Chapter Text
The whole fucking problem is that Nat can never back down from a challenge. She’s stubborn like that. And like, yeah, being competitive and a little strong-willed is kind of a pre-requisite if you wanna play soccer well enough to get a full-ride scholarship to a pretty damn nice D1 school out of it, but sometimes she wishes she could just let things go.
Here she is, at Lottie fucking Matthews’ summer house just outside of Newport, all because Van coerced her into going by turning it into a bet. Maybe she’s easy to bait; she doesn’t know. But when the redhead grinned at her over breakfast at their grueling end of pre-season training camp earlier this week and said, “Bet you end up bailing on our little Weekend at Lottie’s adventure,” Nat decided she wasn’t gonna do that. It’s a matter of pride at this point.
It’s cool, though. Maybe she would’ve shown up anyway. She loves most of her teammates in the way you might love your annoying siblings who get on your last nerve — at least she assumes that’s what that's like, being an only child and all. They’re seniors, and this is their last year together, so it feels nice to get to spend some time just hanging out right before season is about to start kicking their asses again. Two games a week for the next two months is gonna be fucking killer.
The whole team was invited, but the underclassmen still seem to be scared of them and all declined, so it’s really just her fellow seniors and a couple of the cooler juniors that they’ve kind of adopted into their group over the years. There’s a good dozen of them staying the weekend before they’ll all drive back to campus together on Sunday, and the house is clearly fucking massive enough for all of them. She’s always known Lottie was rich, she just kind of didn’t realize she was eight acres of land on a Rhode Island waterfront estate rich. It’s kind of sickening, how decadent the whole thing is; the Matthews’ don’t even live here. At least Lottie has the decency to seem slightly embarrassed by it all, even while she nonchalantly shows them around and mentions a private chef will be stopping by to feed them all weekend.
(Wild to think some people don’t even need the athletic scholarship she’s sure Lottie is on by virtue of being one of the top defenders in the conference.)
They get there around 3 pm, and Nat can’t help but find it a little endearing when Lottie looks to Jackie for help to figure out who’s gonna be rooming with who. This is kind of familiar territory for them; they’re on the road for away games most weeks during season, and as co-captain, Jackie tends to be the one sorting shit like this out for them, unless Coach randomly decides to assign roomies based on who he thinks should be getting along better. Dude’s an asshole, and Nat’ll never forgive him for making her room with fucking Mari at Big Tens her sophomore year. Worst week of her fucking life. (Rooming with her was worse than when they lost to Ohio State on penalties in semis that week.)
She’d normally room with Van, but ever since that traitor finally made a real move on Tai, that’s a thing of the past. She’s happy for them, sure, she just misses having a chill roommate that doesn’t snore or expect her to stay up braiding their fucking hair for them. Getting stuck with some of the nervous underclassmen last season has permanently scarred Nat.
Anyway. This mansion has six bedrooms for eleven of them, and they all agree Lottie shouldn’t have to share, since it’s her parents place or whatever. And because she knows these girls a little too well, she knows there’s a bunch of unspoken rooming arrangements — Jackie always rooms with Shauna, Gen sticks with Melissa — so before anyone can get any ideas and make Nat shack up with Mari again, she approaches Laura Lee and asks her if she wants to share. The girl’s nice, and tidy, and generally won’t be annoying. She barely even drinks, as far as Nat’s aware, not that any of them will get too crazy this weekend, but that also means she’ll be chill to sleep next to since she won’t be rowdy and drunk in the middle of the night. Laura Lee shoots her a bright smile and nods all shy, so that’s settled, then.
They drop their shit off, and then it’s kind of a free for all. It’s hot as fuck, and there’s a pool out back, so obviously Nat doesn’t have to think twice about joining the others for a swim when someone suggests it. Her sense of fashion pretty much just goes out the window towards the end of pre-season, when training gets more intense; Nat finds a clean Nike sports bra in her duffel, strips off her team-branded shorts and puts on the bikini bottoms she packed instead.
(Thank fuck she looks good in dark blue. She seriously would’ve committed to a different school if the school colors were, like, fucking orange or pink or something. She’s too pale for that shit.)
The water’s nice and cool and feels absolutely perfect on her sore muscles from those god-awful drills they were running yesterday, and Nat catches herself letting out a loud sigh when she’s finally fully submerged up to her chest. She leans against the wall of the pool and rolls her shoulders back.
Lottie catches her eye from the other end of the pool and raises her brow, a little smirk on her lips. “Dead legs, huh?”
Then she swims over and splashes some water at her, totally trying to bait her. (Which, for the record, totally works. Anything Lottie Matthews has ever tried on Nat in the history of time has worked.)
“Fuck off.” Nat rolls her eyes. “You got a massage therapist in this fancy house somewhere? My poor muscles could use some relief.”
It’s Lottie’s turn to playfully roll her eyes now. Not that Nat’s really looking her in the eye, if she’s being honest. She’s in this simple red two piece that looks a little too good on her, her olive skin all tan from summer workouts under the sun, and Nat’s fighting a losing battle when it comes to blatantly ogling her criminally perfect cleavage.
Nat doesn’t like to lose, though, so she pretends to stretch out her neck in order to have an excuse to look the other way. Then the movement starts feeling good, so she kind of just keeps going and closes her eyes for a moment.
Lottie just laughs, clears her throat and watches her stretch.
Yeah. See, the main reason she didn’t really wanna come along to this whole weekend getaway thing is how she and Lottie have kind of spent all of pre-season flirting, sometimes to the point where Nat thinks one of them might finally make a move, except shit keeps getting in the way. It’s for the best, honestly, but it’s still fucking frustrating, how she can think of multiple occasions in the locker room when she’s pretty sure they were about to kiss and someone else walked in or one of them finally got a fucking grip and walked away.
It’s not the best time to risk upsetting the team chemistry; if they make it through regular reason relatively unscathed, they can think about going there, but not now.
She’d rather lose her mind than lose her last chance at post-season glory.
Lottie plays dirty, though, on and off the field. She’s a fucking menace.
“No on-site masseuse, I’m afraid,” she finally says, stepping closer and putting a hand on Nat’s shoulder. They play a contact sport, so they kinda touch all the time, but it still makes her want to push closer to the brunette. “But you know I’m great with my hands.”
That last part is nothing more than a low whisper, which makes Nat want to do unspeakable things to her. Fuck. This is nothing but a game they play, she reminds herself, and all she has to do is maneuver the ball out from under her so she can score and walk away from all this victorious. It’s a simple enough play. They’ve run this drill a million times.
A massage really would be fucking nice, though. Ugh.
She puts a hand on Lottie’s hip underwater and leans in closer so she can say, “Pretty sure that’d be considered a deliberate handball. You’d get carded for that,” right in her ear.
God, what have three years of Division 1 soccer turned her into? She can’t believe she’s engaging in fucking soccer dirty talk, or whatever the fuck this is. None of what they just said makes any sense, and yet it’s still making her feel all flustered.
“I’d love to see you try to convert a penalty under that kind of pressure.”
She isn’t sure what sort of pressure Lottie’s even fucking talking about, because all she can think about is the pressure steadily building between her legs, and this whole soccer analogy is fucking dumb anyway, but they’ve committed to it now. She can’t back down.
“I’d be happy to show you.”
Nat glances at her lips and contemplates leaning in. She could. The rest of the team would never fucking let them live this down, though, and they really can’t afford any team drama before their first game next week.
Lottie seems to sense her hesitation, shoots her a devious smirk and squeezes her shoulder before taking a step back. That little bitch thinks she’s won this.
“Good game, loser.”
She looks around to see if anyone noticed them flirting and finds everyone caught up in their own things; Shauna’s reading some article from a magazine out loud to Jackie over on the sun beds, Tai and Van are asleep under a canopy, and the others are either scrolling on their phones or nowhere to be found. They’re the only two people even in the pool.
“Yeah right, princess,” she rasps, then turns her back to Lot and floats away a few feet. She can’t keep looking at her perfect fucking face and be expected not to fold. “Pretty sure that was a draw.”
“For now,” she hears Lottie say behind her, and it’s all she can do to keep from swimming over there and getting all up in her face.
She floats away to the deep end, puts her head underwater and tries not to scream.
Fucking Lottie Matthews and her dirty fucking tactics.
——
In the evening, they all cuddle up together in the entertainment room (fucking rich people…) that basically turns into a home theater if you dim the lights and turn on the projector. Tai suggests Bend it Like Beckham, which is a little bit of a team tradition at this point — Nat’s pretty sure she’s seen it at least ten times since her freshman season.
“God, this is literally the gayest movie ever made,” Van says and everyone immediately agrees.
The world of women’s soccer is pretty much the gayest place on earth at all times, actually. Nat hasn’t ever explicitly polled her teammates, but she’s sure at least half of their roster is some type of alphabet mafia member. Hell, even Laura Lee is bizarrely loud about her allyship, for a pious little Mormon girl.
It’s been a long fucking day — they had a gruesome six am weights session before the drive to Newport — and Nat’s squished between Van and Lottie on the floor, her tired limbs thrown over and around her teammates. She’s too tired to even really notice how she’s all pressed up against Lottie, barely feels Lottie’s head nestled against her shoulder, and the movie sort of fades into the periphery of chatter as her eyes fall shut.
She wakes up to someone pulling at her shoulder, feels something tickling her knee and her feet being lifted off the ground and almost fucking screams. She instinctively tries to get away from whoever is touching her, and kind of ends up pulling them down on top of her in the process. Before she knows what’s happening there’s a whole person pressed against her front.
“The fuck?” Nat groans out, voice laced with sleep. She breathes in the familiar scent of earthy cedar shampoo, hears a low chuckle she’d recognize anywhere and… “Lottie?”
What in the actual hell is going on? The room is mostly dark around them, and it looks like the others have all left. Did she fall asleep during the movie? And if so, why was Lottie trying to pick her up?
Wait. “Were you about to carry me to bed?”
Lottie just laughs. “You know, I was trying to do something nice for you, for once.”
“Right. For once.”
Lottie’s chin drops to her neck, her breath fanning against Nat’s skin, and she’s suddenly hyperaware of just how close they are. They’re too close, and they’re alone, and this is still a terrible idea, no matter how tempting it might be.
“You seem tense, Natalie.”
A scowl forms on her face, and she tries to push at Lottie’s arm to get her to fucking get up already. This isn’t good for her sanity, and she’s still too tired to be fully in control of her actions. But Lottie’s taller than her by a mile and uses those stupidly long limbs to trap her right there on the soft carpet.
“No fucking shit, Charlotte.”
“I could help you out with that, you know.” Her voice drops to a whisper against the shell of her ear. “If you want me to.”
Nat worries her lower lip between her teeth and groans. No. No, no, no. She needs to get away from her right fucking now.
She can’t resist getting one last jab in, though. “What do you know about deep tissue massage?”
Lottie leans back so she can see her face in the glow of the hallway light (fuck — the fucking door is open. Anyone could walk in and see them like this...), pushes her curtain bangs off her forehead and smirks at her. “Absolutely nothing.”
Fucking menace. She isn't gonna respond to that, knows her words will only get her in trouble, so she runs a hand down Lottie's neck, lets her fingers catch on her necklace and pulls a little, then roughly throws her off of her lap when the brunette tries to lean closer.
She's pretty sure she won that one, but winning doesn't feel as good when it leaves her more sexually frustrated than she's ever been in her life, listening to Laura Lee sleep soundly in the twin bed next to her.
——
Saturday night is when things get interesting.
Nat’s got no clue who suggests the game of strip poker. She’s pretty sure she’s in the kitchen getting another drink when all that goes down. It sounds like a classic Jackie Taylor play, though. All she knows is as she walks back out, Tai is making a big deal about how stupid the idea is, and aren’t they a little too old for this kind of thing, and don’t they see each other naked enough in the locker room anyway?
That last part makes her laugh, and she ignores the glare Tai fixes her with. Whatever. She just sips her drink and sits back, content to watch all this unfold in tipsy amusement.
(If only she could get properly wasted tonight. Their first game’s in four days, though, and Nat didn’t spend fifteen weeks getting up at the asscrack of dawn for weights and conditioning to fuck all that up for a little bit of fun now. There’ll be plenty of parties in the off-season. Her tolerance and body fat are so low at this point, the two bottles of beer she’s had have her feeling pretty good, anyway.)
“Come on, Tai! It’ll be fun,” Jackie says, a smile on her face. Another classic Jackie Taylor thing is how she isn’t even drinking but still has all the enthusiasm of a tipsy sorority girl. “Shauna! Back me up here!”
Next to her, Shauna groans. “I mean, I don’t know, I don’t even know how to play poker. Do you?”
“That’s why it’ll be fun!”
Mari backs her up, probably because she thinks being in Jackie’s good books is gonna get her closer to finally starting in a game this year, and then Tai rolls her eyes and says, “Whatever. I’m getting another drink.”
Lottie leaves briefly and comes back with a deck of cards and what looks like an actual poker set, complete with chips and everything. There’s a mischievous smile on her face when she sets it down on the coffee table.
“If you don’t know the rules, you can just team up with someone who does,” she tells the group.
The thing is, Nat knows a thing or two about poker because she used to watch her Dad and his loser friends play it all the time at their trailer park kitchen table. She’s got some tricks up her sleeve. But she’s kinda good right here, just watching this train derail, so when Lottie looks over at her and winks, she shakes her head slowly.
“What, you’re not gonna play, Nat?”
“You don’t want me to play. You’d lose.”
Tai and Van end up playing together, and so do Shauna and Jackie, which means Jackie sits in Shauna’s lap and whispers things to her to try and get her to understand what the cards she’s holding mean, and they’re all kind of terrible at poker, as far as Nat can tell, so the first few articles of clothing come off quickly.
Tai wasn’t wrong; they really do see each other naked an awful lot, so it’s slightly anticlimactic when Shauna and Jackie lose a hand and each take off their shirts, leaving them in matching team sports bras. Mari tries to get away with taking off one sock at a time when she’s forced to fold two hands in a row, which no one’s okay with, so they take a vote and cheer when she takes off her tank top instead.
The only people who seem to kind of know what they’re doing are Lottie and Laura Lee. Laura’s playing on her own, has quietly amassed a substantial pile of chips in front of her, and still hasn’t had to take off a single item of clothing. Based on everything she knows about the blonde, she probably wouldn’t be playing at all if she thought nudity was gonna be a risk.
Nat points at her with her beer bottle and grins. “They teach you how to be a card shark like that at BYU, LL?”
(She was a sophomore transfer and when Coach told them where she was transferring from, Nat was pretty sure the girl was gonna be one of those weird Jesus freaks that makes everyone pray before every practice. You can imagine her surprise when the blonde turned out to actually be kind of cool.)
Laura Lee beams — like, literally looks so proud she might burst — at her and shakes her head.
“My church youth group leaders used to play. And then, when I would volunteer at the nursing home, I found a steady group of retired gambling addicts to practice with.”
That’s actually really cute.
Lottie’s not so bad, either. She’d say she’s surprised, but Lot’s enough of a mystery for Nat to feel like this makes sense; she would be good at poker. She has yet to find anything that Lottie isn't good at, actually. It’s a little infuriating. Rich, pretty, smart, fun — she hit the damn fate jackpot.
“Okay, this is fucking boring,” Shauna announces. It’s definitely because they’re about to lose. Typical. “Jax and I are out.”
Jackie nods, laughs at the playful boos from around the room and puts her cards face down on the table. “Nat, you wanna take over for us?”
“Over your losing hand and three remaining chips? Yeah right.”
The girl pouts, says, “Suit yourself, Scatch,” and trails after Shauna, who’s headed upstairs.
She gets up for another drink and grabs a bottle of beer for Lottie, too, just because she noticed hers was mostly empty. When she walks up behind her to hand it over, the brunette makes a show out of holding her hand of cards to her chest and says, “No peeking!”
“I’m not even playing, dumbass.”
There’s huge cheers all around when Laura Lee somehow manages to take out both Mari and Gen in one fell swoop, and they both decide it’s time for bed, probably to save themselves the embarrassment of sitting idly by now that they’ve lost.
Well, to be fair, it is almost midnight, too. They’re all still on their practice sleep schedule.
Laura Lee yawns, looks at her haul of chips and then over at Natalie. “Take my place, Nat. I need to get to bed or I’ll be grouchy all day tomorrow.”
It’s a far more tempting proposition than Jackie’s, and fuck it, why not? She’s enjoying this whole disaster of a poker night a lot, so she might as well show them how it’s done.
“Deal me in, Lot,” she rasps, sitting down across from her on the living room floor so she can sort through the chips on the coffee table.
Lottie looks straight up devious when she asks, “You sure you know how to play?”
It really just wants to make her show off more.
“Watch me, Matthews.”
Tai and Van are still playing, but not very well, and she watches with interest as Lottie takes the next hand with a couple of sixes. Slick move; the girl’s fucking dangerous.
“Okay, I think we’re out,” Van announces, helping Tai to her feet when she stands. She grins over at Akilah and Melissa, who both look bored. “Kiddos, I think you should fold so these two can fight to the death without you getting caught in the line of fire.”
Nat honestly barely notices all of them leaving, she’s so focused on watching Lottie deal their next cards and study her hand carefully. There’s something to be said about the way she holds her cards, plays with her chips like a fucking pro and still manages to look all nonchalant.
It’s mostly just really hot.
“Where’d you learn to play like that?”
Lottie shrugs. “My Dad always says a good poker face will serve you well in life.”
That has to be a lie. Damn it, even now she’s bluffing. Nat can’t help but be impressed.
“Nice bluff. Really, how’d you learn?”
Lottie looks at her cards again, then grins at her and says, “I’ll tell you if you win this hand.”
Fuck. Maybe she should’ve figured out her own hand before getting cocky. It’s, like, the worst hand possible; a two/seven off suit, and she knows Lottie’s gonna take this one, but she’ll trash talk her while she can. “You’re fucking on, Matthews.”
“If you fold, you have to tell me about the last person on the team you hooked up with.”
Nat grits her teeth and holds out for another minute or so before she does just that. There’s no point pretending she can turn that hand around. It’s one round, anyway; she can come back from this.
“So much for beginners’ luck,” Lottie laughs, then takes a sip of her beer, and Nat doesn’t know why watching her drink beer from a bottle is really doing it for her, but it is. She’s so fucking sexy. If they weren’t teammates, she’d have her on her back so fast.
“I’m not a fucking beginner, Lot.”
“Sure play like one.”
“It was one hand!”
“So fess up. Who was it that made the great Nat Scatorccio break her unwritten rule about swapping spit with teammates?”
Is Lottie trying to see what her chances are with her? That’s the only way Nat can make sense of that random question. She’s not exactly known for playing the field, at least not when it comes to sleeping her way through the whole roster. That shit ruins teams on the regular, and she doesn’t want to be responsible for it. God, when Kristen had to transfer last year because of a messy breakup with their student volunteer coach, the whole team dynamic was off for weeks. She much prefers not shitting where she eats, if you catch her drift.
“You know I don’t do shit like that.”
Lottie playfully rolls her eyes. “Never? Come on, Nat. No way.”
“Alright, um, it was one time, okay?” She looks around, suddenly paranoid about other people overhearing, but finds no one. “At Nationals our freshman year. Remember that tall brunette senior midfielder? We roomed together on that trip.”
“Wait, Jess R.? The one with the legs? Nice going, hotshot. She’s cute!”
She’s already said too much, but Lottie looks intrigued enough for her to add, “It was fucking good, too, and then we kind of hooked up a few more times before she graduated.”
“So you haven’t abused your star power to seduce any vulnerable underclassmen yet?”
Nat covers up how she chokes on her beer at that remark with a laugh. “Wow, you made that sound, like, really rapey. Thanks, Lot.”
Anyway. Can they just go back to playing poker now? She picks up a chip and flips it around between her fingers, this little trick her Dad used to do and watches Lottie watch her. She should probably just go to bed.
“Look, this has been fun or whatever, but I think I’m gonna head.”
Lottie actually shakes her head. “No way. You’re not leaving before I beat you, fair and square.”
“You wanna see me naked that badly, huh Matthews?”
Not that they’ve even really been taking their clothes off; that stopped being interesting, like, an hour ago, and Lottie’s still wearing her shorts and a white sports bra. It’s hardly scandalous. Plus now that it’s just them, and they both know how to play, they don’t need a weird gimmick to keep the game going.
Lottie shrugs in response, so she isn’t even gonna deny it. Of course Nat wants to see her naked, too, and ideally not just from a distance. Ideally, it wouldn’t be part of a stupid game, either.
“How about this, then,” Lottie starts, and Nat’s painfully aware of the way her tongue darts out to glide over her teeth. “Why don’t we up the ante?”
“What, loser takes off all their clothes? I thought that’s, like, the whole fucking point of strip poker, Lot.”
Lottie chuckles lowly. “Whoever loses has to be the winner’s personal assistant for a week.”
Nat actually scoffs at that. As fucking if. In her dreams. How the fuck did she even think of that?!
“Fuck that. No way. That— What does that even mean?”
“It means if you lose, you do whatever I ask of you for a week. No exceptions.”
“Don’t you have enough freshmen tripping over their feet to do your bidding for you?” Nat shakes her head and tips back her beer bottle to get to the final sip. “I’m not doing this.”
“Why not? Afraid you’ll lose, Scatorccio?”
She shouldn’t let her bait her like this. She shouldn’t fall for that stupid smirk, shouldn’t be looking at her tan abs contract with every breath she lets out, either, but she is and she can’t fucking back down now.
What’s the worst that could happen? Nat’s just gonna have to make sure she wins, here.
“Fine. You’re on.”
"Perfect." Lottie smirks at her again. "Don't worry, I won't make you do anything too dirty."
Lottie shuffles the deck and starts to deal without ever breaking eye contact, and it’s not good for her sanity. She kinda wishes she was wearing a shirt now, because seeing the outline of Lottie’s nipples in her white sports bra is fucking distracting, and so are her stupid abs. She kinda needs to be able to focus in order to win.
They play a few hands and trade wins, and Nat sighs in relief when Lottie checks and she calls and the brunette stubbornly matches her. Maybe she won’t lose, after all. She takes the hand and smirks at Lottie as she moves a sizable chunk of chips over to her growing pile.
Lottie looks too confident to be losing, or maybe that’s just her impressive poker face; Nat really can’t tell anymore.
Nat loses the next hand in spectacular fashion, and Lottie sticks her tongue out at her when she groans.
“Fuck,” Nat says, shaking her head. “Okay just fucking deal, please. No more gloating."
Before Lottie picks up the deck again, Nat fixes her with a look and says, "Let me do that."
"What, you don't trust me not to deal from the bottom?" Lottie laughs.
"I don't, actually."
"Fine. You deal. But this is our last round. Winner takes it all."
Nat grits her teeth, but agrees with a nod. Might as well wrap this up. She'll win this, and then she'll have Lottie at her beck and call for the next week; that sounds kind of fun. Before she can get too lost in daydreams about everything she could make the girl do for her (to her...), Lottie sets her beer down on the table with a loud clink that makes her look up.
"Any day now, Natalie."
Jeez. Fine.
She's disappointed when she draws a six/nine off suit, but it's all she's got to work with. It's not awful; it could be worse. There's no way she's folding now, anyway. This one’s to the death. The odds are still against her, even when she picks up another nine and a jack on the flop, but for all she knows Lottie could be having worse luck.
Hell, for all she knows, Lottie is bluffing when she grins at her and says, "Show me your hand."
If Lottie has anything, she's winning this. Nat turns her cards over and knows before Lottie's shown her hand that she's not fucking beating her, because there's this downright evil little smile on her lips. She looks fucking elated to be beating Nat, so it has to be something good, too. Lottie wouldn't be this jubilant over a narrow victory.
"Fuckin' worst possible cards I could've picked," Nat says dismissively. It isn’t true, but it feels true anyway. Lottie grins at her and fans herself with her cards. "Well? What are you beating me with, Matthews?"
Lottie lays her cards on the table. "Full house. Aces over Queens."
“For real?!”
She can't help it; she’s out of her seat in seconds and makes her way around the table, letting out a frustrated slew of expletives as she does.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" She inspects the cards, holds up the Queen of Hearts and rolls her eyes. "How the fuck, Lottie?"
Lottie giggles, jumps up to throw an arm around her neck to put her in a playful chokehold, except there's nothing playful about the rage Nat is feeling right now. She reaches back and fists her hand in the fabric of Lottie's shorts, grabs her waist hard with the other one and puts some distance between them.
Despite years of practice on the field, she’s still not any better at admitting defeat.
"You weren't serious about the whole bet thing, right?"
“Okay, wow, Little Miss sore loser," Lottie singsongs, arms crossed in front of her chest, signature smirk tugging at her lips. "You can go to bed now. I won't make you do anything for me until the morning. Isn't that considerate of me?"
Nat shakes her head in disbelief. "Fuck you, Lot," she says, flips her off for good measure and walks away from her.
“Get some rest, you’re gonna need it!” Lottie yells after her gleefully.
If the team didn’t need their star center-back to have any chance at a national title this season, she’d probably just kill Lottie.