Chapter Text
Nat has been in just enough trouble to have a reputation but not enough to be exactly interesting.
She’s the girl who skipped practice to hook up with Bobby Farleigh, even though she didn’t even like him. The girl who drinks cheap whiskey out of a Coke can during class. The girl whose mom’s boyfriend honks outside of school in a car that barely runs, always late, always making her look like a fucken idiot.
She’s not a bad kid— at least, not in the way people love to whisper about her in the halls. She doesn’t skip class to cause trouble, doesn’t pick fights just to prove a point. She just doesn’t care about fitting into the neat little boxes everyone else in this suffocating town seems so desperate to squeeze into. The ones society builds for you before you even get a chance to decide who you are. She’s heard it all before — reckless, impulsive, burnout, too much or too little for her own good.
And well, the thing about Lottie Matthews is that she’s hard to pin down.
She’s popular, but not in the way Jackie is. Because Jackie works at it, curates it, like it’s something that could slip through her fingers if she isn’t careful. Lottie, though, she just is. She exists at the center of things without ever really trying. People just orbit her.
She’s the kind of girl who gets invited everywhere, who never seems uncomfortable no matter where she ends up. Fits in but doesn’t talk all that much. Rich enough to dress like she doesn’t care, self-assured in a way that makes it feel like everything she says means something.
But she’s not untouchable. Not exactly. She gets along with everyone, but she’s not owned by them. Doesn’t belong to any one person the way Shauna belongs to Jackie, or the way Nat and Kevyn used to belong to each other before he started hanging around Ben Costigan and getting sentimental about their childhood like they’re already old and no longer friends.
Lottie’s just there.
So when she starts hanging around Nat, it doesn’t feel weird. Not at first.
(It all starts with a ride — at least that’s where Nat remembers it starting.)
It’s the first cold snap of November. That biting kind of air that makes your fingers stiff even through your gloves. Nat’s waiting at the curb, hands stuffed into the pockets of her varsity jacket, when she hears a car pull up beside her.
The car is nice, way too nice for the student lot, some sleek European thing with leather seats that don’t have any cigarette burns in them, it sticks out between all the dented Toyotas and rusting Chevys.
“Hey,” Lottie says, leaning across the center console to push the passenger door open. “Do you need a ride?”
She almost laughs, because, yeah. She’s always waiting for her mom to remember she exists, or for Kevyn to get out of detention so she can bum a ride from him instead.
She snorts. “You moonlighting as a chauffeur now, Matthews?”
Lottie just smiles, unfazed. “Maybe. You getting in, or what?”
Nat hesitates, because this is new. They talk sometimes, in that casual, team-adjacent way where Nat mostly cracks jokes and Lottie mostly laughs because Nat is a fucken delight despite popular belief, but they don’t do… well this.
But the wind cuts through her jacket as if she isn’t even wearing it, and she doesn’t really feel like walking home, so she gets in.
(It happens again
And again.
And again.
Not every day, not even every week, but often enough that it starts to feel like a pattern.
Lottie will pull up beside her, window sliding down. “You good?” she’ll ask, and Nat will shrug and say, “Yeah.”
Sometimes they don’t even talk on the drive, just let the radio fill the silence. Lottie plays weird shit, not classic rock because Nat fucks with that heavily, not anything from the radio, but these warbly, ambient albums Nat’s never heard before, full of slow builds and eerie harmonies.
It should be pretentious. It would be, if anyone else did it.
But with Lottie, it just is.
And maybe Nat should ask what her deal is.
But she doesn’t because who cares anyway?
Definitely not Nat…)
And the thing about their newly created almost-friendship is… well Nat finds it kind of strange but in an exhilarating way if that even makes sense. And the first time Nat actually goes somewhere with Lottie, it’s an accident.
She gets in the car like usual, but instead of heading toward her place, Lottie just — keeps driving. And it’s only when they pull up to some little corner store that Nat squints at her and says, “Where the fuck are we?”
Lottie grins, “Just feeling a bit peckish.”
“You a bird or something?” Nat asks and Lottie snorts.
“I’ll be back.”
True to her word she comes back five minutes later with a six-pack and a family-sized bag of peanut M&Ms. Tosses the bag into Nat’s lap.
“You don’t even know if I like these,” Nat says.
Lottie raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”
They’re her favourite but Nat doesn’t need to tell her that. She just looks at the bag and shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”
Lottie smiles at it, triumphant.
And somehow, that is what sticks with Nat later, when she’s lying in bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling and trying to drown out the sound of her mom’s boyfriend stomping around the kitchen.
Not the drive, not the beer she somehow scored, but the way Lottie knew.
How the fuck did she know?
(The ground had been softer than usual from the previous day’s rain, their cleats sinking into the field with too much ease, not that Coach Martinez cared. “You all want to be winners, don’t you? Then get out there and show me how much you want it!”
Near the end of practice, during a scrimmage with JV, Mari slipped, and somehow in the clumsy chaos, her elbow drives into Nat’s nose and hard.
She ends up in the locker room, a bib pressed to her bleeding nose because she refuses to go to the infirmary—it’s not like she’s dealing with a broken bone here—while Van looks down at her, grinning at the no doubt pathetic sight of her.
“Why don’t we get you some peanut M&Ms on the way home? A little reward for your bravery, huh Champ?”
Nat rolled her eyes. “Fine, but don’t ever talk to me like I’m fuckin’ Dil Pickles again, Palmer.”
Van just cackled, ruffling her hair for the sole purpose of pissing her off some more.
Lottie hovered in the background, watching to make sure she was okay. Not that Nat noticed.)
Today the sun was relentless, beating down on the field as if it had a personal vendetta against them all. Sweat dripped down the back of Nat’s neck, stinging where it met the sunburn she hadn’t realised she was getting. Running suicides was already bad enough, but running them while hungover felt like some kind of divine punishment.
Yeah, maybe showing up to practice like this hadn’t been her smartest move, but Kevyn had gotten the new Nirvana album, and Rich had hooked them up with actual good shit from his cousin in college, so really, what was she supposed to do? Say no?
She was regretting it now, though. Every breath made her stomach churn, and her legs felt like lead as she sprinted toward the next line on the field.
“Scatorccio, move your ass!” Coach Martinez barked from the sidelines.
Nat grit her teeth and pushed forward.
Lottie was watching.
She could feel it, like a weight at the edge of her vision, an awareness that prickled at the back of her neck. Not in a judgy way, not like Jackie or Tai, who had both rolled their eyes when she showed up reeking of cigarettes and whiskey. Shes just watching.
She could hear Van’s voice somewhere behind her, laughing between gasps of breath. “Jesus, Nat, you look like you’re about to die.”
“Fuck off, Van,” she muttered, but there was no real heat behind it.
Somehow, she made it through. Barely.
By the time Coach finally blew the whistle, calling them in, Nat was ready to drop. She tugged her jersey over her face, letting the fabric soak up some of the sweat.
Lottie was next to her when she pulled it back down, handing her a water bottle without a word. Nat took it without thinking, swallowing half of it in one go before wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.
“You trying to be my mom now, Matthews?”
Lottie blinked, completely stone faced except for a raised brow. “Do you want me to be your mom?”
Nat choked on the last sip of water, coughing. “Jesus Christ,”
Lottie just shrugged. “You’re the one who said it.”
Nat huffed, tossing the empty bottle back at her before heading toward the locker room and didn’t look back.
In the locker room, Nat peeled off her sweat-drenched jersey and threw it onto the bench beside her, collapsing onto the cool metal. She was still lightheaded, still a little nauseous, but at least she wasn’t running anymore.
Van flopped down next to her, stretching her legs out in front of her. “I’m serious. You look like shit, dude.”
Nat groaned, dropping her head back against the lockers. “Gee, thanks, Palmer. That’s exactly what I needed to hear on this fine afternoon.”
“You do know it’s possible to get wasted on a non-school night, right?” Nat flipped her off without lifting her head and Van just snickered, tugging at the laces of her cleats. “You better not puke in my moms car. I will make you clean it.”
“I’m fine,” Nat muttered, even though she definitely wasn’t.
Across the room, Lottie was sitting on the bench, unlacing her own cleats, her hair still damp with sweat. She hadn’t said anything since they got inside, but she was there, close enough that Nat could feel it.
That was kind of a new thing, wasn’t it? Lottie always being there.
Like at parties, when she’d show up beside Nat without warning, handing her a drink before Nat even had to ask. Or in the hallways, when she’d glance at Nat and smile. Or on the field, when she’d pass her the ball even when she had a better shot herself.
It was starting to feel like a thing.
And Nat should probably be questioning it.
But she wasn’t.
She pulled off her shin guards, tossing them onto the pile of her shit. “If I do puke, I’m aiming for your lap,” she told Van.
Van just snorted. “Yeah, real nice. What a fuckin’ lady.”
Lottie laughed under her breath.
Nat rolled her eyes at the red-head, reaching into her bag for her cigarettes. “You’re so annoying.”
Van grinned. “Oh, but you love me, don’t you?”
Nat scoffed, but didn’t argue.
Outside, the air was cooler now that the sun had started to drop, but Nat still felt sticky with sweat. She lit a cigarette as soon as they stepped into the parking lot, inhaling deep, hoping it might fix the way her stomach was still twisted up from practice.
Van pulled her keys out of her bag, swinging them around her finger. “You coming with me, or what?”
Nat hesitated.
She could feel Lottie behind her.
And maybe she wasn’t thinking straight, maybe she was still coming down from the high of running until her legs went numb, but before she could stop herself, she turned and said, “I’ll go with Lottie. I don’t really wanna third wheel you and Tai.”
Van blinked at her. “Since when does Lottie drive you around?”
Lottie, to her credit, didn’t even look surprised. She just unlocked her car and shrugged. Nat took another drag, blowing smoke toward the sky. “Since now, I guess.”
Van looked between them, eyebrows raised, like she wanted to say something, but after a second, she just shook her head and muttered, “Weirdos,” before heading to her car to wait for Tai.
Nat turned to Lottie, one hand still in her jacket pocket, cigarette dangling from her lips. “That cool?”
Lottie smiled. “Yeah,” she said, unlocking the passenger door. “It’s cool.”
Nat gets in, turns to Lottie in the driver's seat and says. “Hey, wanna get high with me, Matthews?” After a moment the other girl just nods and Nat grins. “Wicked.”
They drive. Not to Nat’s house, not to Lottie’s, not anywhere in particular, just out. Past the neighborhood where all the lawns are patchy and dead, past the strip mall where Rich’s cousin sells them beer without carding, past the old skate park with the broken lights and the half-pipes covered in graffiti.
They end up on some back road past the old quarry, where the trees press in on either side and the only light comes from the occasional flicker of headlights passing on the highway a mile away. Lottie kills the engine, and for a second, there’s just the hum of the cooling metal, the soft crackle of Nat’s lighter as she sparks up.
She takes a drag, holds it for a second before passing it over. Lottie hesitates and Nat watches her, smirking. “What, this your first time?”
Lottie snorts. “Obviously not.”
“Then what’s with the nerves?”
Lottie doesn’t answer, just takes the joint and rolls it between her fingers, trying to stall. The silence stretches, thick and expectant. Nat leans back against the headrest, eyes half-lidded, lazy grin curling at her mouth. “Is this where you take all your hookups?”
Lottie stiffens, just barely. Nat catches it anyway. There’s a momentary pause. Then Lottie shrugs, looking straight ahead. “No.”
Nat exhales slow, amused. “That a lie?”
Lottie turns the joint over in her fingers. “No.” That makes Nat hault. Because she was expecting deflection, or some teasing comeback. Not this nervous, quiet thing that’s started to settle between them.
She watches Lottie’s profile, the way her jaw tenses, the way she’s still not looking at her. “I don’t think I’m a good kush buddy.”
Nat blinks and then she barks out a laugh, head tilting back against the seat. “Jesus Christ, Matthews.” She shakes her head. “Kush buddy?”
Lottie huffs, half exasperated, half embarrassed. “I’m serious.”
Nat sobers just enough to really look at her. Lottie’s hands are tight in her lap, like she’s trying to keep herself still. Nat softens. Just a little. She nudges her knee against Lottie’s. “You’ll be fine.” Lottie doesn’t move. Nat watches her, waiting. “I got you.”
Lottie exhales. And then, finally, she takes a hit. She holds it too long, coughs when she exhales, half laughing, half choking. Nat just grins, rubbing a slow, lazy circle against her knee with her thumb. “There, there.”
Nat doesn’t take into consideration how intimate this probably is until after she’s done it. Until after Lottie is looking down at her knee, eyes already blown dark probably from the weed.
That was quick, Nat thinks like a fucken idiot.
They stay there for a while. Long enough for the joint to burn low, long enough for the night air to creep in through the cracked window, for Nat’s buzz to settle into something warm and heavy.
Lottie leans back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, fingers tapping absently against her knee. The silence between them is comfortable, or at least, it should be. But Nat can’t stop thinking about the way Lottie’s fingers had hesitated before taking the joint, the way she’d looked at Nat afterward, something odd in her expression, something that didn’t quite fit with the easy, self-assured girl everyone thought she was.
And, okay. Maybe Nat isn’t as good at ignoring things as she pretends to be.
She releases all the smoke from her mouth. “Alright, what’s your deal?”
Lottie turns her head, slow. “What?”
“You,” Nat says, gesturing vaguely. “Why do you keep hanging around me?”
Lottie huffs out a laugh, like she actually thinks about it for a second. “Do I need a reason?”
Nat narrows her eyes. “Yes you do actually.”
Lottie just shakes her head, smiling in that way she does. “You’re interesting to me.”
Nat snorts. “Yeah, sure.”
“I mean it.” Lottie tips her head back against the headrest, watching her with dark eyes. “You don’t try to be. You just are.”
Nat rolls her eyes. “If this is some rich girl experiment where you try slumming it with the local delinquent for kicks, I’ll pass.”
Lottie frowns, and for the first time all night, she actually looks a little offended. “That’s not—” She stops, mouth pressing into a line. “That’s not what this is.”
Nat takes another drag, lets the smoke sit in her lungs for a second before exhaling. “Whatever,” she mutters.
They sit there, listening to the irritating calls of crickets and the rumbling, distant sound of cars on the highway. Lottie leans forward, fiddling with the radio dial until she lands on some soft, dreamy track Nat doesn’t recognize.
Lottie’s still watching her and Nat feels it more than she sees it. And she wonders if she should say something. Maybe she should ask why Lottie’s looking at her like that, or why she’s been giving her rides, or why she keeps showing up beside her like they’re more than just teammates who now smoke together in a parked car.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she just leans her head back against the seat, eyes slipping shut, and lets the music wash over her.
And Lottie, Lottie just lets her be.
(Kev had been bitching about how Nat was ditching him and Rich for Lottie, which, okay, maybe he had a point. She’d been slacking in the whole “best friend” department. But Lottie’s company had become kind of an addiction, the kind that crept up on her, one ride turning into another, one smoke session stretching into an entire night.
So she’s trying to do better. Balance things out. It’s harder than she thought it would be. She’s never had to juggle two separate friend groups before.
And yeah, she could just invite Lottie to hang with Kev and Rich, but she’s not too certain how that would go. Sure, Lottie’s cool and shit, but she’s also rich and privileged. Not in way where she rubs it in your face, no Lottie isn’t like that, but in the kind of way where you’re always aware of it because of her clothes, her car, and magical credit card that could buy her whatever she wanted. The kind of way that might make Rich roll his eyes and say something she doesn’t want to deal with.)
“Are you getting a ride with Lottie to Jackie’s, or are you coming with me and Tai?” Van asks, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “My mom’s got the car so Tai’s driving. But, y’know, we miss our little Italian son carpooling with us.”
Nat rolls her eyes and shoves her off. “Kevyn wants to hit the record store. They finally restocked Adrenaline and he’s been whining about it for months.”
Van gasps, mock-offended. “So you’re ditching team bonding? Jackie’s gonna lose her mind.”
Nat shrugs. “It’s not team bonding, thats just Jackie’s excuse to throw a rager on a school night. But I’ll just swing by later.”
Van narrows her eyes. “Fine. But you better show up. And if you don’t, I’m telling everyone you have diarrhea.”
Nat snorts. “Oh, real mature, Palmer.”
Van just grins, walking backward toward Tai’s car. “You love me, Scattorcio!” She yells, pronouncing her name wrong for the hundredth time, though Nat’s used to it.
She flips Van off and grins. “Fuck off!”
Kevyn’s already waiting outside the store when Nat gets there, pacing next to his bike they spray painted black, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie.
It used to be pink, a hand me down from his older sister, India. Nat said it looked sick, like a political statement or some shit like that — but Kevyn proved once again his heart wasn’t truly punk rock and got beat red in the face at the thought of people seeing him ride it.
He looks up as she approaches, squinting. “Jesus, finally.”
Nat flicks his shoulder as she passes. “Calm down, nerd, they’re not gonna sell out in the next five minutes.”
Inside, the record store smells like dust and plastic. Rich is already at the counter, chatting up some guy with bright blue hair and a Nine Inch Nails shirt, doing that thing where he leans against the counter like he’s in a movie and the cashier is actually interested in him. Nat rolls her eyes and makes a beeline for the new arrivals.
Kevyn finds the album in under a minute, cradling it like a prized possession. “Fuck yes, finally.” he mutters, flipping it over to inspect the tracklist, even though he already knows it by heart.
Nat leans against the shelf, watching him. It’s easy, this. Comfortable. No weird tension, no second-guessing what’s going unsaid. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks,” Kevyn says, glancing up at her.
“Yeah, well. Been busy.”
“With the Matthews heiress.”
Nat rolls her eyes. “Don’t start.”
Kevyn raises an eyebrow. “I’m just saying. You like her or something?”
Nat scoffs. “She’s my teammate who I sometimes hang out with.”
“Right,” Kevyn says, dragging the word out. “But like, why?”
Nat groans. “God, shut up.”
Kevyn just grins. “Nah, it’s cute. You’re all like, mysterious bad girl meets pretty rich princess. Real Breakfast Club type of shit.”
Nat flips him off, but her face feels weirdly hot.
Rich finally wanders over, arms crossed. “So, are we gonna go get high in the park or what?”
Nat hesitates and Kevyn catches it. “Oh my God. You are ditching us for her again. Can you believe this Rich?”
“Yeah, I mean, I'm fully into the peen but Lottie’s hot as heck, dude.”
“I’m—shes—“ Nat groans, “Shut the fuck up,” Kevyn and Rich hold their arms up in mock surrender and Nat strains her neck to look at the clock mounted near the high ceiling. She could go with them. Smoke up, bullshit about music, kill a couple hours before showing up at Jackie’s.
Or…
Or she could find a payphone and call Lottie just to see where she is. Just in case.
“You guys wanna come to a party with me?”
Later, when she finally shows up at Jackie’s, the house is packed. Music blasting from the stereo, people spread out around the place with beer cans or solo cups in their hands. Jackie holding court in the living room, or dining area, Nat still doesn’t know, like she’s hosting a Glamour magazine event instead of a beer pong competition.
Jackie’s house is the same as ever— too big, too clean, the kind of place that still has plastic on the expensive furniture. But by now, it’s just background noise to the party. Someone’s put on Siamese Dream, the bass heavy under the chatter, under the clink of beer bottles and the occasional holler from the living room, where someone’s probably doing something stupid.
Nat threads her way through the crowd, eyes skimming the room on autopilot. Kevyns already disappeared, no doubt off in the basement talking with some freshman who’s probably about to overpay for an eighth. Rich is sprawled on the couch, legs slung over the armrest, deep in whatever conversation he’s having with some guy in a band tee that he’ll probably be slobbering all over by the end of the night or whatever gay guys do.
It’s the usual. Everything is normal. So it takes her a second to notice Lottie.
She’s in the kitchen, standing by the counter, fingers curled around a red Solo cup, talking to some guy Nat vaguely recognises from school but doesn’t know. She looks good because of course she does. Her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, sleeves of her sweater pushed up just enough to show the gold watch she always wears. The one that is probably worth more than Nat’s trailer and everything in there combined.
But something’s different. Nat can’t quite place it, but it’s there, in the way Lottie’s eyes flick toward her, then away just as fast. Okay that was really fucken weird.
Nat raises an eyebrow and starts toward her, but before she can get close, someone grabs her arm. “What the fuck?”
It’s just Van.
Nat yanks her arm free, brows furrowed. “Jesus, Palmer. Just tap me on the shoulder like a normal person next time, alright. I almost decked you.”
Van ignores her words. “Dude I just saw Shauna laughing with Melissa, which yeah we’re all fucken teammates but since when do those two talk? And since when is Melissa that funny? I swear Shauna’s about to piss herself. Do you think I need to up my game to maintain my position as the teams comedian?”
Nat can only frown at Van’s ramble. Yeah, she’s definitely wasted. “Ah… nah. I think you’re probably good.”
“You sure?” she slurs and Nat nods and pats her on the back.
Nat humors Van for a minute as always, letting her babble about Shauna’s alleged betrayal and the very serious threat to her comedy career. But her eyes keep drifting back toward the kitchen, toward Lottie.
She’s still talking to that guy—Chris something? Maybe a junior? Nat doesn’t know or care because Lottie’s not really listening to him any way. She keeps taking these small, distracted sips from her drink, nodding like she’s barely processing whatever bullshit he’s saying.
Nat doesn’t get a chance to think about it much before Van slaps her on the back, too hard, knocking her forward a step. “Okay, I’m gonna go steal the boombox before someone puts on the Beatles again and ruins the vibe. They always make me feel like i’m in church and how am I supposed to feel comfortable enough to get up to lesbian activities then?”
Nat snorts. “God forbid.”
Van salutes her like a dumbass before weaving back into the crowd, and Nat shakes her head before turning back toward the kitchen.
But before she can take even two steps, she hears—“Yo, Scatorccio!” And finds Kevyn stumbling into the dining room, clearly a couple beers deep already. “There you are. Thought you got lost.”
Nat rolls her eyes, shoving her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. “Yeah, yeah. You got what you needed?”
“Rich kids are so easy to scam, I swear. I could give them herbs and they’d think it was the real shit,” Kevyn grins, tilting his head toward the basement door. “In the meantime, we’re trying to figure out if this dude over there is actually old enough to be at this party or if he just wandered in off the street.”
Nat raises a brow. “What?”
Kevyn gestures toward the couch, where some guy in an oversized flannel and ripped jeans is hunched over a beer, looking like he’s seen some shit. “Man has gotta be at least 30,” He mutters. “Either that or life’s just hit him real fuckin’ hard.”
Nat snorts. “As long as he’s not touchin’ kids, I say let him live.”
Kev grins. “C’mon, let’s go place bets.” Nat hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for her to glance back toward the kitchen.
And okay, maybe she imagined it, maybe it’s just the way the light hits, but Lottie looks, well, pissed off is the only way to describe it really. But not, like, throw-a-drink-in-someone’s-face pissed. Not even Shauna or Tai levels of passive-aggressive pissed. Just… off. She’s not even looking at Chris anymore. She’s looking right at Nat.
Kevyn follows her gaze, then raises an eyebrow. “Shit. Matthews is giving you the stink eye.”
Nat frowns. “Do you think so?”
Kevyn hums. “Uh-huh. Well at least to one of us but I've never talked to the chick so my best guess is that she’s pissed at you or something.”
Nat shakes her head, ignoring the sudden weird feeling creeping up her spine. “Whatever. Let’s go find out if your drifter theory holds up.” She follows Kevyn toward the couch, but she doesn’t totally shake the feeling of eyes on her back.
A little while later, Nat’s sitting on the arm of a chair, beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, listening to Kev and Rich argue about whether or not Smashing Pumpkins are sellouts now. “They went mainstream,” Kevyn says, waving his hands. “That’s like, the definition of selling out.”
Rich shakes his head. “Dude. Just because a band gets big doesn’t mean they sold out. It just happens sometimes.”
Nat tunes them out, taking a long drag. She spots Lottie across the room and notices she’s not talking to Charlie—Chuck?—Or was it Carter?—Chris anymore. Actually, she’s not talking to anyone. She’s just standing there, holding an unopened beer, watching Nat.
The second their eyes meet, Lottie looks away and Nat huffs smoke through her nose. The fuck is up with her? She tries to think of something she could’ve done to Lottie but comes up blank every time. Or maybe it’s just in Nat’s head. Maybe the weed’s still messing with her, making her see things that aren’t there.
One time she hallucinated that Misty fucken Quigley was half spider and chased around the trailer park at three in the morning, dressed only in her underwear. She woke Van up with her screaming, the other girl had to throw cold ass water on her to snap her out of it. Not one of her greatest moments but fuck, that was a trip to remember.
Nat blinks. Kevyn is waving a hand in front of her face. “You in there?”
Nat swats him away. “Jesus, what?”
Kevyn gives her a strange once over. “You keep lookin’ at Matthews.”
“No, I don’t.”
Kevyn just hums, not buying it and Nat can’t help but scowl. “She’s acting weird.”
Rich raises an eyebrow. “Weird how?”
Nat exhales. “I don’t fuckin’ know, man. Just… weird.”
Rich shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. “Maybe she’s jealous.”
Nat laughs. Like, actually laughs. “Jealous of what?”
Kevyn gives her a look like she’s stupid. “Of me obviously.”
Nat chokes on her drink. “What?”
Rich grins. “I mean, you two are kinda cute together.”
Nat shoves him. “Shut the fuck up.”
Kevyn laughs, but then he leans in a little, dropping his voice. “For real, though. You ever think maybe she likes you?”
Nat blinks at that. Her. And Lottie. Lottie — who is rich and hot and could probably get with any guy she wanted — liking her. The idea is so stupid it makes her snort. “Okay, Kev. Sure.”
Kevyn just shrugs. “I dunno, man. She’s been watchin’ you all night.”
Nat rolls her eyes. “Like I said, she’s just being a weirdo.”
Kevyn smirks, but doesn’t argue and Nat exhales, tapping ash into a half-empty beer can.
She doesn’t look at Lottie again.
(But later, when she finally gets up to leave with her friends, dragging a drunk Kevyn along with her, she feels those dark eyes on her the whole way out.)
Van looks like she took a trip straight to hell and barely made it back. Her hood is pulled up, her hair’s a mess, and her face is pale in a way that makes her freckles stand out even more which Nat didn’t think was possible. She’s slumped against the window like it might shield her from the consequences of her own actions, eyes shut behind scratched-up sunglasses, radiating pure regret.
The second Nat slides into the backseat of Tai’s car, she bursts out laughing. “Fuck dude, you look just like your mom.”
Van groans, flipping her off without even lifting her head. “Don’t talk to me. I think I died last night.”
Tai, looking like she got up at five, went for a run, showered and then ironed her clothes, is adjusting her mirrors. “That’s what you get for chasing tequila with beer.” Van grunts, curling further into the seat.
Nat snickers, tossing her bag down beside her. “What even happened? Last I saw, you were giving Shauna a whole ass speech about how much funnier you are than Mel.”
Van cracks one eye open. “Did I?”
Tai sighs, starting the car. “For ten whole minutes.”
Van snorts, voice rough. “Well, she deserved it. She’s never laughed like that with me. I felt betrayed, Tai. Utterly betrayed.”
Tai shakes her head. “God, you’re the worst.”
“Sure but you’re still willingly getting it on with me,” Van mutters, a smug smile creeping across her face. Tai just sighs like she regrets every decision that brought her to this moment.
Nat grins, stretching out in the backseat. “Did you even go home last night?”
“No. I was scared this one might choke on her own vomit during the night so I just crashed here.” Tai says, shifting to get comfortable.
Tai and Van have been hooking up in secret since that one away game last year. Nat barely remembers it because she spent most of that day getting the shit knocked out of her by some defender who was more beast than girl, but apparently, Van took the whole sharing a hotel room thing as an opportunity to make a move.
Now they’re whatever they are. Not official, but not not official. Just Van and Tai. Not that they can be open anyway, unless they want to be treated like satans spawns or whatever — Y’know, welcome to the 90’s and all baby.
Nat shakes her head. “Huh. Never thought I’d see you slumming it at the trailer park, Turner.”
Tai gives her a look in the rearview mirror. “Can you shut up?”
Nat grins. “Touched a nerve, huh?” Tai throws the car into drive a little too hard, and Nat just laughs.
Van groans. “Both of you, please shut the fuck up. And drive safely, Tai!”
Nat reaches over the seat and smacks her lightly on the forehead. “Rally, Palmer. We got a whole day ahead of us.”
Van swats at her weakly. “I hope you die.” Tai sighs, pulling out of the lot. Well at least what’s left of it.
(Nat doesn’t see Lottie until lunch.)
Nat’s already at the far end of the table, cross-legged on the bench, nudging a fork through a heap of something masquerading as pasta. It gleams under the light, too slick, too congealed and her stomach growls at the sight like the Italian side in her is physically demanding her not to even put it near her mouth.
Lottie arrives with the others, sliding onto the bench beside Laura Lee, because it’s Friday, and Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays means team lunches, at least according to Jackie it is.
Nat makes a face at her just to be a dick. And even though doesn’t know what the fuck is even going on, it’s payback or whatever. But Lottie just huffs, small and amused and eases her way into the conversation.
And for some reason, that annoys Nat even more.
Van drops down next to her, snags a fry from Nat’s tray without asking, chewing loudly, grinning through it. “Well you look less dead.” Nat observes, absentmindedly stabbing her fork into the pasta pile.
Van shoves her without heat. “Yeah, I finally got some fucking food in me. Almost didn’t make it, dude. You shoulda seen me in second period. I swear to God, I thought my guts were just gonna fall out of every hole.”
Nat pulls a face. “Jesus Christ, I’m trying to eat.”
Van gestures at the pasta with the stolen fry. “Yeah? Because that looks like some Frankenstein shit. What sauce even is that?”
“Ask Barbra.” Nat jerks her head toward the absolute unit of a lunch lady across the room. “I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear your feedback.”
Van snorts, leans back on her elbows, already settling in. “Fuck that.” The truth is, Van is the only real friend she has on this team. The rest of them — Jackie, Tai, Mari, Shauna — they all exist in some other orbit, one she only steps into when absolutely necessary.
Today, JV is sitting with them too. It happens sometimes when Shauna and Jackie get into one of their stupid fights over something no one cares about, and suddenly the whole social dynamic shifts for a couple days until they make up. Jackie, being Jackie, always makes sure she’s surrounded by people, so she drags the JV girls into the mix, stacking the table so full that Nat can barely move her elbows.
Robin is sitting to her left.
Robin’s quiet, but not in a way that makes her seem stuck-up or weird, but just shy. She only speaks when she’s being spoken too or when she has a weird bout of confidence that day. People tend to like her. She’s also just, like, objectively attractive. Big brown eyes, pretty lips, that whole deer-ish and delicate thing people seem to go crazy for — Lottie has that look to her as well.
Nat thinks she’s pretty, but so does literally everyone else. It’s not a big thing.
Robin is hunched over her tray like she’s trying to take up as little space as possible. She’s doesn't talk unless spoken to and just picks ant her food with her fork instead of eating it. Nat doesn’t think much of it at first. Robin’s always been like that.
But then Robin glances at her, then quickly looks away, cheeks turning a little pink.
Huh.
Nat doesn’t think much of it because Robin’s like that with everyone. All soft-spoken and kind of nervous but she’s nice. Nat figures if she were a guy, half the school would be in love with her.
It crosses Nat’s mind, briefly, that Robin is the kind of girl she’d probably hook up with if the situation ever presented itself. Not that she thinks Robin would be into it — she’s not really the type. But still. If Robin ever decided she wanted to fuck around a little, Nat wouldn’t exactly turn her down.
Nat tilts her head a little, watching her. “Not hungry?”
Robin shakes her head. “Not really.”
Nat hums, nudging her tray a little. “Yeah, well. You’re probably better off. It was probably cooked in engine oil or something.”
Robin giggles. Then, after a second — “You played good yesterday.”
Nat frowns for half a second before remembering — right, they’d gone against JV, just a dumb practice match to prepare for Nationals. She remembered Tai saying something about how sloppy Allie was and Jackie telling her to cool it, that Allie was probably just nervous.
(“It’s just practice, Jackie,” Tai deadpanned, “What the fuck does she have to be nervous about?” Jackie rolled her eyes and just left it at that. Nat’s never seen her have so much self control before.)
Nat shrugs. “Thanks. You did too.” Robin looks at her, then down at her tray, cheeks going a little pink once again. It’s weird but kind of cute. Nat leans back a little, stretching out her legs under the table as much as she can. “You always this quiet?”
Robin lets out a small breath of a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.” She looks like she’s about to say something else, but before she can, Lottie stands up.
It’s nothing dramatic. Just a smooth, effortless movement, very typical for her. But for some reason, it makes Nat pause. Lottie doesn’t say anything. Just grabs her tray, turns, and walks off.
Lottie’s not the type to just leave in the middle of lunch. She’s not Jackie, who thrives on an audience, or Van, who’d rather sit in the parking lot (no pun intended) than be trapped inside. Lottie likes being able to watch and observe everyone. Give her opinion when needed.
So what’s her deal?
Nat glances at Van, but she’s busy stuffing her face, not paying attention to anything else. Tai’s talking to Akilah and Mari about something. No one else seems to think it’s weird.
Maybe it’s not and Nat’s overthinking again.
She leans forward a little, elbows on the table, and asks, “Did I miss something?”
Van glances up, mouth half full. “Huh?”
Nat gestures toward the cafeteria doors. “Lottie just left.”
Van frowns. “Okay?”
“I dunno. She seemed…” Nat hesitates. Weird? Off? Pissed? “…I don’t know. She just left.”
Van shrugs, shoving more food into her mouth. “Maybe she’s got a secret lover she’s gotta sneak off to meet.”
Tai snorts. “Yeah, right.”
Van raises an eyebrow. “What? You don’t think she could?”
Jackie rolls her eyes, butting into the conversation. “I think if Lottie had a secret boyfriend, we’d know about it by now.”
Mari leans in. “Lottie doesn’t date,” she says, like it’s obvious. “She’s never had a boyfriend. Never even talks about guys.”
Tai shrugs, shifting like she suddenly doesn’t want to be part of this conversation. “We don’t know that. She might’ve had a boyfriend in New York. Lottie’s just… private. We all know that.”
Nat watches Tai for half a second. Private. Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Another thing about Lottie is that Nat can’t actually picture her with anyone. Not in the way Jackie’s always draping herself over Jeff for show, or the way Mari cycles through boyfriends like she’s testing them out for a science experiment. She can’t see Lottie getting giggly over some guy, or holding hands in the hallway, or scrawling some idiot’s initials on the margins of her book.
And not because she couldn’t. Lottie’s, well, Lottie. If she wanted someone, she’d have them. But every guy Nat can think of just seems… beneath her. Too dumb, too desperate, too boring and superficial. Not that she says that out loud.
Instead, she just flicks her fork against her tray and says, “Guess she just doesn’t give a shit.”
Jackie makes a face. “Yeah, well. That’s not exactly normal.”
Nat snorts. “Neither is your relationship with your dumbass boyfriend, Princess.” Jackie scowls, kicks her under the table.
The conversation quickly shifts as it always does. Someone says something about practice. Mari starts bitching about how Tai’s too aggressive in scrimmages and tells her about the nasty bruise on the back of her thigh from Tai’s knee, which Nat can confirm that it probably feels as bad as it looks. But then Van chimes in, always backing Tai up.
Robin is still sitting next to her and so Nat glances at her, then nudges her knee under the table again, just to see if she’ll react.
Robin looks up, eyes big and brown and startled. Nat just gives her a small, lazy smile. “You should eat. You’re on JV. Don’t want us running you into the ground next time.”
Robin hesitates, then picks up her fork again.
Nat leans back, satisfied.
She doesn’t think about Lottie again for the rest of lunch.
(Liar)
She finds her after school, outside by the parking lot, leaning against the hood of her car with a cigarette in one hand and a far-off look on her face.
Nat’s not even heading toward her, not really. She’s just walking toward the chain-link fence, where Rich is waiting with a fresh pack of smokes and some bullshit story about his cousin sneaking into a Bush concert. But her feet slow anyway.
“Hey.”
Lottie glances at her, then back at her cigarette. “Hey.”
Nat tilts her head. “You just ditch the rest of lunch, or what?”
Lottie exhales smoke, slow and even. “Wasn’t hungry.”
Nat huffs, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Yeah, well. Guess I can’t blame you for that. I swear Barbra’s trying to kill us.” That gets a small breath of amusement out of Lottie, but it’s barely there. Nat shifts her weight from foot to foot. She doesn’t know why she’s still standing here. “So… What’s with you today?”
Lottie flicks her ash onto the pavement. “What do you mean?”
Nat raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been kind of a dick for the past like, two days. I mean, you didn’t even talk to me last night or at lunch and it’s kind of confusing me.”
The other girl shrugs. “You were preoccupied both times.”
Nat frowns. “Preoccupied?”
Lottie doesn’t elaborate. Just brings the cigarette back to her lips, gaze drifting toward the pavement like she’s already bored with this conversation. Nat thinks back to last night at Jackie’s, the way Lottie had been watching her, the way she kept looking away when Nat noticed. Then lunch, leaving in the middle of it, all dramatic and purposeful.
She doesn’t get it. Nat scratches the back of her neck. “What, you mean Kevyn and Robin?”
Something in Lottie’s jaw tightens, just for a second, before she exhales slow and steady. “I mean whoever.”
Nat blinks. “Okay, Jesus.” She lets out a short laugh, but it doesn’t feel right in her mouth. “Didn’t realize I needed a permission slip to talk to people.”
Lottie shakes her head, taking another drag, eyes still fixed on the ground.
Nat watches her, frustration creeping up her spine. The thing is, Lottie doesn’t do this. She’s not the type to get pissy over shit that doesn’t matter. She doesn’t start drama, doesn’t play those games like Jackie does. She’s cool. Detached. Only a bit of a bitch when someone deserves it.
But this — whatever is happening — is pissing Nat off that she can’t figure out what. She sighs, rubbing her jaw. “Look, if I did something, just tell me. ‘Cause I’m not in the mood to do the whole cold shoulder bullshit.”
Lottie finally looks at her, and for the first time since Nat walked over, she actually seems… not rattled, exactly. But something close. Her grip on the cigarette is a little too tight. Then, just as fast, she smooths it over and instead shrugs. “You didn’t do anything, Nat.”
Nat waits, but that’s all she says and it’s frustrating as hell. She huffs, shoving her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. “Yeah. Whatever.”
Lottie doesn’t stop her when she turns to leave. Doesn’t say anything. But just like last night, just like at lunch — Nat feels her watching. And it sticks with her longer than it should.
(Nat sees Robin digging around in her locker like she’s lost something the week before summer break. Nat’s not even planning on stopping, but Robin glances up at the last second, and her face does this weird thing — cheeks going pink, mouth opening like she’s about to say something before thinking better of it.
And so Nat slows her step. “Lose something?”
Robin blinks, flustered for half a second, then shakes her head. “No, just—” She pulls out a folded-up sweatshirt, smoothing it out. “I thought I left this on the bus.”
Nat nods, leaning against the locker next to hers. “Good thing you didn’t. It probably would’ve ended up on some freshman or as Marty’s cleaning rag to wipe the seats down.” She nods at the clothing item. “Congrats on the reunion.”
Robin laughs, nervous but real, and Nat pushes off the locker. “See you around.” She says, still smiling for some reason. No one really looks at Nat like that.
“Yeah, see you.” Then she heads down the hall, not thinking much of it at all.)
Jackie calls for a team meeting after practice on Tuesday. They’re all hot and bothered, out of breath — their skin sticky with sweat, jerseys clinging to their backs. Nat feels like she just crawled out of a fuckin’ furnace, the late afternoon heat pressing down on them like it hates them.
Mari steals Nat’s fan — the one she stole off of Gen — plopping down beside her on the bench, leaning against the lockers and fanning herself dramatically. “I’m actually dying,” she mutters. “Like, this is it for me. Tell my mom I want to be cremated.”
Jackie walks past but not before kicking Mari’s shin, barely a tap. “Close your legs.” she says, not unkindly though. Mari rolls her eyes but adjusts anyway, shifting so she’s sitting more “ladylike” or whatever.
Nat snorts at her, which earns her a sharp pinch on the arm. “Fucken ouch, Mar,” she mutters, rubbing at the spot.
Mari grins and sticks her tongue out, still fanning herself like she’s some dainty Southern belle. “That’s what you get, bitch.” Nat rolls her eyes but doesn’t move away.
Mari’s annoying sometimes, a huge bitch other times, and the biggest loudmouth on the team, which is saying something, considering Jackie exists, but she’s cool more than she’s not. Nat actually likes her. Likes smoking with her, talking shit, trading barbs without either of them getting pissy about it. Likes how Mari doesn’t give a fuck who you are. Big, bad, whatever — she’ll still run her mouth.
She never backs down from a fight with Shauna either, which takes balls, because Nat sure as hell wouldn’t willingly go toe-to-toe with someone who turns into the fuckin’ Terminator when she’s pissed off.
Nat barely registers the words. She already knows it’s gonna be the usual, something about staying sharp because Nationals coming up, teamwork, blah blah blah. She tunes it out, drumming her fingers against her knee.
Her gaze drifts. Lottie is across the room, stretching out her legs, shifting onto her toes, then back again. She’s got a sweatband around her wrist, her necklace catching the light. Her hair is damp at the edges, stray strands sticking to her neck.
Nat watches a bead of sweat roll down from her temple, sliding over the curve of her jaw, trailing down the line of her throat before disappearing beneath her jersey and between her barely visible cleavage.
Nat looks away and Jesus fucken Christ.
(She hopes Laura Lee can’t suddenly read thoughts but Nat wouldn’t put it past her.)
She rubs a hand over her face, like that’ll help, like she can scrub the thought out of her brain before it really forms. But it’s there now, lodged somewhere deep, like a splinter under the skin.
She shouldn’t be thinking about Lottie like that.
Not that Nat’s a fuckin’ saint or anything, she’s had plenty of thoughts about plenty of people, okay. But Lottie? Lottie, who is rich and polished and seemingly untouchable? Lottie, who doesn’t even date? Lottie, who’s been acting fucking off for days now, and who Nat can’t seem to stop paying attention to no matter how much she wants to?
Yeah. That’s a real good fuckin’ idea.
She shifts, resting her elbows on her knees, willing herself to not look again. But it’s too late. Because now she’s thinking about what it’d be like to have her fingers in Lottie’s hair, pushing it back off her face, feeling the damp heat of her skin, the way it would stick under her palms. What Lottie’s voice would sound like if it wasn’t so even and composed all the goddamn time.
Ew, she’s being a fucken pervert. Cut it out Scatorccio.
Mari nudges her, snapping her out of it. “You good blondie?”
Nat blinks at her, stomach flipping thinking she got caught drooling over Lottie’s long ass tanned and toned leg “Yeah. Just hot.”
Mari scoffs. “Yeah, no shit it’s like a thousand degrees outside.”
Nat rolls her shoulders, stretching her arms back. “Jackie almost done yet?”
Mari sighs dramatically. “If she says ‘teamwork makes the dream work’ one more time, I’m throwing myself into traffic.”
Nat snorts, grateful for the distraction. But when she shifts again, letting her head rest back against the lockers, she catches movement from the corner of her eye — Lottie, sitting down, arms draped over her knees, fingers tapping idly against her shin.
She doesn’t look at Nat. But Nat still feels off-balance in a way she can’t shake.
“ — And yeah, Nationals is a whole other thing, but we want to win, don’t we?” There’s a half-hearted murmur of agreement, but it’s not good enough for Jackie. She plants her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing. “I said we want to win, don’t we, Yellowjackets?”
“Yes!” they all yell, voices bouncing off the walls of the locker room.
Jackie nods, satisfied.
“Buzz, buzz, buzz, bitches,” Van mutters under her breath, and Nat grins.
Jackie claps her hands together. “Alright. Hit the showers, go home, do whatever. Just remember, team lunch tomorrow. Don’t be late. And don’t ditch.” It’s more aimed at Nat than anyone else. She just rolls her eyes, grabs her shit, and heads toward the showers.
The locker room is a humid, sticky mess by the time Nat peels off her jersey. The showers suck — barely more than a lukewarm drizzle half the time, but at least they help her feel human again.
Mari’s already in there, hair piled messily on top of her head, bitching about something to Akilah. Van and Tai are taking forever at their lockers, probably waiting until everyone else is done so they can sneak into the same stall like majority of the team doesn’t know what they’re up to.
Nat doesn’t bother with any of it. She strips down, grabs a towel, and steps into the shower, letting the water run over her shoulders. The pressure or heat isn’t all that great, but it’s better than nothing.
A few moments later, Lottie steps in. Nat hears her before she sees her, the quiet padding of bare feet, the rustling of a towel. And okay, fine, maybe she shouldn’t look, maybe she should just keep her eyes on the cracked-ass tile or the mouldy ceiling and mind her own damn business.
But then she glances over without really meaning to. She swears it. And yeah. Fuck.
Lottie moves like she’s a love interest in those shitty teen romcoms Nat pretends to hate. Her skin is still flushed from practice, damp where her hair sticks to the curve of her neck. She rolls her shoulders back, stretching out like she’s trying to shake the soreness from her muscles, and Nat sees the way the water beads up on her collarbone, trailing down, down—
Nat looks away so fast she nearly gives herself a concussion. She is not doing this. Not going full creeper mode right now because better than this. Natalie Scattorcio, you are better than this. She scrubs at her face, forcing herself to think about literally anything else and Lottie steps into the shower stall next to hers, pulling the curtains closed but Nat swears she can feel her there.
The sound of water, the steam curling around them, the barest shift of movement through the barrier dividing them that shows the outline of Lottie’s figure almost in its entirety.
She clenches her jaw, breathes through her nose, and practically begs herself not to look again. Because she is not about to lose it over Lottie fuckin’ Matthews in a grimy high school locker room.
She stares at the water swirling down the drain, at the bruises on her shins, at the flecks of dried blood washing away from her scraped-up elbows. Focuses on the feeling of the cheap, shitty water pressure beating down on her shoulders, on the way the steam curls around her like fog. Anything but the fact that Lottie is right there, just barely out of sight.
She hears the shift of movement, the quiet rush of water from the stall beside her, and swears she can feel Lottie in her periphery, all long lines and sun-warmed skin and damp strands of dark hair sticking to the curve of her back.
Nope. Not doing this. She grabs her shampoo bottle, flips the cap, starts lathering up her hair like she’s trying to erase the last five minutes of her life.
“Hey.” Lottie’s voice is soft through the thin material of the curtain between them, almost hesitant and it takes Nat a few moments to realise that she’s talking to her.
Nat clears her throat. “Yeah?”
“Can I use your shampoo? I left mine in my locker.”
She blinks at the wall in front of her. “Uh. Sure, whatever. Just don’t use it all in your princess hair.” She hears Lottie huff, amused, and reaches over blindly, arm stretched through the gap of the shitty plastic divider, fingers fumbling a little until Lottie takes the bottle from her.
Their hands brush. Barely. Not even enough to mean anything but Nat feels it all the same anyway. “Thanks,” Lottie murmurs, and Nat doesn’t look. Doesn’t think about what she’d look like like this, soap-slick and dripping, head tilted back under the stream.
She squeezes her eyes shut, mutters get it together, Scatorccio under her breath, and scrubs at her scalp while Lottie hums a little as she works the shampoo through her own hair.
Nat doesn’t care if it’s blasphemous, she swears to fucking God that she’s going to die in this locker room.
(They’re sprawled out in the backseat of Lottie’s too-nice car, high as hell, half-melted into the leather like they belong there. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the cool night air, but not enough to let the smell of weed escape.
Nat barely remembers what they were talking about — probably something stupid, something that made perfect sense five minutes ago but would sound like total nonsense sober.
Then, out of nowhere Lottie says. “You smell nice.”
Nat blinks, turning her head slightly to peer at Lottie past the curtain of her bleached bangs. “Huh?”
Lottie giggles, loose and easy. The words had come out before she even thought about them.
“Like, just in general,” she says, voice soft. “You smell… good. Especially your hair. Familiar, you know?”
Nat snorts, dragging a hand lazily over her face. “No, I don’t fucken know, Lot.”
Lottie just grins, head lolling back against the seat, and for a second, Nat actually thinks about it. Familiar is a weird way to put it. People have told her she smells like smoke before, like whiskey and weed, or whatever cheap-ass perfume she steals from the drugstore. Not exactly the kind of thing you associate with comfort.
Still, she hums, exhaling slow. “Well, thanks, I guess. You smell good too.” She pauses, brow furrowing a little. “Like… I dunno. Valentine’s Day or Christmas or something.”
Lottie tilts her head toward her, dark eyes half-lidded. “I wouldn’t know,” she says almost wistfully. “Haven’t really celebrated either.”
Nat glances at her. “Yeah? Well, that makes two of us.”
Lottie hums, staring at the headrest. “Guess that makes us holiday orphans.”
“Or just deprived of love and affection.” Nat shrugs.
Lottie doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches her, gaze steady, something unreadable flickering beneath the haze of the high. Then, voice soft, teasing says; “I can be your Valentine this year.”
Nat huffs a laugh. “It’s April, Lottie.”
“Okay, next year then,” Lottie responds easily. “But only if you promise to dress up as Italian Santa Claus.”
Nat looks at her, confused as fuck. “Is there even a difference?”
Lottie shrugs, slow and lazy, then grins, all teeth. “He prefers pizza and pasta over milk and cookies.”
“Oh my fucking God. You’re so annoying” Nat mutters, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. Then Lottie bursts out laughing, and Nat can’t help but grin, shaking her head.
At some point, Nat ends up stretched out in Lottie’s lap, staring up at the roof of the car while Lottie runs her fingers through her hair, slow and absentminded, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Nat doesn’t think too hard about it.
She just lets it happen.)
The worst part is, Nat swears Lottie doesn’t even realize what she’s doing.
She’s just there, in her own little world, still humming under her breath like this is any other shower, like she’s not currently existing as some kind of test of Nat’s self-control. The sound of water, the scent of her body wash mixing with steam. It’s sweet and clean and something floral but not overpowering though it still fills the tiny space between them.
Nat rinses her hair aggressively because maybe if she hurries, she can get the hell out of here before her brain starts doing worse things. “Smells good,” Lottie says after a beat.
Nat blinks at the tile. “What?”
“Your shampoo.”
Nat huffs a laugh, tipping her head back under the water. “You’ve told me.”
“Yeah, I have.”
Nat doesn’t know what to do with that. It’s nothing. Just Lottie being Lottie and so she turns the water off and squeezes the excess out of her hair, focusing on the sound of Mari talking about how she swears Coach Ben has gonorrhoea because she saw the medication in his office, hoping it’ll ground her.
“Hey, can you—”
Nat doesn’t think. Just moves, reaching blindly past the shower curtain again, assuming Lottie’s handing the bottle back. Except she’s not. Her fingers brush warm, wet skin. And okay. Fine. That’s normal. It’s a locker room. They’re naked. It happens. But it’s her waist. The barest curve of it, the soft, slick skin right above her hip.
Lottie inhales sharply and Nat jerks her hand back like she just got fucking electrocuted. “Jesus, sorry,” she mutters, heat burning up her neck.
The other girl clears her throat. “You’re ah, you're fine.”
Nat swallows hard, nods to herself and pretends she didn’t almost have a fuckin’ aneurysm over half a second of contact. She grabs her towel and steps out of the shower as if she’s being chased, wrapping it around herself in record time.
Her heart is pounding. From what? She has no goddamn clue. She can still feel it though — Lottie’s skin, slick and warm, the way she reacted, the way her breath caught.
What the fuck?!
She moves toward her locker, fingers working fast to get dressed, to do something normal. But her hands are shaky, the fabric of her tank top getting stuck against her damp skin. She forces herself to breathe. It was nothing. Nothing. She pulls on her jeans, shakes out her hair, and busies herself with tying her boots while the others are still in the showers, still talking about Coach Ben’s alleged raging gonorrhea and it helps
Sorta.
But then Lottie steps out a few moments later, towel wrapped around her chest, hair wet and curling at the ends, and Nat does not look.
She is not a fucking perv.
She just grabs her bag, swings it over her shoulder, and mutters a “Later” to the room before getting the hell out of there.