Colton's Secret: A Kinsley Elite Prequel by A.C. Kramer

Author:A.C. Kramer [Kramer, A.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ninja Newt Publishing, LLC
Published: 2021-07-31T18:30:00+00:00

5

Emma

I chose the guest room because it has a door with a lock.

A lock Colton proved to have a key for when he woke me up this morning with a plate of egg whites and a protein shake.

I usually go without breakfast before practice, but I begrudgingly have to admit his meal this morning adequately prepared me for Coach’s death sets.

Of course, I’m still sore as hell at the end and just want to be left to die in the pool. I assume my floating position—the one I take after every practice—and close my eyes as everyone disappears into the locker rooms.

Peace.

Tranquility.

Per—

The water ripples around me as someone jumps into the lane beside me.

I groan, irritated by the disturbance.

Then I yelp as that disturbance grabs my ankle and yanks me under the water.

I kick and sputter as I break the surface again, then glare at Colton. His lips curl in response. “Put these back on,” he says, handing me my cap and goggles. “We’re going to work on flip turns.”

I growl at him in response. “Not today.”

“Yes, today.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Which means your walls will be extraordinarily sloppy.” He folds his arms over his chiseled chest. “That’s the best time to correct them.”

“It’s the worst time to correct them because my focus is shot.”

“Then re-harness your focus,” he returns, impatience thickening his accent. I wonder if he even notices the English inflection in his words. From what little I know about his family, his father is American, so the accent came from either a nanny growing up or his mother.

“Emma,” he snaps, looking pointedly at the cap and goggles in my hand. “My time is valuable, and right now you’re wasting it.”

My eyes narrow. “I didn’t ask for your help. Nor do I want it.”

His jawbone flexes as he grits his teeth. “Are the articles wrong about you?”

I blink. “What?”

“The articles—the ones that declare you as an Olympic hopeful—are they wrong?”

Now it’s my turn to clench my teeth. “Of course they’re not wrong.”

“Then you want to go to the Olympics?”

“That’s why I’m here,” I say, waving my free hand at the pool.

“Then why the fuck are we wasting time bickering when you could be swimming?” he demands.

“Because this isn’t the way I want to do it,” I snap at him.

“Then what way do you prefer?” His tone holds a sardonic twist to it, one that suggests he thinks I’m being petulant. And yeah, maybe I am. But I didn’t sign up for this; his family pulled me into it. Forgive me for not being over that yet.

“I came here to learn and to train. Not to join a secret society.” I lower my voice on that last sentence. The natatorium walls have a way of echoing sometimes, and I don’t want those words overheard.

“I fail to see the difference,” he says. “You want to go to the Olympics. You want to train. The society just granted you exclusive access to someone who can help guide you there—me. So rather than disrespect fate, perhaps you should try accepting it.

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