Page 31 of The Dating Coach
"No," I said too quickly. "Why would I be looking for Liam?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you two have been making heart eyes at each other for weeks? Maybe because he's been playing the role of elder brother to Mia? Maybe because—"She cut off, her expression shifting to surprise. "Well, speak of the extremely attractive devil."
My heart leaped as I spotted him—impossible to miss, really, given that he was accompanied by Mia, Frank, and Henry, who had apparently made signs. Frank's sign read "SWIM FAST OR THE KRAKEN GETS YOU" with a crude drawing of a sea monster. Henry's was more subdued: "GO PINEWOOD SWIMMING" in neat block letters. Mia didn't have a sign, but she was enthusiastically cheering, shouting, "Go, Gemma, go!"
But it was Liam who made my breath catch. He was watching me with that focused intensity he usually reserved for hockey games. When our eyes met across the pool deck, he smiled—not his public, golden-boy smile, but the soft, private one I'd started thinking of as mine.
"Gemma!" My teammate Delia appeared at my elbow. "Did you see? Some of the hockey team is here. They said they came to support us. Can you believe it?"
"Shocking," Karen said dryly. "Athletic solidarity. Definitely nothing to do with our captain being tutored by their captain."
I was saved from responding by the whistle calling my heat to the blocks. I stripped off my team jacket, trying to ignore how Liam's presence had transformed from distraction to motivation. I wanted to swim well. I wanted to show him this part of me – the confident part, the part that knew exactly who she was in the water even when everything on land felt uncertain.
"Heat three, step up!"
I positioned myself on the block, rolling my shoulders and shaking out my arms. The pool stretched before me, blueand inviting and familiar in a way nothing else in my life was right now. Here, I knew what to do. Here, I was in control.
"Swimmers, take your mark!"
I bent into position, every muscle coiled and ready. The starting signal seemed to echo forever before—
BEEP!
I dove, muscle memory taking over as I hit the water. The first fifty meters were always about finding rhythm, establishing the dolphin kick that would carry me through. I surfaced into my stroke, arms moving in perfect synchronization, breathing every other stroke.
The world narrowed to the essentials: pull, breathe, kick, glide. My shoulders burned by the hundred-meter turn, but that was normal, expected. Pain was just information, and right now it was telling me I was on pace.
The final fifty was where races were won or lost. I could feel the swimmer in lane five closing in, matching me stroke for stroke. This was the moment that separated good from great – who could push through the lactate burn, who could find that extra gear when their body screamed for mercy.
I thought about Liam watching. About Mia cheering. About proving I was more than my failures and fears. My stroke rate increased, arms moving faster, legs driving harder. The wall rushed up and I drove for it, hitting with both hands and immediately turning to check the scoreboard.
Second place. By three hundredths of a second.
The number hit me like a physical blow. I'd lost. I'd lost my signature event to a sophomore from State who was already celebrating in lane five. My conference record stood, but barely,and the knowledge that I'd failed with Liam watching made shame burn hot in my chest.
"Hey, good race," the State swimmer said, reaching across the lane line for a sportsmanship handshake.
I forced a smile, shook her hand, and escaped the pool as quickly as possible. Karen met me with my towel and a concerned expression.
"Gem, that was amazing—"
"I lost," I interrupted, yanking off my cap. "I don't lose the butterfly. I haven't lost the butterfly in two years."
"You took second by a fraction against someone having the race of her life," Karen corrected. "While dealing with family drama and chemistry disasters and whatever is happening with Hockey Hottie. Cut yourself some slack."
But I couldn't. In the water, I was supposed to be perfect. It was the one area of my life where effort equaled outcome, where I could control the results through sheer force of will. Losing felt like confirmation of what Devon had said – I was too scattered, too complicated, too unable to focus on what mattered.
Coach Martinez pulled me aside for a quick debrief, his tone understanding but firm about technical adjustments needed. I nodded at the right moments, but my mind was already spiraling. If I couldn't even win my best event, how was I going to pass chemistry? How was I going to protect Mia? How was I going to—
"Gemma."
I turned to find Liam standing a respectful distance away, having clearly waited for Coach to finish. He was injeans and a Pinewood Hockey henley, looking unfairly good for someone who'd just watched me fail.
"I need to warm down," I said, not meeting his eyes. "Team meeting in twenty."
"Can I walk with you to the warm-down pool?"
I wanted to say no, to hide my disappointment in private. But his tone was so carefully neutral, so free of the platitudes I expected, that I found myself nodding.
