I rushed to the bathroom, my heart still racing. Not because of him, at least, that’s what I told myself, but because I’d broken my routine. The pool wasn’t part of today’s plan, and that threw everything off. My routine kept me grounded, and without it, I felt like I was slipping.

I scrubbed the chlorine from my skin in the shower, letting the warm water calm my nerves. It felt like washing away the chaos clinging to me. After drying off, I slipped into clean clothes and pulled myself back together. Back in my room, I sat at my desk and opened the drawer where I kept my sketchbook. Inside was a drawing I’d been working on, one of the main characters from my latest book, a big guy in a wheelchair. Drawing helped me get into the world I was building. It made me feel in control again.

What my mum didn’t know, what no one knew, was that I had already published some stories online. I was working on a new one. I used a pen name to stay anonymous, which gave me the freedom to write what I wanted without worrying who might read it. Especially since most of it was adult content. If I ever found out that my mum or Mr. Weah had read even one of my books... I’d die on the spot.