Sport Affair (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.