Page 8

A fter pulling a monster, late night study session with my new pal Brady, I ended up crashing on the couch at his dorm.

It was not a comfortable night.

Squeezing my 6‘3 frame onto what was essentially a 4ft iron box was never going to end well, and it didn’t. A shirtless, awkward as fuck Brady stumbling from bed to check if I was okay 476 times didn’t help, either. I’m exhausted, my back is killing me, and now I’m late for training, because even though Brady is on the team, he’s just transferred to BC. All the jock dorms were full, so he’s been sent here to Siberia, the nerd side of campus.

A bucket load, preferably an IV drip, of caffeine is needed and luckily for me, a cute little coffee shop sits directly opposite his dorms. I’ve picked us both up a triple strength, a chocolate muffin as big as my hand, and an egg and bacon sandwich. That cheesy, salty goodness is all I can think about until the door swings open and…

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Lotte slams straight into me and she looks pissed. A total rocket, but pissed. She’s in all black again, doubling up with a long-sleeved tee beneath a short-sleeved even though it’s a reasonably warm day. Short skirt cut just above the knee, gives the sweetest hint of soft, golden thighs before knee-high socks cover the rest. It’s unfairly sexy.

“No, if I was kidding you, I’d say, why did the hockey player cross the road? Who the puck knows.”

Lotte stares at me blankly, then blinks. It’s not a tic blink, either, it’s disbelief. “That is the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks.” Knowing full well it wasn’t, I take it as a compliment. “I made it up on the spot. What are you doing here?”

Lotte’s jaw drops. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? This is my coffee shop.”

I take a step back, almost slip on the eggs and coffee covering our feet, turn my head and look at the massive orange sign, Beanz and Bookz. “I dunno. According to that sign, this place is called Bookz and Beanz, not Lotte’s Coffee Shop. Did you just take over?”

“It’s Beanz and Bookz, not Bookz and Beanz, and what’s with all the gags? Is BC offering a dad joke class I wasn’t made aware of?”

“You know you’re pretty snippy for a shy girl. Why, I’m starting to suspect you’re quite the smart ass, Little D. I like it.” The cutest, tiny smile breaks out and she again, slaps her hand over her mouth. “Hey, why do you do that whenever you laugh? You have a really pretty smile, why hide it?”

A blush colors her round little cheeks. “You think my smile is pretty?”

“I do. I think lots of things about you are pretty, and I also think this feels like deja vu. Why do you always answer a question with a question?”

“Why do you always ask so many questions in the first place?”

It’s a standoff. Lotte holds her ground. I hold mine. The problem with that is, apart from being way too hot, that we are standing in the entrance. Thanks to my general, and many would say, attractive broadness, and let’s not forget the hockey butt, no is getting by me. But people can and do easily squish past Lotte, the third to do so elbows her as he passes, which pushes her back into me. Her open palms land on my chest and there’s a definite second when her boobs squish against me too. To steady her, I wrap my hands around her waist and accidentally enjoy it.

Disappointingly, my new white trainers are now almost black, and my food is being trampled on, but Lotte is looking up at me through lashes I only now notice are long and thick, and then there’s the sea of blue that lays behind them.

Wow.

There’s a story in those eyes. I find myself gripping tighter. In my head I hear Claire and the hands-off warning she issued on the first day we met, but my body? My body ain’t listening.

I don’t want to let her go.

“Can I buy you a drink, Lotte? Have you got time to sit with me?” My words flow without thought, feeling like romantic prose rather than a generic pick-up line. I don’t have time, but I’m already late, and Little D seems to short circuit my brain, so what’s another ten minutes? Without waiting for her to reply, I shift my hand to the small of her back, guiding her away from the sticky mess my breakfast has made and towards a little table in the corner. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Smooth line,” she says, without taking her eyes off the table. “Is that how you get all the girls?”

“And who says I get all the girls? Maybe I’m as pure and untainted as fresh snow.” Lotte tilts her head to the side, give me the perfect nonverbal really ? “What, it’s true?”

“A little birdie told me you’re about as untainted as that egg sandwich you just dropped, and that forty people have now trampled on.”

“Would that little birdy be named Claire, by any chance?”

A waitress sticks her head between us stops Lotte from replying to the question I already know the answer to. “Can I get you a replacement coffee and sandwich?” she asks, batting her lashes and directly ignoring the other person at the table.

“That would be great. Little D, what can I get you?” The waitress and I both turn to Lotte, who does that thing where she hides behind her hair and makes herself smaller.

“Um just a latte and a donut, please.”

“A pink frosted one.” I add, as I lean across the table and tuck one side of Lotte’s golden waves behind her cute ear. When did ears get cute? “One of the big ones you have on display … with all the sprinkles.”

Defeated, the waitress jots down our order, “Coming right up.”

“Why do you always do that, too? Hide behind your hair?” I ask the second she’s out of earshot.

“Are you this nosy with everyone or just weirdos like me?”

Shit. Normally, I’m not a big blusher, but that, the flush of shame for being such a crass dick, had my cheeks burning. “I’m sorry I said that, and I didn’t mean that in the way you think I meant it. I would never … I mean, if I had known I.”

“So, just like she told me about your sluttery, Claire told you about my condition?”

“She did,” I nod, “and I don’t mean this in an insulting or dismissive way, but honestly, I find that to be the least interesting thing about you.” Pausing while the waitress places out food before us, I watch Lotte squirm, then pick and peel a section of icing from the donut and pop it in her mouth, a tiny moan of satisfaction escaping her lips.

“For instance,” I cough out when I regain the ability of speech, “sitting alone in a restaurant at one am. Your Rapunzel tower-like house. Your dipping of fries into milkshakes. The way you seem to live on nothing but coffee, baked treats and burgers—”

“And fries and shakes,” she adds.

“Yes, and fries and shakes,” I concede. “But Claire tells me you joke about being allergic to exercise. If that was the case, how do you practically run up the stairs like it’s nothing and have what I can only describe as an incredible body. Oh, and then there’s the skates I saw by your door. All of that, Charlotte West, I’m much more interested in all of that than anything else my sister could tell me.”

After releasing a little mouse- like squeak and shifting in her seat, Lotte is quiet for a moment, using the down time to remove and eat the rest of the sugary pinkness from the top of her donut, releasing a soft hum after each hit.

“The skates were waiting to go out for Goodwill. I easily run up the stairs because I’ve done it several times a day for several years, and I don’t drive. Since I’m not really a big fan of people, public transport is used sparingly, and because I’m normally late everywhere I go, I often end up running to most places. As for my diet, I agree. It is terrible and I do need to improve it, but I find it hard to motivate myself into cooking a good meal for one, and I don’t sleep well so the sugar and caffeine keep me alive. Any other questions?”

“Yes, two. One. Were the skates really going to be donated or are you just saying that to avoid more follow up questions? And two, Claire told me you’re shy and hardly speak a word to anyone in the office. From what I can gather it’s the same here at school, but you seem to have no issues at all speaking to or antagonizing me.” I pick up her now plain donut and take a bite. “Why is that?”

Again, the waitress interrupts Lotte’s reply as she brings our drinks. I don’t take my eyes off my new favorite verbal sparring partner as she glares back at me though the billowing steam. Just as she opens her mouth to speak, the cafe door bursts open and in blows Brady Basse, looking every bit as tired as I feel.

“Mate, are you harvesting and roasting the beans? Coach is going to kill us.” Brady is our new goalie - and my new shadow. Not that it bothers me, cause he’s cool and funny as fuck. Even to me as a big guy, he’s huge, and most importantly as all goalies tend to be, he’s weird. As his eyes dart from me to Lotte, understanding takes over from annoyance. “I should have guessed.” He swipes his coffee and then nods to the exit. “I hate to break up your little get-together, but we gotta go. Shane messaged me and Coach was on the warpath. Unlike you, golden boy captain, I’m not guaranteed ice time. Pissing him off on my second week here isn’t going to get it.”

I’d like to argue and remind Brady that Coach Harris had me doing burpees on the ice for smiling too much while doing drills, but he has a point. He’s a junior backup goalie. Ice time has to be earned.

“That’s my queue, Little D.” I toss some money on the table, then give it a tap as I stand and take my coffee and snacks, shooting her my flirtiest wink as I do. “You should come to the practice game on Friday night. It’s going to be massive.”

“Bro, let’s go,” calls Brady who’s standing by the door, fiddling with something in his pocket and gyrating with impatience. “I’m begging.”

Lotte says nothing, just bites her lip and gives me a little wave and smile from behind her hair. One I know I’m going to think about all day.

When I catch up with Brady, I hand over his sandwich and take a bite of mine, hoping it may stop him from asking what I know he’s busting to ask.

“Who’s the chick?”

“What chick?” I say through another mouthful.

“The one you were making goo-goo eyes at? The hot blonde with the boobs?”

“Hey,” I nudge him with my elbow, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous … also don’t talk about Lotte like that.”

Blushing profusely, Brady nudges me right back, a weird expression on his face “So you like her?”

“I do, but it’s not like that. She’s my sister’s friend. That’s it.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t mind if I asked her—” Before he can finish his thought, I’m in his face and have the front of his tee twisted into my fist. He flushes red, eyes darting from my hands to my thinly pressed lips and linger.

“Don’t even think about it.” I grunt, my voice rough with jealousy.

“Whoa. Stand down, soldier. I was just testing the waters. It’s obvious you have the hots for her. I would never—”

“Good.” Pushing off his chest, I clear my throat and stomp away. “And I don’t have the hots for her. She’s just not like other girls we’re used to, and doesn’t need a hockey slut chasing after her.” Brady catches up to me and slings his arm over my shoulder.

“I’ve heard you refer to yourself as a hockey slut, so don’t you mean another hockey slut chasing after her?” Fuck. Am I this cocky and annoying? “Besides, I’m nothing like the rest of you guys. Puck Bunnies are non-existent back home because no one gives a shit about ice hockey. It’s all about football and rugby players and their tight shorts and bulging—”

“Oh, so that ugly grin of yours isn’t the only reason that you’re still a virgin?” I begin to laugh at my hilarious burn, but Brady doesn’t. In fact, he’s visibly squirming.

Maybe not just visibly. I think I can hear it, too. Maybe I’ve hit a raw nerve? “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Virginity is cool.”

And now he’s groaning. Fuck.

Training is going to be awkward.