I Was His Bet, I Become Their Surprise Chapter 01
My online boyfriend gambled me away the night before
college started. Lost a dice game with his friends, and I was the payout.
He pulled me into a group chat before I could process it. Over a hundred people.
The pinned announcement was fresh.
[Congrats to Nolan on winning a 220–pound girlfriend!]
Someone dropped a photo of me right underneath it. A shot from high school.
Baggy PE uniform, zero jawline. Just flesh straining against the cheap fabric.
The chat blew up.
[Holy shit, that’s not a girlfriend, that’s a whole damn farm animal]
[A bet’s a bet. Nolan’s gotta do the couple’s challenges with
her at the mixer tomorrow.]
A betting pool went up within minutes.
The question was whether I actually had the guts to show my face.
Tristan put $1,400 on me not showing.
(Don’t blame me, man.]
[You rolled a six. She’s all yours.]
Nolan Mercer didn’t say a word.
But the girl everyone in the freshman chat had already
crowned the ultimate It Girl tagged me.
[You’re coming tomorrow night, right, Sabrina?]
I watched the messages pile up, and I smiled.
No one knew the truth.
“I’d already dropped from 220 pounds to 110. All for the day I’d
finally meet him in person.
No one knew that in the last two months alone, more guys
had asked for my number than in the first eighteen years of
my life combined.
I placed my own bet. $420.
I bet that I’d show.
And right in the middle of the pile–on, I typed four words.
[A bet’s a bet.]
I stared at the pinned notice for a solid ten seconds,
[Congrats to Nolan on winning a 220–pound girlfriend!]
Three party–popper emojis right underneath it.
Over a hundred people in the chat. Messages pouring in.
[A six is brutal. Tristan really lost big this time.]
[Lose? He dumped a whale. That’s a massive win if anything.]
[@Nolan get out here and give your acceptance speech]
Then someone dropped a photo.
Junior year. Spring track meet.
I was 218 pounds. In the photo, I sat in the back row of the
bleachers, head down, scarfing down a donut, my uniform
stretched so tight it looked painted on.
Whoever took it had been standing far away.
But even blurry, there was no hiding how big I’d been.
The person who posted it was Tristan. My boyfriend.
One minute ago, he’d been sweet–talking me in our private messages.
[Babe, it’s just a joke between friends.]
[I just lost a round and gave Nolan your info for a couples
challenge. It’s not a big deal.]
I didn’t reply.
The group chat was already having a field day.
(Good God, Nolan’s gonna need a forklift to pick her up tomorrow]
[What’s the challenge? A princess carry? RIP Nolan’s spine]
[Just change it to “when pigs fly.” Easier challenge]
Tristan Caldwell sent a laughing emoji with a facepalm.
[Chill, guys. You’re gonna make her cry.]
Playing the defender. Making it worse.
My fingers went cold.
Eleven months. We’d been together for eleven months.
Every time he couldn’t sleep, I stayed up all night gaming with him.
When he lost a tournament, I talked him through it until sunrise.
When finals week wrecked his nerves, I sent him a voice
memo every single day to keep him going.
I even made Briarhaven my top–choice school.
Because of one thing he said.
“Sabrina, let’s go to the same school.”
“First day of classes, I’ll be there. Flowers and everything.”
Instead, the night before freshman orientation, he bet me
like a poker chip and lost me to a stranger.
A betting pool popped up in the chat.
[Will Sabrina actually show up to the freshman mixer
tomorrow?]
The pool kept climbing. Over $4,200 already riding on me
being too scared to show.
Tristan threw in $1,400.
[She won’t come.]
[She can’t handle it. Say one mean thing and she’s in tears.]
I actually laughed.
He knew I’d cry. And he’d brought a hundred people to watch.
Then a new message dropped.
[Can everyone stop dragging Sabrina? There’s nothing wrong
with being bigger. She seems really sweet.]
The freshman chat’s reigning It Girl, Sienna Hartwell.
A few days earlier, she’d posted beach photos, white dress,
long hair, and racked up over a hundred thirsty comments.
She tagged me.
[You’re coming tomorrow night, right, Sabrina?]
It looked like she was sticking up for me.
Then she followed it up.
[Nobody means anything by it. Don’t let it get to you. Looks
aren’t everything.]
The chat exploded with people gushing about what an angel
Sienna was,
I didn’t bother responding. I opened the betting link instead.
$420. On myself showing up.
The chat went dead for two seconds. Then question marks
flooded the screen.
Tristan sent me a private message.
[Are you insane?]
[These people are brutal. Why would you walk into that?]
I looked at myself in the mirror.
Long hair past my shoulders. A waist that looked like it
belonged on someone else entirely.
In high school, the weight had buried everything, my jawline,
my cheekbones, all of it. Now every feature was out in the
open, sharp enough to cut.
In the last two months, strangers at the mall, on the subway,
and at the gym had asked for my number. Twenty–seven of them.
A talent scout had literally chased me down and spent thirty
minutes trying to get me to shoot a commercial.
Tristan knew none of this.
I’d been saving the best version of myself for the day we
finally met.
But that was over now. He didn’t deserve this surprise.
I caught the tear before it fell, then typed four words into the chat.
[A bet’s a bet.]