Better Than Revenge

One

ANY MINUTE NOW, I’M GOING TO COMMIT A CRIME.

And her. Jesus Christ, how is she not the antichrist? Sienna is petite and blonde, and she smiles with all of her shiny white teeth without looking like a predator, so that makes it okay that she slept with my boyfriend? Repeatedly? How the hell does that work?

I don’t get it. I really, really don’t get it.

I’m utterly baffled, but I’d rather pull out my own teeth than ask for an explanation.

It already physically pains me that I care, that I spent half of this first practice of the season glowering about Ben and pretty, perfect Sienna.

So much so that I almost let a girl whose personal best I could swim while dead asleep – I could swim it dead, full stop – beat me in a practice race.

Distracted, I practically hear my dad hissing from beyond the grave. Not good enough, Daniela. Not you.

He wouldn’t be wrong. It isn’t good enough.

It isn’t me. Shit, didn’t Ben demolish our relationship a few months ago – on the very last day of sophomore year, to be precise – specifically because of my hyper-focus on swimming?

As much as I would get off on proving him wrong, the sacrifice wouldn’t be worth it. Ben isn’t worth it.

Slinging my towel over my shoulder, I tilt my chin upwards, readying myself to march past my teammates as if their subtly veiled disparaging doesn’t make me want to jump back in the pool and take some frustration out on the water.

But I only make it a handful of steps before the doors to the pool complex fly open and a cacophony of noise suddenly floods the building.

‘What the hell are they doing here?’ someone murmurs, just as I think it.

As tension throbs between my shoulder blades and tightens my posture, a groan brews low in my throat, and something between a scowl and a grimace contorts my face as I watch the Cove College swim team – our closest, fiercest rivals – strut inside.

And I do mean strut. They’re all big, tangible energy, loud and rambunctious, their young coach not doing all that much to keep them in line – a stark contrast to Haven Cove University’s very own drill sergeant, who turns up his nose at the intruders and audibly scoffs.

And at the center of it all, there’s him.

Heath Belfort.

Six feet and a neck-breaking amount of inches of tan, tattooed, infuriatingly attractive presence.

Unavoidable. Unignorable. Against my will, my eyes track him as he saunters toward the pool, laughing and smiling and messing around with his teammates in a way that makes me think Oh! That’s what camaraderie looks like!

Because unlikeable he is not. And, sometimes, I wonder if that’s why my ex hates him so much.

If it infuriates Ben not only that his sworn rival is so well-liked, but that he is infinitely more well-liked.

Probably. That, and the whole him-being-a-better-swimmer thing.

Like, a lot better. Like, has beat him in every race they’ve ever swum kind of better.

Like, so good even I can’t help but be impressed – and a little irritated, because I’m not sure he even knows how good he is.

And I’m not sure he cares. I can’t claim to know him – our interactions have rarely gone beyond me trying not to laugh whenever he and Ben traded silly, oh-so-manly barbs – but I know he doesn’t really act like a competitive swimmer. He doesn’t have that drive. He doesn’t—

‘What the fuck is this?’

Oh, here we go.

See, before, when I was still playing the painstakingly perfected role of the dutiful girlfriend, I would’ve rushed over and stood stoically at a simmering Ben’s side.

I would’ve listened to him snap at Heath, would’ve watched Heath playfully retort, would’ve listened somewhat intently to Ben’s bitching when it was all over and feigned sympathy for his poor, fragile ego being wounded once again by someone with more talent, more personality, and more wit.

For a split second, habit drives me forward a step. Moves me closer until reality – until common sense – kicks in and I remember that Prince freaking Charming has a new doting damsel by his side.

Sienna doesn’t look like she’s feigning anything. She looks genuinely distraught as she pouts and rubs Ben’s back soothingly, so supportive as he faces the man I genuinely, unironically heard him call his worst enemy more than once.

A stark contrast to all the glowering happening on the HCU side of this odd little stand-off, the Cove College contingent only smile – smirk, really – at my teammates and at each other, exchanging looks like they know something we don’t.

It’s Heath who explains their unexpected presence, self-satisfied not even close to correctly describing his tone. ‘Didn’t you hear, Pullman? We’re moving in.’

Despite the weather outside doing its very best to hang on to summer, the temperature indoors suddenly plummets. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Our pool filter broke,’ the brunet, just-as-smarmy guy beside Heath chimes in – Kai Shen: I recognize him almost as easily as I do his golden best friend. The second-best swimmer at Cove College and, consequently, public enemy number two for Ben. ‘So, I guess we’re sharing for a while.’

‘What?’ Ben splutters, all but stomping his feet like a disgruntled toddler. ‘No!’

‘Don’t cry, Benny.’ One corner of his full mouth curling upwards, Heath adds, ‘Again.’

Before I manage to stifle it, a snicker escapes me. I can’t help it. I’ve been holding one in since Heath decimated Ben’s time in a relay a year or so ago, and my then-boyfriend damn near burst into tears, never mind the fact his team still won.

Yet my dedication to the sport was the problem. Okay.

Like he did all those months ago when I gently – okay, maybe not-so-gently – told him it wasn’t that big of a deal, Ben swings a scowl my way.

Heath, on the other hand, flashes me a smile. A wide, bright smile that I imagine has sent many a girl to her knees.

Mine, obviously, remain steady.

‘Hey, Dani.’

I crook a brow – a silent why are you talking to me? that doesn’t actually do anything to deter him. In fact, it seems to spur him on, that ever-present grin stretching wider, and it definitely, unintentionally draws him an inch closer.

‘Been meaning to congratulate you.’

Up goes the second brow, though this one is marginally more intrigued than sarcastic.

Blue-green eyes shimmer with pure mischief, reminiscent of the sun catching on a piece of sea glass, and then he winks. ‘Heard you lost some dead weight recently.’

Another snicker tickles the back of my throat. Lost, stolen. Potato, potato-h.

‘Freedom looks good on you,’ Heath continues, and I swear those eyes light up even brighter when, finally, I bite.

‘Nice to know I looked like shit before.’

‘You?’ Heath blows out a breath, looking startlingly sincere for someone who never seems to stop kidding round. ‘Never.’

Yeah, okay. I get it. The charm, the smile, the pretty words – I can see why half the town is in love with this guy. If I were that kind of person – soft and loving and susceptible to flattery – I’m not sure I’d be able to resist either.

But I’m not. I’m . . . well, according to the general populace, I’m a mean, heartless viper who drives men into the arms of other women with the sheer power of my bitterness.

So, when Heath sidles closer and croons suggestively about some party on the beach tonight, I’m more than capable of maintaining my usual blank, uncaring stare. ‘Have fun.’

That pretty, close-shaven head cocks to one side. ‘You don’t wanna come?’

This time, the snicker doesn’t come from me. ‘Daniela doesn’t party,’ someone on my team quips, and I’d be grateful for the back-up, if it didn’t feel more like a knife in the back.

Before I can say anything, Heath fires back, ‘Maybe Daniela just doesn’t party with you.’

‘Daniela can speak for herself.’ I roll my eyes. Oh, handsome knight, how shiny your armor looks. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

Heath pouts a little, but he doesn’t push. Not really. Just suggests that I ‘think about it’.

‘Yeah,’ I drone, non-committal, as I start toward the changing rooms, my parting wave dismissive. ‘I’ll think real hard.’

‘Help,’ I yell half-heartedly as I let myself into the apartment I live in alone, yet for some reason I don’t find empty. ‘Call 911. There’s an overgrown manchild stealing my chips.’

Slightly older, only a few inches taller, and a hell of a lot less mature, the man sprawled on my couch like it’s his couch barely spares me a cursory glance, too focused on the shitty reality show playing on the laptop screen in front of him.

‘Stealing?’ my brother scoffs, waving a hand coated in barbecue seasoning dismissively.

‘Please. More like saving. We both know these weren’t getting eaten any time soon. ’

Not true. I had grand plans for kicking off the season by demolishing the entire bag – before my coach’s nose properly attunes to the scent of trans fats and excessive sodium.

Kicking off my flip-flops by the front door, I drop my bag and pad into the kitchen.

One hand undoing the crude braid I’d hastily fixed my damp hair in for the walk home, I grab a kombucha from the fridge with the other, and one more too, because I know that even though Sebastian swears they taste like straight vinegar, his aforementioned manchild energy means he always wants whatever I have. ‘What’re you doing here?’

Between mouthfuls of my chips, he explains, ‘Wellness check. Mother Dearest says you’re not answering her calls.’

‘She’s not my mother.’ I cluck my tongue as I hip-check the fridge door closed, hard enough to make the contents rattle. ‘And I’ve been busy.’

‘You’re always busy.’

God, have I heard that one before. ‘Yeah, it’s called having a life.’

Another snort echoes around my studio. ‘You don’t have a life, Dani. You have structure.’

Even though Sebastian easily catches the can I chuck at him, he still swears at me shrilly, shaking out his hand like the big drama queen he is. ‘Pendeja. For that, I’m telling you to come to dinner tonight instead of asking.’

An honest-to-God chill runs down my spine. There are a whole list of things I would rather do than spend the evening sandwiched between my stepmother and my brother, fielding questions I don’t want to answer and defending my life choices.

Sandwiching myself between my cheating ex and his mistress, for example. Or re-taking Intro to Anthropology with Mr Henson, the professor from hell. Or swimming in the ocean.

All hard nos in my day-to-day life, but akin to a spa day in comparison to a Williams family dinner.

‘Sorry.’ I shrug as I crack open my drink. ‘I don’t think that fits my structure.’

My brother groans as he drops his head back against the arm of my sofa. ‘Daniela.’

‘Sebastian.’ I mimic his childish tone. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Stuff.’

‘What stuff?’ he presses. ‘Drinking protein shakes? Doing homework? Throwing darts at a picture of Ben?’

‘Actually,’ I set a hand on my hip, fingers drumming against the denim shorts covering a yellow swimsuit, mouth moving before common sense can catch up with it. ‘I’m going to a party.’

Sebastian blinks. ‘A party.’

I swallow, and, fuck, if it doesn’t taste like desperation. ‘Uh-huh.’

Eyes the same shade of chocolate-brown as mine narrow. ‘Where?’

‘The Inlet.’ I quickly name the stretch of sand nestled along the craggy coastline that I know college kids frequent whenever the temperamental Pacific Northwest weather is just right.

My brother remains unconvinced. ‘With who?’

‘Some people from the team.’

Now that makes him laugh, deep and snarky. ‘Yeah fuckin’ right.’

‘Not my team,’ I correct, clearing my throat before digging my hole just a little deeper. ‘Heath Belfort invited me.’

A pair of dark brows meet a darker hairline. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me.’ My thumb repeatedly flicking the tab of my can, I round the tiny island separating the kitchen from the living room and make a beeline for the even tinier bathroom. ‘Done interrogating me yet? Because I need to shower.’

‘Wait.’ With far more grace than such a long body should be capable of, Sebastian scrambles over the back of the sofa. Genuine wonder lighting up his entire face, he manages to jam his foot between the bathroom door and the doorframe before I can lock myself away. ‘Are you being serious?’

‘Yes,’ I technically don’t lie. He did invite me, I guess. Loosely. The only lie is me having any intention of actually going.

Except the look on my brother’s face makes my gut sink – evokes a whiney fuck my life, how am I getting out of this? too.

‘Heath Belfort,’ he repeats, whistling as he leans a shoulder against the doorframe. ‘Wow. How’d you manage that?’

Something in his tone makes my eye twitch. Right. How could the Wicked Witch of the Cove possibly attract the attention of the human equivalent of a golden unicorn? Unfathomable. ‘Charmed him, obviously.’

‘Scared him, more like.’ Elbowing his way further into the bathroom, Sebastian drops a hand on each of my shoulders, squeezing in a disconcertingly affectionate way. ‘This is good, Dani. You need to have some fun.’

I have fun, I want to insist, but the ensuing argument wouldn’t be worth it. ‘If you’re satisfied with my social calendar, can you leave now?’

Sebastian laughs, and that sunken feeling in my gut? It multiplies.

‘Oh, mi hermanita.’ He clutches me even tighter, giving me a shake for good measure. ‘You think I’m gonna miss a chance to watch Ben watch you get all cozy with fuckin’ Belfort?’

My chest itches, a sure-fire sign of the pesky stress rashes that’ve been plaguing me since, oh, I don’t know, birth. ‘Aren’t you a little old for a college party?’

My twenty-five-year-old, fully-fucking-grown brother actually hisses at me in mock outrage. ‘Bite your tongue. I’m still a student at heart.’

He still drinks like a student, he means.

‘Besides,’ Seba continues, patting my cheek. ‘The Inlet isn’t a frat house, Dani. God knows I won’t be the oldest person there.’

But he will be there.

Yeah. Fuck my life.