Sport Affairs(His Dirty Little Secret)

~Samantha Lee~

One second, I was scanning the crowd for Logan, my boyfriend wondering if he was at the party and the next my world crumbled as I watched his lips pressed against Hannah Taylor, the queen bee cheerleader of Cheer Chicks, the same girl who'd tried to make my freshman year a living hell.

My breath hitched. Hannah Taylor, seriously? How could he do this to me? "Well done Logan," I said and clapped my hands while Logan's eyes widened in shock.

"Sam!" Logan's voice cut through as he pulled away from Hannah, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he was trying to erase the evidence. Too late, buddy.

I didn't say a word, just turned on my heel and walked. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, hear him calling my name, but I didn't even glance over my shoulder. Let him call and choke on it.

As I stomped out of the main party hall and onto the slightly less chaotic outdoor patio of the frat house, Rachel, my best friend and the only sane person I knew, was already there. She'd probably seen the whole thing, her eyes were wide with sympathy.

"Calm down, Sam."

"Don't tell me that Rachel, I'm going to deal with him," I yelled.

"Sam, whoa! Deep breaths, okay? Don't do anything crazy," she said, reaching for my arm.

I stopped, but didn't let her grab me as a slow, dangerous smile stretched across my face. "Crazy? Nah," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "I'm just gonna show Logan that he's not worth my time."

Before Rachel could remind me that "showing him" usually involved a regrettable amount of alcohol and questionable decisions, I spun back around and marched right into the party.

"Sam! Don't you dare!" Rachel's cry was swallowed by the music, but I didn't listen, I never did when I was like this.

The next few hours were a blur of flashing lights, pop music, and the sweetness of frat beer. I stopped by the makeshift bar and grabbed whatever someone handed me, then another, then another. I danced. Oh, did I dance! With random dudes whose names I couldn't remember, their hands too close, their smiles too wide. I laughed too loud, spun too fast, trying to outrun the image of Logan and Hannah.

It was working, sort of. The world started to tilt, the edges of my vision softening. All that liquid courage decided it had had enough. One moment I was laughing at a guy's terrible joke, the next, a wave of nausea hit me like a train. I barely made it to the edge of the dance floor before I bent over, and in an ungraceful, entirely undignified moment, emptied the contents of my stomach all over myself.

"Ugh, gross!" A voice, somewhere above me. "Someone get her out of here!"

Before I knew it, strong hands were on me, not gentle, I was half-carried, half-dragged through the hallways, then, I was dumped onto what felt like a lumpy mattress. A dark hoodie was thrown over me before the door swung shut and heavy footsteps receded.

"Hmph," I grumbled, pushing myself up to a sitting position. My head throbbed, I definitely needed to lie down for more than a moment. I hissed, the vomit still clinging to my clothes. It was probably all over this hoodie now, too. Great! Just great.

I raised my head, intending to collapse back onto the mattress, and in that moment I felt someone in the room.

My eyes snapped open, my bleary vision clearing in a rush of pure, unadulterated shock. Standing there was a practically unclad man. He was only wearing a pair of dark boxer briefs, clinging to him in all the right and wrong places, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, it wasn't just any man.

It was Tyler Pierce.

My arch-nemesis.

My jaw almost hit the floor. Tyler Pierce, the quiet, brooding hockey star who somehow managed to be just as annoyingly good at academics as I was. The guy who always seemed to be one step ahead of me in everything except, maybe, the number of social engagements he actually attended. He was the reason I stayed up late studying, the thorn in my competitive side, the only person who dared to challenge my top-of-the-class position. And now, he was standing in front of me, looking like a Greek god sculpted from lean muscle and... well, a lot of other things.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I rasped, my voice thick with disgust and a very unwelcome, very sober assessment of that view. "Out. Right now, Pierce. You're interrupting my... my recovery."

His head snapped towards me, and the moment our eyes met I knew he was intoxicated too.

"Are you serious, Lee?" he retorted, his voice deeper than usual, laced with annoyance. "You're the one who crashed my room! Not that I ever invited you in, you walking biohazard." He gestured vaguely at my stained clothes. "This is my frat room, by the way. I was about to hit the showers."

My eyes narrowed. "Your room? Please. This is probably some abandoned closet they threw me in. And don't you dare talk to me like that, Pierce." I pushed myself off the bed, swaying slightly. "I'm Samantha Lee, I don't crash and I certainly don't vomit in other people's habitats, thank you very much."

"You did just now," he deadpanned, taking a step closer, which, in the tiny room, was more like a giant leap. "And if you're so high and mighty, why are you currently wearing half your dinner and a stranger's questionable hoodie?"

"It's not questionable, it's disgusting!" I shouted, "And it's your fault I'm here! You know what? Just get out! I'll find my own way out of this hellhole you call a room!"

I took a step towards him, intending to shove him aside and make my grand exit, but the floor was slick with something undefinable, and my already wobbly legs gave out. I stumbled forward, arms flailing, and before I knew it, I was collapsing directly onto Tyler Pierce.

My face ended up pressed against his bare chest, which was surprisingly solid, and my vomit-soaked shirt had, of course, chosen that exact moment to make direct contact with his skin.

"Oh, for God's sake, Lee!" Tyler roared, trying to push me off him. "You just... You just vomited on me! Again!"

I scrambled off him, breathing heavily, a disgusted groan bubbling up from my throat. "I did not! It was already there! And it's your fault for getting in my way!"

He sat up, glaring at me, a smear of my half-digested dinner staining his abs. He looked simultaneously furious and utterly bewildered. "My fault? You threw yourself at me! Like a projectile!"

"Well, you were standing there like a giant, nearly naked, obstacle course!" I retorted, trying to wipe some of the mess off my arm with the back of my hand. God, this was humiliating. And he looked so... annoyed.

Tyler sighed, he ran a hand through his hair, then slowly got to his feet. "Alright, fine. Come on, biohazard. You need to get cleaned up. And so do I." He gestured towards a door I hadn't noticed, probably leading to a bathroom.

He led the way, grumbling under his breath, and I followed him into a surprisingly decent-sized bathroom.

"There's a shower. You can wash off," he said, pointing vaguely. He went to the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing water on his chest, grimacing as he tried to wipe off the evidence of my public display of intoxication.

I leaned against the doorframe, watching him. He was still in just his briefs, and the water clinging to his skin somehow made the whole "Greek god" thing even more prominent. My head was still fuzzy, but a new, weird sensation was starting to prickle under my skin. A sort of... awareness and a strange, dare I say, mischievous urge.

"You know," I slurred, pushing off the doorframe. "You know, you look kinda... a Greek god without your glasses," I reached out and grabbed his arm. His muscles tensed under my fingers, then, with my free hand, and a little more force I reached past him and slammed the shower handle to the 'on' position.

Tyler gasped, a half-shout, half-choke, as the water drenched his hair, his face, poured down his bare chest. My own clothes, already sticky with vomit and sweat, plastered themselves to my body, outlining every line looking almost transparent.

"What the hell, Lee?!" Tyler yelled.

I, on the other hand, burst out laughing. "You look... You look finer this night, Pierce!" I giggled, wiping water from my eyes. "Seriously! Like a wet puppy! A really hot, wet puppy!"

"You're drunk!" he repeated, spluttering, shaking his head like a dog.

"We're both drunk!" I corrected, leaning into him, my hand still gripping his arm. "And you know what they say about being drunk, Pierce? They say it's not bad to do some crazy stuff."

Before he could even process my words, I stood on my tiptoes, pressing my mouth against his.

His lips were soft, Tyler froze, completely still for a second, I felt his hands come up, pushing gently against my shoulders. I thought he was going to pull instead, his hands tightened, gripping me, pulling me impossibly closer until our wet bodies were flush against each other in the spray of the shower.

And then my archnemesis, the quiet, competitive, annoyingly perfect Tyler Pierce, kissed me back fervently, like his life depended on it.

~Samantha Lee~

My phone vibrated against the wooden table sounding like a mosquito in my ear. I groaned, burying my face deeper into my arms. It was barely 9 AM on a Thursday, and my brain was actively protesting any form of conscious thought.

"Sam, just pick it up," Lily chirped, her voice far too bright for this unholy hour. She slid onto the bench next to me, her long blonde ponytail swaying.

"No can do, ladies," I mumbled, my words muffled. "It's her."

"Her?" Rachel asked, though the slight tilt of her head indicated she knew exactly who I meant. "Your mom? Maybe it's important, Sam."

I snorted, finally lifting my head, my black hair a chaotic mess around my face. "Important? The only thing 'important' my mother ever calls for is to dictate my life choices, critique my outfit from three weeks ago, or inform me of another one of her society galas. Hard pass." I waved a dismissive hand, as if I could physically swat away the impending doom of a parental lecture. Honestly, the woman could suck the joy out of a puppy convention.

Just then, a saccharine sweet, utterly grating cheer echoed from the stage at the front of the university amphitheater. "Cheer chicks! We're the best! Put us to the test!"

My eye twitched. "Ugh, seriously?" I muttered, my voice dripping with disdain.

Lily grimaced. "Hannah and her flock of plastic pigeons."

"'Plastic pigeons' nice one, Lil," I said, a small smile spreading across my face. "I swear, if they don't stop with that ear-splitting nonsense, I'm going to lose it."

Rachel took a dramatic sip of her espresso. "I hate them and Hannah most of all. She literally glares at us like we personally stole her tiara."

"Because we're going to," I declared, leaning forward. "The Glitter Girls are going to whoop their perfect, surgically enhanced asses this season. We just need more practice, a tighter formation on the triple basket toss, and maybe a new chant that doesn't sound like it was written by a six-year-old on a sugar high."

"Preach!" Lily exclaimed, high-fiving me across the table. Rachel joined in, a small, genuine smile finally gracing her lips. This was our sacred bond, a shared hatred for the Cheer Chicks and an unshakeable belief that the Glitter Girls were the superior cheer squad.

The cheers finally, blessedly, died down. A new energy rippled through the amphitheater, a low hum that quickly escalated into a roar. The lights dimmed, then flared, spotlighting the entrance to the stage.

And then the university's hockey team came.

Adrenaline surged through the crowd, as they strode out, all I could see were their broad shoulders and lean muscles, looking like they'd just stepped off a GQ cover shoot, stick in hand. My gaze immediately locked onto Logan, my boyfriend. He winked at me from the stage, a charming, confident grin splitting his face. My stomach did a little flip, definitely the usual Logan effect. He was handsome, popular, and ridiculously good at hockey. What more could a girl want?

But then, the second wave of players emerged, and my mood, which had been steadily climbing, plummeted faster than a lead balloon in an elevator shaft.

Tyler Pierce.

His dark hair was perpetually messy in that artfully disheveled way, and his eyes, a startling shade of green, seemed to hold a mischievous glint even from a distance. He was the university's golden boy, the hockey team's prodigal son, and my personal brand of migraine.

As he stepped onto the stage, the decibel level in the amphitheater skyrocketed. "TYLER! TYLER! TYLER!" The chants were deafening which seemed to vibrate directly inside my skull. Girls shrieked his name, holding up signs that read "Marry Me, Tyler!" and "Pierce My Hero!"

My jaw tightened at the stupid, ridiculous ways the girls had cheered him on, because apparently, he was energetic on the ice. Or maybe it was just an excuse for everyone to chant his name like he was some kind of sports god. Which, to be fair, he kind of was. And it absolutely, unequivocally, ruined my mood every single time. Logan was great, amazing even, but Tyler... Tyler was a different kind of monster, the kind that got under your skin and stayed there.

"Ugh, I can't," I muttered, pushing back from the table with such force that it wobbled precariously. "I need to get out of here before I start throwing glitter bombs at adoring fans."

"Sam, where are you going?" Lily called out, her voice barely audible over the roaring crowd.

"Changing room!" I yelled back, not bothering to look at them. "I'm out. This is too much."

I weaved through the throngs of students, my shoulders hunched, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible. The 'Tyler' chants followed me, echoing in my head annoyingly. Just as I reached the double doors leading to the sports complex changing rooms, a figure stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

"Hey, Sam!"

It was Mike, one of Logan's teammates, a burly defenseman with a perpetually good-natured grin. He held out a brightly coloured invitation card. "There's a party tomorrow night. At the old frat house, you know? The one by the lake. We're inviting everyone in sports, hockey, cheer, basketball, swim team, you name it. It's gonna be epic."

I took the card, barely glancing at the flashy gold font. My mind was still reeling from the 'Tyler' overdose. "Uh, yeah, thanks, Mike. Got it."

"Cool! See ya there!" He grinned, then headed back into the fray.

I muttered a vague 'yeah' and pushed through the doors into the quiet, slightly damp-smelling changing room. Finally, peace. I walked towards my locker, fumbling for my key, when my phone, which I'd shoved into my pocket, started vibrating again.

Mom.

Again!

I groaned, a long, drawn-out sound of pure agony, I knew this was going to be a relentless pursuit. She knew I'd seen her calls. She wouldn't stop until I picked up.

"Hello Mom, this is not the right time to call you know," I snapped into the phone, not bothering with a polite greeting.

"Samantha Lee! Is that any way to speak to your mother?" Her voice still found a way to grate on my nerves. "I've been calling you for an hour, darling. Why aren't you picking up?"

"Because I'm busy, Mom. And it's Thursday. You know I don't answer calls before noon on Thursdays unless it's an actual emergency."

"This is an emergency, darling. A very important one. You need to come home."

My brow furrowed. "Home? For what? What's happened?" Please don't let it be Aunt Carol's fifth divorce party or another one of her ridiculous charity auctions.

"We need to discuss something. Arrangements, actually. We have a lot to talk about, face to face." Her tone was unusually serious, which, coming from my mother, was almost terrifying.

"Look, Mom, just tell me now. Is everything okay? Are you alright?" My heart gave an anxious thump.

A brief pause, then a sigh. "Yes, yes, everyone I am perfectly fine. The arrangements are for... I am getting married."

My jaw dropped. The locker key slipped from my numb fingers, clattering to the tiled floor. The air left my lungs in a dramatic whoosh. My phone felt like a lead weight against my ear.

"You're... what now?" My voice was a choked whisper.

"Yes, I am getting married, darling on Saturday. We've finalized everything. You just need to come home to meet your stepfather and try on the dress."

"You must be seriously joking Mom," I muttered unable to hide how shocked I was.

My mom getting remarried is the most absurd thing I have ever heard for years.

What happened to staying away from men till eternity?

~Samantha Lee~

The entire concept of 'happily ever after' had always felt like a cruel joke in our household. My mom, bless her chaotic heart, had pretty much sworn off men after my Chinese dad decided he preferred a Buddhist monastery in Tibet to our suburban chaos. For years, her frustration, her unfulfilled longing dripped onto me. Every every messy room, every slightly-too-short skirt was an indictment of my character, an extension of her own personal disappointments. So, when she dropped the bombshell that she was not only dating someone but was getting married, I nearly died.

I tugged at the hem of my mini-dress, the fabric clinging in all the wrong places. My phone lay on my bed, vibrating with Logan's contact name, but he wasn't picking up. Typical! He was probably already at the pre-game party with his frat brothers, surrounded by sweaty bodies and cheap beer, completely oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend was trying to coordinate a grand entrance.

"Still trying to track down Captain Oblivious?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Rachel was leaning against my doorframe wearing a black velvet jumpsuit. "He's probably already there, wrestling with a frat bro for the last bag of Doritos," she added, an amused smirk playing on her lips.

"He said he'd meet me," I grumbled, shoving my phone into my tiny clutch. "And I don't do solo entrances. It screams 'I have no friends and spend my weekends alphabetizing my sock drawer'."

Rachel rolled her eyes, pushing off the doorframe. "Relax, Sam. We'll make a grand entrance, together. Double the trouble, double the fun, zero percent chance of looking like a social pariah." She gestured towards the door. "Now come on, the bass is calling our names."

I smiled as we made our way out of the hostel and to the frat where the party was hosted, the 'club' was really just a repurposed warehouse off campus, known for its questionable hygiene but excellent DJ.

"Alright, mission find Logan," Rachel yelled over the music, already scanning the crowd.

"He's probably with his team," I shouted back, "You know how he gets when he's with the boys, he zones out. Probably doesn't even know his phone is in his pocket."

Famous last words, right? Because then I saw him. Logan was not with his teammates, I saw him with Hannah, her hands were tangled in his hair, his arms around her waist, and their mouths... definitely not talking. A full-on, tongue-invading, make-out session that left no room for doubt or polite interpretation.

I had left angrily, drunk, danced with strangers and my memory from that point onwards became fuzzy, then, nothing.

Until the sunlight filtered through the room, I groaned and my eyes snapped open, and I pulled the covers from my body with a gasp. My breath hitched when I noticed I was utterly, completely, terrifyingly naked.

"Aaaah!" I screamed.

"What the..." The voice was deep, raspy with sleep.

My head whipped to the side, my eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. Next to me, occupying the other half of the bed, was a person. A man and he too was naked, his chest rising and falling with a slow, sleep-drugged rhythm.

My brain, still half-hibernating in an alcohol-induced coma, struggled to process the brown hair, messy, falling over his forehead. Broad shoulders, a lean torso. And then, his eyes, green and confused, blinked open, locking onto mine.

Tyler!

My world spun as I covered my mouth with my hands.

"Oh, holy mother of..." Tyler bolted upright, the sheets pooling around his waist. His eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and dawning horror. Slowly, agonizingly, the memories started to flood in of how everything happened.

"No. No, no, no, no, no!" I scrambled, frantically grabbing for the pile of clothes thrown on a nearby chair."This cannot be happening!"

Tyler raked a hand through his hair, his face pale. "You're telling me! What the hell went down last night, Sam?"

"I don't know!" I shrieked, fumbling with the zipper of my dress, my hands shaking so hard I could barely aim. " We were both naked, we were both in bed. The answer was horrifyingly obvious.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again as if hoping I'd disappear. "Oh, God. This is... this is a nightmare."

"A nightmare is an understatement!" I finally wrestled my dress on, my hair a tangled mess, my makeup surely smeared. I looked like a hot mess, but at least I wasn't naked anymore. "Listen, Tyler, we are never, ever speaking of this again. Do you understand? Not a word. This never happened, we both blacked out, end of story."

He stared at me, his eyes still wide, "You think I want this plastered all over campus?"

"Then we're in agreement!" I snatched my clutch, my heels, and practically sprinted towards the door, not even bothering to glance back. "Never happened!"

The door slammed shut behind me, and I didn't stop running until I was out on the street, the cool morning air doing nothing to calm my racing heart. The walk back to my hostel was a blur of mortified self-recrimination.

Tyler of all people, how could I... I slept with him. My stomach churned. The irony was ridiculous Logan cheats on me, and I wake up in bed with my biggest rival.

My phone, thankfully, chose that precise moment to start ringing, it was my mom.

I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself, "Hello?"

"Samantha Lee! Where are you?!" Her voice, even through the phone, was a piercing shriek. "You are not here! The ceremony starts in thirty minutes! Everyone is waiting!"

Oh.

My.

God.

The wedding! My mom's wedding.

"Mom, I... I forgot," I stammered.

"Forgot?!" she wailed. "You forgot your mother's wedding?! Get here this instant! The address is in the text I sent last night! Do you hear me?!"

"Yeah, Mom, I hear you! I'm on my way!" I practically yelled back, hanging up before she could launch into another tirade.

A wedding? Right! The universe truly had it out for me today.

I burst into my room just tore off the sequined disaster and practically leaped into the shower, scrubbing at my skin as if I could wash away the memories of the last few hours. Ten minutes later, I was out, dripping wet, and pulling on the first thing my hand found, a rose gold, off-the-shoulder gown that was probably way too fancy for a morning ceremony but, honestly, I didn't care. It was clean. I barely even attempted to comb my hair, just finger-combed it into some semblance of order before grabbing my clutch and practically flying out the door. The cab ride felt impossibly long, the driver probably wondering why his passenger looked like she'd just escaped from a high-speed chase.

The moment I stepped into the venue, I noticed there were so many people, my eyes scanned the crowd, finally landing on my mother. She was standing next to a distinguished-looking man, beaming, her usually harried face radiating pure joy. She spotted me and waved frantically, a mix of relief and barely suppressed annoyance on her face.

I forced a smile, weaving through the chattering guests. When I reached them, my mom grabbed my arm, squeezing it tight. "Samantha! Oh, thank God you're here! You look... well, you're here! This is my daughter, Samantha!" She turned to the man beside her, her smile softening even more. "And darling, this is Mr. Pierce, my husband."

Mr. Pierce extended a hand, his smile kind. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Samantha. Your mother talks about you constantly."

I shook his hand, trying to act normal, my voice a little shaky. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Pierce. Congratulations."

Just then, a voice, deep and familiar, cut through the gentle murmur of conversation. "Sorry, I'm late, Dad. Had a... slow start to the morning."

My head snapped up, tilting towards the familiar sound. No, it couldn't be but there he was. Tyler Pierce, looking impossibly put-together in a tailored suit, his hair still slightly damp from a shower, his eyes finding mine across the small group. They widened fractionally, a silent, mutual gasp of horror passing between us.

Mr. Pierce chuckled, clapping Tyler on the shoulder. "Ah! Here comes my son."

What the hell?