Stephanie Archer

"Hey." I lean down so my eyes are level with hers, and my hands come to her upper arms. There's that incredible chai smell again. "When I was nine, I got hit with the puck."

Her eyes widen. "Really?"

I nod and point to my wrist. "Right here. The puck pinged off the pipe, and I had forgotten my gloves, so I was wearing spares that were too big, so they shifted. It hurt like a motherfucker."