Chapter 22
HANNAH
Dressed from head to toe in my snow gear, I stand at the top of the halfpipe, looking down on the quiet resort.
Sunrise takes its time, and branches coated in ice twinkle when the sun peeks over the horizon, creating a crystallized gleam.
Snow falls in big puffs, looking like marshmallows, covering my knitted hat in minutes.
A few quiet chirps fill the vast silence, while a wintry chill nips at my nose and cheeks. Here, at Snowy Peak, the place I call my second home, memories of my childhood trickle in and spread warmth along my spine. How can a place so significant in my life cease to exist?
I watch for any sign of Noah, but he never shows. Seven has come and gone, and my patience has worn thin.
The bastard flaked.
Stepping into the bindings of my snowboard, I strap them in place and coast down, skidding toward the end, spraying snow.
A no-show from the notorious Playboy has me grinding my teeth all the way to the main building. I prop my snowboard outside and search for the little shit inside, most likely the girl at dinner, perched on his lap.
Pathetic.
Then I remember it's still early, and guests have yet to rise for today’s activities, so I start to pace around the lounge.
Is he in his cabin sleeping?
I mean, if I have to burst his bubble and dump cold water on his head to wake him up, I won’t pass on the opportunity.
Coach Jones comes in moments later, shaking off the snow from his jacket. He catches sight of my disheveled look. “Hannah?”
“Where’s Noah?” I ask.
He pulls up his jacket sleeve, checking the time. “Um… I think he’s at the gym with the rest of the—”
I don’t let him finish, already heading back outside, making my way to the fitness building.
If he thinks blowing me off is going to stop us from practicing, he’s dead wrong.
The fitness center is small, but it’s open 24/7 for the night owls who can’t sleep. Sitting at one of the benches, lifting weights, is Noah, except he’s completely shirtless.
Arms sculpted likely from the years of training, flexing with each curl, Noah breathes through each rep he performs. Shoulders wide, torso dripping with sweat, making his abs glisten.
He wears black shorts and white Nike shoes, a backward baseball cap to match.
Music is blaring, while the rest of the team continues their rigorous workout routines.
All shirtless.
But I linger on Noah and how he moves about the gym, picking another set of weights. He has no idea I’m standing here gawking, mouth open, luckily not catching flies.
His muscles are defined and tempting me to come closer, just to feel how strong he really is.
I snap out of my stupor when Taylor calls my name, making the others turn in my direction.
I clear my throat and move past Cody and Mark running on the treadmill, stepping right in front of Noah.
He looks down at me, eyebrows rising in amusement. “What?”
“I told you to meet me. Did you forget?” I cross my arms, trying to keep eye contact and not wander down his perfect body.
Shit, he’s…really good looking. No, Hannah, he’s really good at being an ass.
Suddenly, my thick layers start to make me sweat.
Noah works on his triceps, giving me a look. “And?”
“And?”
Perspiration drips down his temple, eyes keeping hold of me, making it harder to breathe.
What the hell is wrong with me?!
Taylor comes over to pat the bench, signaling Noah to return the hand weights and lie back as he spots him. “Hannah, maybe come back later?”
Noah grunts with each lift. “Or not at all.”
I swear, both men are asking to get slapped. “No, I think I’ll stay so I can drag your ass out of here.”
His grunts start to become deeper, ragged, like he’s struggling to push the weight. “Red, some advice,” he pauses, Taylor’s hands hovering just in case, “kindly fuck off.”
He…no, he did not just tell me to fuck off.
I stare, shock flushing through my body, my face aflame. I’m partly pissed and embarrassed, standing here in full gear, trying to get this douche to practice, and he couldn’t give a fucking shit.
He finishes, then Taylor hands him a towel to wrap around his neck. He grips the ends and walks away, entirely over our conversation, weaving through the workout machines to the water station.
“Hey, asshole, I’m still here,” I yell from where I stand.
Someone pauses the music at the exact moment I throw the insult his way. His teammates all give me worried looks. Mark whistles, shaking his head.
Noah chugs from his water bottle, crushes it, and tosses it in the nearest trash bin. “My, Red, you have my full attention now.”
I gulp, hearing the others gather their things, whispering their condolences for my early funeral.
Noah stalks over, giving me barely any space to breathe.
His stature towers over me, a body of pure perfection glistening with sweat under the lights.
Some of his dark curls peek out from under his baseball cap, dark brown eyes dangerously cold, making me shiver.
Every line and curve of his skin, right down to the muscles and chiseled jawline, this man is a work of art.
“Do you want to repeat what you called me?” It’s not a threat, more of an invitation, and he knows what kind of trap he’s set.
My stomach flips, causing my lower region to spike with pleasure like a stupid, hormonal teenager.
For fuck’s sake, Hannah, pull yourself together! You swore off men, remember? Especially jerks like him!
No, I won’t back down or cower. I’m not going to let Noah push me around like some rag doll. He may be hot and successful in his career, but he’s nothing more than a player in this one-sided game of chess.
“I mean, it was pretty loud and clear from my end. But if you would like me to repeat, then sure, asshole.”
His eyes are cast in darkness, knuckles flexing. “If Coach thinks he can force me to practice with some pretentious—”
“That’s rich coming from the goddamn king of being such a pompous douche.”
When did we get so close, our chests almost touching? I have no idea, but I can spar all day with words if that’s the game he wants to play.
He’s not getting his slimy way out of this.
He’s so close now, I can smell his breath, a minty scent wafting up my nose.
“Go away, Red. I’m not doing it.”
If he ruins this for the Gomezes, I swear I’ll make his life a living hell.
“You’re going to show up tomorrow at seven, ready to practice. I don’t care about your feelings. Get your shit together. It’s pathetic.”
“Forcing me back out there isn’t doing anyone any good.”
“You promised!”
“I never signed a contract!”
“I don’t care! This place means everything to me, and you’re going to destroy the one chance we’ve got to save it!”
Inches are what separate us; our lips close, dangerously too close. Chests rise and fall from our heated argument, neither one of us backing down.
He starts to shake, his hands flexing by his sides. “That’s life, Red. Not everything you love can be saved.”
“Why are you so heartless?”
He closes his eyes, taking deep breaths, exhaling it all before looking at me again, his false bravado cracking with each passing second. “I don’t mean to be.”
I’m too overheated and strung out from his close proximity, especially since he’s shirtless.
I make the first move and retreat. “Tomorrow. At seven. If you’re not there, I will burn your cabin to the ground.”