Lauren Horan (One Direction Spanking Story)

Preparations

Sitting on the cold curb, I begin shivering, my pale skin errupting in goosebumps. Wearing nothing but a sneakers, a sports bra and spandex, I breathe in short puffs, the cold September air biting at my ears and fingers.

Now, no, I'm not just a dumb blonde like my brother; I have a reason for wearing what I am. Claiming that he doesn't want me 'misrepresenting' the team, my coach had confiscated my warm ups, leaving me with nothing but my hockey bag, my stick, and what little dignity I have left. Thanks asshole. Of course I have a suitcase of clothes at his house, where I've been miserably boarding for the past couple years, but there is no way in hell I'm going to go back there and face him. Even for my warm hoodies.

I keep glancing at my phone to check the time. This is basically the first time in months I've used it. To my coach, phones are nothing but a distraction and it's not like I'm expecting any calls anyway. Especially not from Mr. Niall Horan, brother of the year. We never have gotten along well. He's controlling, loud, and annoying. Newsflash buddy, you're not mom and dad, you're not a damn blonde, and you're not as cool as you think you are. Can you tell I'm excited to see him?

Speaking of which, he's two hours late. Cool, bro, cool. The arena doors have already been locked and shut, so here I am, sitting in the cold, dark night, looking as pathetic as ever. Tear tracks have paved hundreds of little lines across my flushed cheeks, and my green eyes are complimented by a thick band of swollen, red skin. Way to make a good impression Lauren, way to go.

I dig in my bag and pull out an old water bottle, splashing the remains over my face, and trying to look slightly human again. I mean, I am about to meet a bunch of 'pop stars'.

I roll my eyes at the thought, failing to imagine my dork of a brother, Niall, as a celebrity. I mean, c'mon people. I haven seen him in three years, so maybe he's changed a lot. His appearance, I mean, not his dumbass nature. That's permanent.

Oh my gosh, maybe he's gone goth.

Distracted by my thoughts, I don't notice a black SUV pull into the huge lot, until it's parked right in front of me.

That's odd... Coach Knapp told me to watch for a tourbus... Is this guy a murderer or something?

Oh my gosh, what do I do? What if someone hired like, like a, a bounty hunter or something to get back at me! Should I run? It's not like I can't fight... I've gotten suspended enough games for that...

I keep staring at the car warily, not sure if I'm suppose to just get in, or run for my life. Why the hell hasn't Niall even gotten out to great me yet? Some manners... I mean the place is deserted, he has no excuse!

After at least five awkward, slow minutes of staring, I hear the door click open, a tall, muscular man stepping out and into view. Well this is definitely not Niall. Hah, even my muscles are bigger than Niall's!

"Hello love!" the man chirps, a light British accent lacing his voice, "You must be Lauren?"

Ohhhh, right. Niall's with a bunch of Brits. I'm not sure how I feel about that..

"Uh, yeah. Hi." I mumble, offering him a weak smile. I hope I don't look too pathetic still. "Umm...?"

Seeing my confused look, the man steps forward, lifting my bag and heaving it over his shoulder like I have so many times before. "Sorry about before, I thought you just needed a moment. Wasn't thinking. I'm Mark, one of the boys' bodyguards. I'll take you to the bus!"

This man is happy. Ew.

"Well that makes a lot more sense. I thought you were in the band for a moment." I mumble, cracking a small smile. I kind of like this guy.