"That’s nasty!” Reaching forward, I grab it with a sharp tug, and the jersey pops out of her mouth with a sickeningrrrrip.
I stare at a gaping hole, right through the sleeve.
Lottie drops to her knees in front of the goat. She cups her little face in her hands, looking her dead in the eyes. "Cinnamon Halloway," she coos in a high-pitched, sugary baby voice. "You didn’t mean to eat Ty’s shirt, did you? You just couldn’t help how great it smelled, right?" Cinnamon lets out a soft noise and nuzzles her palm.
I stand here, holding a ruined shirt, and I can’t even be mad. Watching her talk to a goat like it’s a toddler makes my chest flip. She glances up at me, cheeks flushed from the heat.
Man, she’s stunning.
"Sorry," she says, still smiling. “She’s—”
I cut her off. “Don’t apologize. Actually, I won’t be able to wear it anymore with the extra ventilation. It’s full of holes now." I make a split-second decision to toss the mangled jersey to her. “You can keep it.”
She catches it with her left hand, hugging it close to her body. "You're giving me your jersey?” She eyes the hole, then back at me with a playful glint in her eyes. "Boy, that makes me feel pretty special. I didn’t think you guys just handed those out."
My heart slams into my ribs.
I hadn’t planned it tomeananything. It was purely an impulse—her goat ate it, so it felt like a “you-break-it-you-buy-it” gesture. But now, with the way her eyes are glinting at me, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve never actually given one of my jerseys toa girl before. Suddenly this moment feels heavier, like one that matters. “Yeah, I guess I am giving it to you," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You should wear it to one of my games.”
Her expression softens. "My mom would forbid it," she whispers, glancing back toward where her mother is still doling out fake gardening advice next to Lottie’s fake boyfriend. "You know, with her whole scandal and all." She looks at the jersey in her hand and back up at me, a defiant little smirk forming. "But, ah, I'll see what I can do, Ty.”
I swallow, hanging on to the way my name sounds on her lips.
Like she made it extra soft and gooey.
Ah, she’s just being friendly.
Is she?
I don’t need to catalog the way her eyes linger on mine. I drag a hand down the back of my neck, trying to ground myself.
Say something normal, I tell myself.
Anything!
Instead, I huff out a breath that’s halfway to a laugh, because I’m not convinced anything coherent will come out. She has no idea she just knocked my world off its axis. All I can do is stand here, pretending I’m not unraveling from the inside out as I picture her in my jersey.
What if she comes to one of my games?
I’m already a nervous wreck without her there.
But wait…what if she comes?
My gaze drifts to the side.
She’s not interested in hockey.
If she comes, that means she’s interested in somethingelse,right?
That something…would beme!
twenty
Lottie
Somedaysrequirecopiousamounts of Diet Coke!
I chug from my freshly popped can and gaze around the dining room table as the air keeps getting thicker. I tried my best to go to the game, but my mom had already planned this kiss-up-to-billionaires dinner. Now my phone is face down on my thigh, buzzing softly with game updates, and I’m doing my best to hide it from my mom.
