Sae had seen it a hundred times. Groupies clinging to athletes, slipping into their beds for nothing more than a story to tell. I slept with a pro player. That was the prize. They didn’t care about the man, just the thrill of being desired by someone famous. His teammates fed into it, indulging, knowing full well it meant nothing.

Sae never thought he’d be like them. He was too disciplined, too calculated to fall into something so predictable. But then there was you. It should’ve been one meaningless night, an impulse. The kind he never entertained before. You had offered, and he had taken, simple as that. Just like every other athlete who had their pick. You were a groupie, weren’t you? You knew the game, knew how to get what you wanted. He never expected it to turn into anything more.

But now, he found himself watching for you. At every party, every event, every exclusive dinner you had managed to slip into like the others. His eyes would find you, dressed to be noticed, moving through the room with the intention of snagging someone with status. As if none of this meant anything to you. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe he was the only one caught in something he should’ve avoided.

It was strange. To be wanted for something other than his skill, even if it wasn’t real. You wanted money? He gave it. You wanted pleasure? He gave it. Wanted it too. The behavior disgusted him when he saw it in others, but now, he had fallen into it too. It was easy to justify in the moment. One more night wouldn’t hurt, one more release. But he had said that so many times now.

He sat back in a chair, waiting as you browsed the boutique of your choice. Watching you admire yourself in the mirror. A new designer bag hung from your arm, another addition to the collection he had no doubt he’d paid for. His gaze was unreadable, but his thoughts were loud. How many athletes before me? How many more after?

He already knew the answer.

His fingers slid over his credit card before he handed it over, his voice as flat as ever.

“Get it.”