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The locker room clears out in what might be record time, with most of the Yellowjackets scattering and huddling into their carpool groups and half-assed plans, desperate to reclaim what’s left of their Saturday.
Jackie is babbling an unconvincing argument about why Shauna should come to this small kickback with Jeff and Randy, which will surely not go so well (and when Shauna is upset with Jackie, Jackie is upset with everything and everyone). Tai and Van are not-so-discreetly brushing hands while giggling on their way to Tai’s car. Laura Lee’s crying out about how she’s going to be late for Bible study. Mari’s hastily pulling out of the lot because, apparently, Danny Mears wants to give things another go (Lottie’s already got sour opinions on guys—she’s got even more sour opinions on guys who’ll dump you for their cousin). All at once, so much is happening, but Lottie stays still, watching one person only.
Natalie is slumped against a red brick post, cigarette hanging from her lips. Frustratedly, she flicks useless sparks from her cheap plastic lighter a few times before a real flame catches. The drag she takes is slow and deep, like she’s just getting started, nowhere better to be.
Lottie tracks her for a beat longer, mapping the trajectory in her head. She blinks hard, shakes out her jittering hands, and forces her legs into a stroll that’s too stiff to come off as casual. She adjusts the strap of the duffel bag digging into her shoulder.
“So, uh,” she starts when she gets close enough to feel the heat radiating from the cigarette, “was that a new strategy today? Face-first in the dirt?”
Nat scoffs, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, keeping it wedged between two fingers while she blows out some residual smoke.
“Fuck off,” she says, despite the lopsided grin tugging at her lips. “Last I checked, I still scored.”
“Yeah, after face-planting,” Lottie shoots back, smirking now. She shifts the weight on her feet, arms crossing as she settles in, thinking about it—Nat toppling mid-scrimmage, face-down in the grass, cursing Taissa out for the unexpected side-tackle. This, Lottie can do. This is easy for them. The banter and the teasing. “Coach Scott looked like he aged ten years watching you eat dirt.”
“And how many points did you rack up today, Matthews?” Nat challenges, peeling off the brick just enough to square her shoulders, eyes igniting like she’s ready to throw hands or laugh it off—fifty-fifty chance with her, but Lottie’s odds with her are usually pretty good. “You come all this way just to talk shit?”
“No, I–” Lottie starts, but her tongue trips over itself, jaw snapping shut. She meant to think of something twice as witty to get her back, but now she just feels hot in the face and her brain is mush. “I was just checking to see if you were okay.”
Fucking stupid.
Nat breathes a disbelieving laugh, eyebrows narrowed. “Yeah? You care now?”
Lottie sways, heel to toe, her heartbeat thudding so loud she’s afraid that Nat can hear it. “I just… I wanted to see if you…”
They’ve known each other for years, since Lottie moved here freshman year and joined the team to keep her mind off the nonstop drama with her parents that somehow followed her to Jersey even with her dad in a different state. But still, she can count the number of times that she and Nat have intentionally hung out alone on one hand. They see each other at practice, stuffed in hotel rooms at away games, or parties, but the other girls are always around as a buffer. Most of the time, when they’re alone, it’s just a matter of the other girls leaving first.
So this is… a bit more daunting of an ask than checking if she’s going to Jackie’s party to celebrate their latest win.
“If I… what?”
“Come to TJ Maxx with me,” Lottie blurts, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them. Her face flares hot, and she digs her nails into her palm, cursing herself for how fucking stupid this sounds. She could’ve at least made the offer more appealing.
Nat scoffs, caught off guard. “Uh… what?”
Lottie shrugs, trying to play it off, but her shoulders are tense. “Yeah, I don’t know. My mom’s gone again, and I just… I go there sometimes. It’s dumb,” she rambles. She glances away, down at the pavement, at the headlights of some sophomore’s beat-up Honda, at anything but Nat’s face, where that smug grin is probably carving up. She pivots fast, duffel swinging, cheeks blazing, ready to speed home and bury her face in her pillow and pretend she never did this. “Forget it.”
“Wait, wait,” Nat’s hand shoots out, catching Lottie’s forearm. She’s still laughing, incredulous, like this is the wildest shit she’s heard all week. “You can’t just ask a girl to TJ Maxx and then walk away. What the fuck?”
“Yeah, well, I figured you’d say no,” she mumbles, eyes glancing down at Nat’s hand, then up, her red hot flush creeping down from her cheeks to her neck.
“But you still asked.” Nat eyes her. She laughs again. “You seriously hit the TJ Maxx when your mom’s out?”
“What can I say? It might be better than getting drunk.”
Nat looks even more amused than before. “You got a hard-on for discount pillows?”
“More like their clothes,” she corrects. “But they’ve got an extensive shoe collection, too, you know.”
Nat snorts, snubbing out the cigarette against the brick with the twist of her wrist, dusting off flaky ash to the ground.
“You’re a fucking weirdo, Lot,” she says, almost fondly, as she turns back. She feigns a hefty sigh. “Fine, fuck it—I’m in.”
Lottie nearly stumbles back, like she didn’t think this would actually work. “You are?”
“Are you trying to change my mind?”
“No,” she answers quickly. “I just… thought you’d think it’s stupid.”
“Oh, I do,” Nat says, but laughs. “But I’m kinda curious what kinda shit you do there. Plus, I’ve got nothing better to do today.”
Lottie smiles, nudging her shoulder as they fall into a step. “Natalie Scatorccio is free on a Saturday? Color me shocked.”
“Yeah, well… Kevyn’s got mono, or something.” She catches Lottie staring and sighs offendedly. “Jesus, not from me.”
“I didn’t say that!”
Nat rolls her eyes. “You didn’t have to.”
They’re halfway to the car when Lottie brushes her shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you by getting you something from TJ Maxx.”
“You can make it up to me by not… doing that.”
The TJ Maxx is surprisingly bustling. The checkout line stretches obnoxiously long, snaking with impatient shoppers clutching marked-down candles and half-empty perfume sets like the others are out to snatch them from their arms. People bounce off walls of a sickeningly bright shade of red, knocking products to the floor—lipstick tubes opening, scarves unraveling from their neat displays, rogue handbags slipping from hooks. Nat would think it was Black Friday in here.
It’s utterly chaotic, but Lottie Matthews seems to be entirely at peace.
Her fingers trail along racks, grazing over fabrics that surely belong to another decade— garish neon windbreakers, chunky knit sweaters in unflattering shades of orange and purple, graphic tees with phrases no human should ever wear in public unironically. She stops, pulling out a vest that looks like something a quirky elementary school art teacher would wear: oversized, mustard yellow, decorated with embroidered sunflowers and beads. Nat doesn’t understand one bit.
“I’ve never seen you wear any shit like this in my life,” she comments, watching Lottie weigh the vest in her hands like it’s high fashion.
Lottie hums, flipping it to inspect the inside lining, like a stitch out of place there would be the reason she won’t buy it. “It’s about the thrill of the hunt.”
Nat snorts. “What, the hunt for the ugliest thing you can find?”
Lottie smirks, but doesn’t answer. She drapes the sunflower vest over her arm like it’s a serious contender, then moves on to the next section. Nat follows along, still confused.
“Aren’t you, like, too rich to shop here?” Nat wonders aloud, watching Lottie now sift through some cardigans even her grandmother wouldn’t wear.
“Aren’t you too cool to be at a TJ Maxx with me on a Saturday?”
Nat rolls her eyes. “I was doing you a favor, remember?”
Lottie doesn’t react, she just keeps searching the racks. She eventually lands on another monstrosity—a velvet turtleneck in an unfortunate shade of olive green. She holds it up against Nat, pretending to imagine her in it.
“This would really bring out your eyes,” she teases.
“Fuck off,” Nat shakes her head, but laughs quietly.
How Lottie managed to find a cartful of clothes to bring to the fitting room, Nat isn’t sure.
But they’ve got the tag of the maximum of ten items hanging outside of their fitting room, though there are surely a hell of a lot more than ten items that Lottie’s carried in here—a pile the size of Mount Everest. And Lottie has a grin on her face so wide that no person should have while sorting through monstrosities at TJ Maxx.
While Nat leans against the wall, Lottie is already slipping off her pink sweater. She swallows, tilting her head away to not watch her change.
“Thoughts?”
Nat’s face scrunches with disgust when she turns back to find Lottie slipped into a gaudy sequined tank.
“There’s no fuckin’ way you’re buying that.”
“You don’t know what I like, Natalie.”
“Clearly,” Nat scoffs.
While Nat combs through a million insults in mind at that tank, Lottie’s hands are already back in the pile, pulling out this ugly, oversized sweater with a ridiculous geometric pattern in the shade of puke green. And Nat thought that tank top was bad…
“You’ve got to try this one!” Lottie exclaims.
“Oh, you’re fucking insane if you think I–”
Lottie’s stepping forward with a stupid grin on her lips, tugging the sweater over Nat’s head. And Nat is obliging, shedding her letterman jacket and putting her hands up as she accepts the puke green polyester, for reasons unbeknownst even to herself.
Nat stares at herself in the mirror in disgust while Lottie laughs violently beside her, visibly proud of herself. “Goddammit, Lot. I look like… Oscar the Grouch, or some shit.”
Over her sequined tank, Lottie pulls on an ill-fitting plaid blazer with shoulder pads the size of small pillows. She poses proudly, hand below her chin. “Should I apply to be the CEO of TJ Maxx?”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
Lottie then shoves a hot pink halter top into Nat’s hands. At this point, Nat doesn’t even fight it, just removes her Oscar the Grouch sweater and black tee underneath. She nearly gags in the mirror when she sees herself in the halter, tugging at the tight neckline.
“Somehow, this is worse. Now I look like a bottle of Pepto Bismol.”
“You should be thanking me. Your wardrobe could use a color other than black,” Lottie smiles.
“Oh yeah?” Nat challenges. “I think your wardrobe could use a little more black, if you ask me.”
She doesn’t know how Lottie got her so invested, but she can’t back down now. She’s rummaging through the neverending pile and finds a total jackpot—a black leather jacket.
Before she knows it, she’s pushing the blazer off of Lottie’s shoulders and helping her into the leather jacket. Lottie’s giggling the entire time. They both turn around and face the mirror.
“That looks hot on you,” Nat says, and she’s realizing she’s kind of serious about it.
This leather jacket is the first non-ugly thing that Lottie brought in here. Lottie raises an eyebrow, tilting her head as she appraises herself in the mirror.
“Yeah?” she hums, tugging the lapels in consideration. And Nat actually thinks she should buy it, for once.
Nat swallows, suddenly feeling that this fitting room is a little too small and hot for her. “Yeah,” she says. “Way better than… whatever the hell you had on before.”
Lottie chuckles. “The shoulder pads weren’t doing it for you?”
“They were doing something, alright,” she mutters.
Nat forces herself to turn away, putting her shirt back on. When she’s finished changing, Lottie’s still looking at herself in the mirror, not checking herself out or anything, but contemplating something. She gives Nat a mischievous glance.
“You think I should steal it?”
Nat chokes out a laugh as she slides her own jacket back over her shoulders. “It’s like fifteen bucks, you klepto. I’m sure Mr. Matthews wouldn’t notice that on his credit card statement.”
She thinks Lottie is kidding, even when she stuffs her sweater into her duffel. It isn’t until Lottie tucks the price tag in and grabs Nat’s wrist that she starts realizing what’s happening. “Come on,” Lottie urges.
Nat stares at her like she’s lost her mind. “Wait. You’re not actually–”
Lottie just smirks, tugging Nat’s wrist harder, out of the fitting room. Nat glances at the jacket, then back at the pile of clothes left behind on the bench. Shouldn’t they at least hang those back up?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” she mumbles under her breath, sighing before she follows the speedwalking pace she’s guided into.
Lottie expertly navigates the TJ Maxx rack system like she’s done this a thousand times before. Nat, however, is hyper-aware of every security camera, every potential employee in a red shirt, and every customer that looks at them for a second too long.
When they’re through the automatic doors into the parking lot, Lottie finally turns around.
“Jesus Christ, Matthews. You’re fucking insane.”
Lottie shrugs her shoulders. She’s unlocking the trunk of her Benz and throwing her duffel inside.
“I don’t really wanna go to TJ Maxx jail, Lot.”
“Don’t worry,” Lottie smiles, turning around. “There’s no such thing.”
Nat’s gaze moves over her from top to bottom, small smile curling onto her lips. “You coulda done without stealing that sequined tank, I think.”
“Oh. Forgot about that.”
“It’s impossible to forget for me, sadly.” Her face scrunches with faux-disgust. Lottie slams the trunk shut, turning around to face her, leaning back against her car. “So, what now?”
“We could get something to eat.”
Nat raises her eyebrows. “We’re not gonna dine and dash too, are we?”
“Natalie, that’s too far. Even for me!” Lottie smiles.
And Nat can’t help but laugh as she watches her get into the driver’s seat.
Right after exiting the car, Nat eyes the sequined tank with disgust again. Her hands fly to the zipper of the stolen leather jacket, hooking it and pulling it up all the way to the collar, no specks of pink peeking out. “They might not seat us if they see that shirt.”
Lottie rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway.
The divey diner’s got a flickering OPEN 24/7 neon green sign, though half the letters are burned out. They’ve come here a few times, usually by Van’s request, after games against Lakehurst High. It’s got pretty damn good burgers for how surprisingly cheap it is.
When they slip inside the double doors, the jukebox in the corner is playing a Springsteen song from the ‘80s. Nat slides into a booth by the window and Lottie follows, sitting across from her. A tired-eyed waitress with a pen tucked behind her ear lazily drops two laminated menus in front of them and trudges on out without many words.
Nat scans the menu for half a second, then tosses it aside. “Burger. Fries. Done.”
Lottie’s still flipping through hers, brows furrowed like it’s the biggest decision of her life. “They’ve got mozzarella sticks,” she notes quietly. “And milkshakes.”
“Knock yourself out,” Nat says, leaning back and stretching her arms along the top of the booth. She watches Lottie, who still looks like she’s buzzing with something after that TJ Maxx spectacle.
She waits until they give their orders to the waitress to ask what’s been on her mind since the fitting room.
“Do you do it for attention or something?” she asks. Her teeth sink into her lip when she realizes how that sounds. “Like from your parents.”
Fuck. As if that makes it any better.
Lottie just scoffs. “If I wanted attention from them, I’d get caught.”
“Fair enough.” Nat’s head bobs from side to side, weighing it. “So then… what? Boredom? Shits and giggles?” She picks at a tear on the leather seating. “‘Cause you’ve got a Benz and a mansion, and you’re out here swiping questionable sequined tank tops worth five dollars. If even.”
“Better than sitting in that house, listening to the walls talk.” Nat furrows her eyebrows, trying to decipher what that means, but Lottie quickly adds, “I return everything later to get TJ Buxx.”
“TJ Buxx?” Nat laughs aloud.
“You know, the return currency of TJ Maxx.”
Okay, Lottie is much weirder than she thought. Nat laughs again, pressing her head into her hands.
When Nat finally gets through her fit of laughter, wiping the tears away, she asks, “How many’ve you got?”
Lottie seems to be doing some mental calculations. “Around three thousand,” she answers casually.
Nat’s eyes widen. “Thousand? Holy fucking shit, Lot.”
“I like to collect them. It’s like a game.”
Nat can’t tell if she’s horrified or finds this fucking hilarious. Maybe it’s a mix of both. “And you never redeem them for anything?”
Lottie’s lips quirk a smile. “Maybe I’ve been saving them up to get you a really grand Christmas present next year.”
“Shit, I think I might be getting the entire stock of TJ Maxx at this rate, then,” Nat laughs. “Merry Christmas to me.”
The waitress soon drops their food on the table—greasy fries, two burgers stacked high, mozzarella sticks oozing cheese, and a milkshake with two straws, white and red, that Lottie nudges toward Nat without her asking. Within two bites of her burger, Nat is reaching for a mozzarella stick and dipping it in marinara sauce.
“What?” she asks, observing Lottie’s watching, judging eyes as cheese tugs from the tip, stretching in a messy string.
“Well, it’s just that when I was ordering, you made it seem like you didn’t want those,” Lottie points out, leaning her chin on her hand.
“Oh, now you’re against stealing?” Nat fires back, popping the rest of the mozzarella stick into her mouth.
“Fuck you,” Lottie grins. “I knew you were gonna do this. That’s why I ordered them in the first place.”
“Sue me,” Nat shrugs, wiping marinara off her lip with the back of her hand. “Everyone likes mozzarella sticks. Not a hard guess.”
“But you really like them,” Lottie says. “Remember after the first away game last year? When we went to that diner in Holmdel after to celebrate?”
“No,” Nat laughs through furrowed eyebrows.
Lottie rolls her eyes, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. “Van ordered mozzarella sticks. You ate like half of them. Kept saying they were better than any place you’d tried in New Jersey because they didn’t skimp on the breading.”
Nat freezes, her burger halfway to her mouth. “You remember that?” she asks, surprised. She doesn’t even remember that.
“Yeah,” Lottie answers simply, like it’s not weird she’s got this random snapshot of Nat locked in her head. She grabs a fry from Nat’s plate—payback, maybe—and pops it in her mouth, chewing slowly while her eyes remain on Nat’s face.
Nat stares back, caught with scoff. “You’re a fucking weirdo, Matthews,” she says, probably for the hundredth time today, softer that she means for it to be. She takes a long sip of Lottie’s milkshake now, mostly to break eye contact. “What, you keeping a diary of my snack habits?”
“No,” Lottie frowns. “I just pay attention.”
“Too much,” Nat grins, grabbing another mozzarella stick and pointing it in Lottie’s direction like a weapon, “What else you got stored up there? My favorite color? My fuckin’ horoscope?”
Lottie laughs brightly. “Black,” she answers, ticking it off her finger. “And hmm,” she thinks, tapping her chin. “Are you a Scorpio? Since you’re all broody.”
Nat snorts. “Lucky guess, based on my birthday, I’m sure. And fuck you. I don’t know enough about those bullshit zodiacs to guess yours.”
“Sure, loser.”
Nat rolls her eyes, watching as Lottie reaches for the milkshake, fingers tracing shapes into the condensation around the glass. She wraps her lips around the red straw, cheeks hollowing as she takes a slow sip. Nat studies her face, the way her bangs fall messily over her forehead from practice, the way her dark brown eyes focus so intently on the specks of vanilla bean. She looks annoyingly pretty. Nat’s fingers tap over the table. She notices Lottie’s eyes moving to her.
“What now?”
“Nothing,” Lottie mumbles, but her lips hint a smile as she pulls back from the straw. “Just waiting for you to steal it.”
Nat rolls her eyes, but she’s already leaning in. “Fuckin’ thief’s calling me a thief,” she mutters before her lips hit the white straw. She takes a sip at the same time Lottie goes back to hers, their foreheads nearly brushing.
When they both pull back, Nat has to fight the sickeningly sweet giggle wanting to climb out of her throat as her eyes meet Lottie’s. What the fuck is happening to her?
“See? Knew you couldn’t resist,” Lottie says, a satisfied smirk on her lips.
When they’re back in the diner parking lot, stars are scattered across the now-inky sky. The cold is becoming painful, nipping at their exposed knuckles as they do a hurried shuffle to Lottie’s Benz. Nat digs into her jacket pocket, fishing out a crumpled pack of Marlboros, pulling a cigarette free with her teeth and lighting it up before Lottie can reach for any door handles.
Lottie doesn’t seem to complain about it. She just pops the trunk with the flick of her car keys, the latch yielding with a muted clack, and they settle against its edge, half-perched. And then they’re passing the cigarette back and forth, taking turns at drags while stifling their laughter. Maybe they never hung out solo all that much before—but smoking? That’s their thing, always has been.
(All those memories of keggers at Jackie’s, the two of them sprawled out on the backyard steps, passing a cig or joint between each other while the other girls blab about boys and who’s getting asked to prom.)
When it’s Lottie’s turn again, she stares at the cigarette like it’s some kind of holy relic. She leans her head back, hair spilling over the trunk’s rim, and takes a deep inhale. The exhalation expels smoke from her mouth that she sucks right back inside through her nostrils, and Nat’s never seen her do that shit before, not at any party they’ve been to.
“What the fuck was that?” she asks, eyes narrowing, impressed. She snatches the cigarette back, taking a quick hit before she finds that Lottie is all too pleased with herself.
“French inhale,” she answers like it’s obvious. “Picked it up from my cousin last summer.”
Nat huffs a laugh, smoke puffing out messily. “Alright, so adding that to the list: TJ Maxx regular, klepto, terrible taste in clothes, fuckin’ Olympic smoker,” she jokes, but her smile quickly turns to admiration, tilting her head, studying Lottie. “But seriously, Lot. You’re not at all how I thought.”
“What, boring?”
“No,” Nat says in a tone that’s far too serious. “Kinda fuckin’ perfect.”
Lottie’s lips twist uncomfortably. She nearly laughs, because it’s the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “Perfect?”
“Uh-huh,” Nat says. “I mean, you ace every damn history test in Goldstein’s. Dudes line up to take you to dances. You’re loaded. Your footwork’s stupid-good. And you look like—” She gestures at Lottie. “You.”
It brings a blush to her cheeks, but it doesn’t satisfy her. It makes her feel sick. “I’m not perfect,” she says quietly.
Nat squints at her. “Coulda fooled me.”
Lottie is quiet for too long. Nat watches her while smoke floats from the tip of the cigarette, beginning to worry that she said something wrong.
“My brain is so fucked up.”
That makes Nat shift. Her body turns a little more, furrowing her eyebrows. “How?”
“I feel alone even when I’m in a room full of people,” she says, and that’s not the weirdest thing in the world. Nat feels that way all the time, especially if she’s sober at a party. “I see things when I shouldn’t,” she continues slowly. “I… I see shrinks multiple times a week. I have to take pills, twice a day. Antipsychotics.”
“Oh.” Nat’s head pulls back. But it isn’t dramatic, and features no wide-eyed gasp or flinch like Lottie half-expected. Just a slow blink, like she’s recalibrating.
Still, Lottie regrets it already. She never says this out loud to anyone—not to her parents, not to her teammates, not to anyone who isn’t legally required to listen. But Nat just… gave her those eyes and talked about how perfect she is when she isn’t. She couldn’t keep pretending.
“Well,” Nat says, gazing at Lottie. “Perfect is kinda overrated.”
Lottie looks at her, a soft smile on her lips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Nat says, leaning closer. Her shoulder brushes Lottie’s. “I was trying to say you’re better than that. You’re… I dunno. Real. And kinda strange, in the best fucking way. You’re interesting.” She nudges Lottie teasingly. “And I like that we’re both kinda fucked up.”
“You’re not fucked up,” Lottie shakes her head.
“Come on,” she scoffs. “You know the shit people say about what happened to my dad. Turns out, they’re not that far off.”
Lottie’s eyebrows wrinkle. There are different rumors around the school. Lottie never paid any mind to them, she had just moved to Wiskayok, she didn’t really know Nat then—they only had one class together. All she knows is that Nat didn’t show up to school for a few weeks, and then word went around that her dad died. Some people said he killed himself, others said that Nat shot him.
Next semester, Nat showed up to soccer tryouts, and so did Lottie. Jackie said something about how Nat had to sign up for an extracurricular because of her shitty attendance, but used to play soccer in elementary school and junior high, and is apparently pretty fucking good. And Lottie quickly learned that she really is.
“Well, here’s to being fucked up,” Lottie says, holding the cigarette up in the air like it’s for a toast. She then inhales from it, holding the smoke in her lungs as she passes the cigarette back to Nat, who hurriedly takes her own drag.
They smile at each other with closed mouths of smoke before breathing it out at the same time, erupting with quiet laughter as the smoke floats around them. Nat only turns away when the cigarette is at its end, tossing it to the ground.
When she looks back up, Lottie is suddenly unzipping the leather jacket. Amused, Nat watches her clutch the thing to her chest, cradling it like it’s her own baby for a surprising amount of time without saying anything.
“I actually stole this for you,” Lottie finally admits.
“What?” Nat’s brows rocket up, a strangled laugh hiccupping from her throat.
Lottie nods, her head jerking with fervor that’s almost manic, like she’s been lugging this confession around all day. Nat can see it— the intense energy in her eyes, like she’s been weighing if she should even tell her this.
“I’ve already got one,” Nat shakes her head. “Keep it. Looks better on you anyway.”
Lottie shyly wrestles the traitorous rosy flush creeping up her neck, but thrusts the jacket out anyway, closer to Nat. Clearly, she’s made up her mind about this. “Yours is tearing at the sleeves. You wear it so often, I want you to have a new one.”
“Shut up,” Nat mumbles, a prickly, wet heat stinging her eyes as Lottie hangs the jacket over her shoulders, not taking no for an answer. Nat doesn’t fight it, either. She shrugs off her letterman and lets the leather slink over her arms, shoves her hands through the sleeves. She glances up at Lottie with glossy blue-green eyes, finding Lottie gazing back at her. “You sure you wanna give up your TJ Buxx for me?”
“I’ll survive,” Lottie laughs. Then her eyes roam around Nat in the new leather, drinking her in, like seeing her in this is the most worth-it reward possible for her heist.
In a way she might never have been before, Nat feels seen. She can’t fight that she likes that Lottie pays attention to her, because no one has, really. No one would’ve noticed that she fucked up her favorite jacket—that she’d wanted to get a new one, but didn’t want to start a war with her mom, who was probably passed out on the couch anyway.
Nat picks up her discarded letterman jacket that sits patiently on her lap, choosing to drape it over Lottie’s shoulders. “Here,” she says, helping Lottie into it. “We’ll make it an even trade.”
Lottie seems surprised, even as she hugs the jacket closer to her skin, her nose ghosting the collar. It smells just like Nat—faint cigarette smoke and something woodsy. Her eyes flutter shut, and when they open, they’re softer.
“I couldn’t look at that fucking pink top anymore,” Nat breathes, voice seeming like it wants to deflect, but eyes telling another story, locked on Lottie. She bites down on her lip.
If she had any hesitations before, they’ve all evaporated into thin air, gone the second she caught sight of Lottie Matthews in her letterman jacket. Her hand is ghosting over the warm denim of Lottie’s thigh, her eyes wandering down to lips that look so soft, so pink, so kissable.
“What?” Lottie breathes shakily, fighting her smile.
Nat’s eyes flick once more to hers, then back down to her lips.
And then she kisses them. It’s soft at the first touch of lips; Lottie breathes in surprise, but smiles against her mouth. But then, when she feels Lottie kissing her back, it turns needy. Her palms press into Lottie’s thighs, kissing her harder. Lottie winds her arms around Nat’s shoulders, fingers tangling into blonde hair, tugging her closer.
“Is that–” Nat breathes between a kiss, a little too late for it to matter. “–okay?”
Lottie responds by kissing her twice as hard. She practically pulls Nat onto her, not that Nat fights it at all. As Lottie scoots back in the trunk, Nat climbs over her. Lottie fumbles with the backseat, pushing the seats forward until she can unfold in the trunk, lying down on her back. Their legs tangle; Lottie’s long limbs still hang over the edge, but Nat’s hands slide up to her waist to keep her steady (to touch her more).
They stay like that, kissing and pulling apart, tongues mixing at some point, hands grasping for anything they can. Lottie tastes like vanilla chapstick and smells like floral shampoo, and Nat can’t get enough. She’s always found kissing fun, but this is—this is something else. Everything about Lottie is soft, everywhere: her lips, her skin, her hair. Even the way her fingers flex and flutter along the base of Nat’s neck like she doesn’t know what to do with how badly she wants to touch her. Nat pulls back just enough to see the dazed pink of Lottie’s lips and her warm, wanting brown eyes, before diving back in.
Her lips wander—up the curve of Lottie’s jawline, below her ear, down the column of her neck. She latches softly at the skin there, rewarded by a beautifully breathy shudder that Nat could listen to all day. Lips around the dip of collarbone, she feels Lottie’s pulse, fast and unsteady, and Nat’s just grateful that she’s not the only one with her heart leaping out of her chest.
One hand slips under the fabric of the Godforsaken sequined pink top, teasing up more of that perfectly soft skin. Her fingers skim upwards, brushing the gentle slope of Lottie’s ribs.
Lottie’s fingers curl into the back of Nat’s jacket—the one she stole for her—then pause.
“Mmm-mm,” she hums against Nat’s lips, pushing up slightly off the trunk. “I don’t do this on the first date.”
Nat pulls back, hands still on her sides, thumbs tracing small circles on her skin. She lifts her head enough to meet Lottie’s eyes. “Wait, this was a date?”
“Natalie,” Lottie raises a brow, mock-offended. “Well, I don’t just ask anyone to TJ Maxx.”
Nat stares at her for a beat, then grins, quiet laughter floating out as she dips her face into the curve of Lottie’s neck to muffle it. “Jesus Christ,” she says into the warm skin of her neck. She presses one soft kiss there, and then another to her cheek, nuzzling there for a moment.
When she pulls off, she revels in the sight of Lottie—kiss-swollen lips, disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, and, God, Nat’s letterman jacket fallen partway off of her shoulders.
Nat has to exhale before rolling off beside her in the trunk. They lie shoulder to shoulder, both of them staring up. When she finally looks at Lottie, Lottie is already looking at her. They hold burgeoning smiles on their lips, trying to contain them.
“Did you…” Lottie licks along her bottom lip, seeming a little flustered. “Did you want me to take you home instead?”
Nat tilts her head slightly, like Lottie shouldn’t be asking such fucking stupid questions. She reaches for Lottie’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Lottie relaxes, thumb tracing circles over the back of Nat’s hand.
“This is nice, too,” Nat says, smiling.
And it is nice, just lying there together, stealing glances at each other, trading light conversation. This is the part that Nat’s never been good at—the cutesy part after the making out—but with Lottie, it’s kind of easy. She doesn’t feel like running away like she usually does.
Eventually, when it’s late enough that the diner’s parking lot starts to clear out, Lottie does take Natalie home. They fight the awkward blushes and the not-talking-about-the-kissing on the way back by teasing each other about soccer again—just in the opposite way that they usually do.
“That curling shot you made at the end today. That was—Jesus, Nat.”
“Shut up, you dork,” Nat waves her off. “Did you see the footwork you had going the whole time? That little roulette spin past Laura Lee? If a scout had been there today, fuck. You’d be getting your acceptance letter by tonight.”
When they get to the trailer park, Lottie parks just outside and hops out of the car to walk her to her door despite Nat’s protests.
“I want to,” Lottie insists.
And shit, Nat’s not going to complain about an extra minute or two with Lottie. They take a slow stroll that Nat leads. When they’re outside of Nat’s trailer, they face each other, lingering, those nervous smiles and rosy cheeks returning all at once.
Lottie smiles, dewy-eyed, looking intensely sincere. “Thank you for coming with me today.”
Nat smiles back, feeling every part of her turning into jelly, from her brain to her limbs. She runs her fingers along a leather sleeve admiringly. “Thank you for the jacket.”
“Um, I’m pretty sure I got the better end of that deal.”
Nat bites down on her bottom lip, just staring at Lottie. Lottie’s gaze is on her, too, a small smile on her lips as she hugs the letterman jacket for warmth. Nat can’t get enough of seeing her in it. Can’t get enough of seeing her.
“We should, uh,” Nat says, cheeks flushing even redder. “We should hang out again. Like after practice, or whatever.”
“You want to come to TJ Maxx again?” Lottie teases.
Nat rolls her eyes. “I had some different ideas in mind,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Nat smiles.
Lottie tries to bite her own smile back. “Good night, Nat,” she says breathily, stepping forward to wrap her arms around Nat. It’s a little awkward, between the nerves and her height, but Nat melts into it, hands falling into place on her lower back.
When they pull apart, their hands linger as they stare at each other. Lottie thinks about kissing Nat again, one last time. But then she decides to save it for next time. After practice, or whatever.
“Night, Lot.”
Nat’s brain is still a mess, buzzing between the fucking TJ Maxx, the diner, and every perfect moment in Lottie’s car. All at once, so much is happening, but Nat stays still, watching Lottie walk off.
Nat has never been looking forward to a Monday more.