"Tall. Brown hair. Forearms. Dirty moe." She grins. "Cowboy hat."
I snort. "Of course."
"Like... annoyingly cute."
"Did you flirt?"
"I smiled."
"You work in retail. You're meant to smile."
She elbows me, laughing. "Shut up. He had that thing."
"What thing?"
"The forearms." She makes a face like she's suffering. "He reached for his wallet and I nearly tripped."
I giggle. "You didn't."
"I did." She points at her knee like it's the culprit. "My body was like, absolutely not. It's always failing me."
I know she's joking but my heart pangs.
She turns suddenly, ripping her gaze away from mine as she moves into a delicate seamless spin.
And then she stumbles.
My heart lurches to my throat and that's when I realise Asher must have been watching because he starts skating over after his sisters stumble.
She waves him off, but she won't look him in the eye.
"I'm fine, it was just a catch in the ice. They should fix that."
We both know better, but we don't call her out on her lie.
"Lottie." Asher says. The nickname I haven't heard from him since they were children.
"I'm fine." She still doesn't look at him.
"You're not." Asher doesn't get the chance to say much else before the rink doors are slamming open and the rest of the hockey team are filtering in.
"Off," she mutters, like she's ordering herself. "I'm getting off."
I follow her toward the bench, staying close, like my body knows to guard her even if she'd punch me for it.
She sits hard. Hands on her knee. Breathing shallow.
I sit beside her and watch her pretend she's not angry.
It doesn't work.
The team's voices get louder. Closer. Someone laughs.
Charlotte's shoulders tense at the sound.
She hates them seeing her like this.
She hates anyone seeing her like this.
