Page 2 of Robbin’ the Rich

She immediately noticed my expression and waved both hands frantically. “Not in a weird stalker way. I just came to one of your bouts a few weeks ago and everyone was yelling your name when you almost murdered that jammer from Cincinnati.”

“Ah,” I said. “Yeah, that was a good time.”

Her grin widened.

She was definitely a lot, but there was something about her that I liked.

“A bunch of the Reapers were talking to people earlier, and I recognized you.” She tucked a curl behind one ear. “You guys are kind of famous around here.”

“Locally infamous maybe.”

“Same thing.”

Not really, but who was I to say?

She rolled alongside me as we drifted toward the edge of the rink, startlingly comfortable talking to a stranger. Most people eased into conversation with me carefully. I don’t know if it was the tattoos and eyeliner or if there was something innately intimidating about me, but I liked that it generally kept the small talk away. Ariel cannonballed directly through social boundaries like they were mere suggestions.

“I just moved here recently,” she said. “And honestly this place feels...” She looked out over the rink where Belle was dramatically fake-falling to make a nervous little kid laugh. “I don’t know. Safe.”

The word landed heavier than she probably intended.

I watched her more carefully then. She was young. Early twenties… maybe. Trying very hard to seem upbeat. There were worn laces on her skates and a fraying backpack near the benches I saw her with earlier. I wasn’t sure if I was picking up the clues or not, but I got the sense there was more to her story.

“You skate derby before?” I asked.

“A little. Mostly open skates. I’ve never been on an actual team before.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t join where I used to live.”

I could read between those lines.

“And now?” I asked.

Her entire face lit up. “I want to be a Grimm Reaper so bad.”

The sheer sincerity nearly made me laugh.

“That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea.” She leaned closer like she was confessing state secrets. “You guys look cool and terrifying yet... emotionally supportive.”

“That’s accurate.”

“And everybody here looks like themselves.” Her voice softened slightly. “Like really themselves.”

Before I could respond, she rushed ahead again, words tumbling out fast.

“Actually, I was going to ask if the rink is hiring?” She nodded toward the concession stand and rental counter. “I need a job. And I’m staying Lantern House right now, which has been amazing, but I can tell they’re stretched pretty thin and I want to get my own place eventually.”

There it was. She wasn’t just bubbly, but maybe scared, and trying not to be. Lantern House was an LGBTQ shelter that helped people who had been kicked out get on their feet.

I crossed my arms loosely and studied her for another second while she shifted nervously on her skates for the first time since we started talking.

She was too open for my personal comfort level. Too earnest. Too willing to hand people pieces of herself right away. That usually triggered every warning bell in my body, but there was something genuine about her. Like she’d spent a long time being told she was too much and decided to survive anyway.

I sighed.

“Come on.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”