It's fake. It's fake.

That's what Lottie keeps having to remind herself as she watches you chat up— some girl on the other team. The other team, for God's sake! She can't help the way her stomach twists into knots. Nor the way she strides over, something possessing her to wind her arm around your waist and prop her chin on your shoulder.

"Baby, you're supposed to be cheering for me, aren't you?" She purrs, arm tightening around you—the fakest fucking smile plastered to her face.