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Fuck.
If Coach Byrne finds out about this shit, he will not be pleased.
Or worse—the GM.
As if I summoned the man himself just with my thoughts, Trent Nichols stands up a few rows back from the bleachers before walking out of the arena without so much as a word my way.
Shit.
Goddamn it!
I sit down on a bench to get my skates off, pissed more at myself than at the GM for keeping tabs on me. It’s only when the scent of wildflowers reaches me that I remember that Trent wasn’t the only one attentively watching me this afternoon.
“Hi,” Lottie greets me with that melodic tone of hers, reminiscent of a nightingale singing.
“Hmm,” I grunt.
“I see we’re back to grunting,” she states teasingly while taking the seat next to me. “I thought we were past that.”
Instead of replying, I keep to my task with my head hung low to avoid catching a glimpse of her perfect, heart-shaped face.
I don’t need to be staring at fucking perfection right now to remind me of what a fucking loser I am. I’ve gotten plenty of practice with that lately, just by staring at myself in the mirror every morning, thank you very much.
“Do you mind if we talk for a little bit?” she asks cautiously, sensing my churlish mood.
“You wouldn’t have come all this way down here if your only intent was to look at me. I’m not that good-looking.”
“No, I guess not.” She sighs but then realizes her blunder and tries to rectify it immediately. “Wait, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re not attractive. You are. Extremely so. Wait, that’s not what I meant to say, either. I mean, I have a boyfriend. I mean, yes, I came down here to talk to you. Oh, boy.” She palms her forehead in embarrassment.
I raise my head to look into her water-colored eyes and feel the corner of my lips almost lift into a smile after hearing her not-so-eloquent word vomit.
“Sounded a little bit frazzled there, Lottie. Are you sure I’m the one who needs a talking to?”
She takes a deep breath and smiles.
“Yes, I guess you’re right. I did just sound like a lunatic, didn’t I?” She giggles, placing her palms over her crimson cheeks. “Sorry. I have no idea what got into me just now.”
God, she’s cute.
Cutest damned matchmaker there is.
And…she has a boyfriend.
Of course she does.
Damn.
“No worries. What do you want to talk about?” I ask, bypassing her awkward moment.
“I came here to talk to you about Agnes McDonald. Apparently, your date was a little bit of a—”
“Dumpster fire?” I finish for her. “You got that right.”
“So the feeling is mutual, then? You two didn’t hit it off?”
“Don’t know what her version of events were, but I’d rather chop my arm off than have a repeat of that shit.”
“I see,” she muses, unable to hide the small smile cresting her lips. “May I ask what was so unlikeable about it?”
