Cheating Season

I tucked the check away and grabbed my phone, opening the pinned chat.

Before the party, I'd sent a simple text: [Kind of miss you.]

Six replies.

Five hours ago: [Miss you too.]

Four hours ago: [Heading to practice.]

Three hours ago: [Actually, I don't mind being interrupted during practice.]

Two hours ago: [They told me it's your birthday.]

One hour ago: [Happy birthday.]

Just now: [I'm coming to see you.]

I smiled.

I typed back: [No need. I'll see you next week at your match.]

After a long time, two messages arrived.

[Okay.]

[Don't play me.]

***

Over the next month, Scott paraded Gigi around in public, openly flaunting their affair.

Like two teenagers drunk on love.

The almighty Scott Fletcher let her drag him to street food stalls, snap silly photo booth pics, and kiss under the Bali sunset. Even followed her to an esports match—one featuring Joel Arnoult.

Nineteen. A phenomenon. Last year, he led his team to a world championship. Right now, he was the biggest name in esports.

Outside the stadium, Gigi sported a headband with his name, clutching Scott's arm as she posed for photos. Scott, clearly irritated, yanked her closer. "What's so great about some kid?"

Gigi giggled, kissing his cheek. "I just like watching him play. But, of course, I love you the most!"

From my car, I watched it all.

Nausea crept up my throat, but before I could look away—my phone rang.

Scott.

Cold. Impatient. "That project you mentioned? We'll talk another day. I'm busy tonight. Not coming home."

I let out a quiet laugh and deliberately asked, "Busy with what?"

"Watching Joel Arnoult's match—"

Before he could finish, Gigi's scoff cut in. "That boring old woman—does she even know who Joel Arnoult is?"

Through the car window, I saw her snatch the phone from Scott's hand.

"Leila Lloyd, don't ask things you shouldn't. I'm hanging up."

Arrogant. Spoiled. Willful.

But young. Beautiful. Blooming like a flower at its peak.

So Scott just pinched her cheek, amused, and led her into the VIP section.

Everyone preferred youth and beauty.

Myself included.

My phone lit up again—Joel.

"Are you here or not?" His voice was impatient. "Last time, you bailed on me. Don't tell me you're doing it again."

"I'm here." I knocked lightly against the car window. "But... you're too popular. I could only get a regular seat. I'll find you after the match."

Joel scoffed. "Tch. Do you really think you need to buy a ticket to see me play? I told the club to save you a suite. Just go straight there."

A pause. Then—

"Have you thought about it? Last time, you promised to make it up to me. If I win tonight, what's my reward?"

"What do you want?"

"Anything I say?"