CHAPTER THREE DIEGO
CHAPTER THREE
DIEGO
Alara Bradford is so devastatingly beautiful that, every time I glance her way, it feels like there’s a force squeezing my chest. It hurts.
And no matter how hard I try to look away, she pulls me back into her orbit and distracts me in the most infuriating manner.
She’s sitting at the front desk, long brown hair gathered over one shoulder, her attention zeroed in on the computer.
Her soft hum is a sweet harmony to the song blasting from the speakers, the radiant smile she throws at every customer so goddamn destabilizing that I feel misplaced frustration course through my veins.
Obviously, Alara isn’t the reason I’m in an execrable mood – she could never be, not after coming up to me this morning with the sweetest hi and apologizing for being rudely sarcastic yesterday.
The reason I’m such a grumpy ass today is because I am stuck in a nightmare.
My career is at risk, and while I understand that I have to face the consequences of my actions, I still can’t grasp how working in a gear shop is going to help.
My first couple of hours at Rock Snow have been hell. What the fuck do I care about stocking up the socks or beanies? What the hell are those different skating blades Joe showed me? What the fuck am I supposed to do with the customers asking for advice? I’m a snowboarder, not a salesman.
As if doing this is going to miraculously clean up my image. This is bullshit.
“Morning.” Alara’s feathery voice cuts through my torment, bringing my attention back to her as she welcomes a customer.
I think the main reason why irritation claws at my throat whenever I take a peek at that stunning profile and dazzling smile is because I’m so determined not to be distracted by her. She’s not even trying to grab my attention, yet she fully has it.
She was so kind and patient when she started training me earlier, always checking if I understood everything and giving me the time to process every piece of information she tried to wire into my brain.
I’ve been mostly silent, save for the occasional answers whenever she tries to make conversation.
Part of me doesn’t understand her friendly behavior after the way I’ve been acting, but there’s also this sense of yearning when she tries to push past my walls of self-preservation.
I don’t like it one bit.
Maybe if I keep being a dickhead, she’ll beg Coach Wilson to get me out of here. But I can’t do that because, for one, Coach will beat my ass for disrespecting not only his rules but a woman too, and, two, he’ll terminate our contract and that’s not something I want.
Snowboarding is my life, my dream, my everything, and I can’t lose the only thing I’ve ever loved.
I really, truly need to get my shit together.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do it, though. Every time I glance at the back of the store where snowboards line up an entire wall, I feel my chest tighten, my eyes watering at the thought of not being able to ride.
“Mierda,” I whisper, when I realize I’ve been staring into space for too long. I shake my head, going back to stocking up the socks.
I appreciate Joe for giving me easy tasks to do. He knows about my injury, about what Coach wants from me, and he’s been nothing but friendly and understanding.
“Everything all right there?” Alara asks softly when the customer exits the store.
It takes a few beats for me to realize the question is directed at me. “Yeah.”
She shrugs, turning back to the computer. “Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need any. I’m right here.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m perfectly capable of stocking up this aisle on my own.”
“I knew you were competent enough,” she quips, and I don’t know why, but my lips twitch like they want to break into a fucking smile.
It took me a while to understand where Alara’s familiarity was coming from until it struck me like a lightning bolt. Yesterday, when I stepped inside Rock Snow to meet with Joe, I was able to put the pieces together when I saw Gaby tug Alara toward me.
Alara was the sweet, timid girl who used to tutor Gaby in high school.
She was often at home, helping my sister with her dyslexia in any capacity she could.
We had never interacted much aside for the odd casual greeting when I’d find her sitting at the kitchen table as I got home from practice.
She’d often stay over too, to have dinner or hang out with my sister.
I wonder why I never paid attention to her when she was a constant presence at the house. Maybe because my sole focus has always been snowboarding. Besides, she was always so quiet and serious and studious, which made me believe she wasn’t interested in talking to me either.
Okay, focus, man.
I need to stop thinking about this girl.
Kind of hard to do so when she’s directly in my line of vision.
“What’s the matter, superstar? Is the job too tough for you?” Alara props an elbow on the countertop, placing her chin in the palm of her hand. I glance away from her infuriating, beautiful smile.
My brows knit together. I must have sighed heavily enough for her to hear. “Who are you calling superstar?”
“Do you see another professional snowboarder in the store?”
Okay, I’m impressed by her witty responses.
She’s nothing like I remember. She’s older, more gorgeous than ever, more outgoing. From what I gathered from Gaby, she’s just graduated college too – something I never did, let alone considered. She seems lively, extremely smart, caring.
Before I can reply, Joe walks in. He grins when he spots me and claps a friendly hand on my uninjured shoulder. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” Terribly, is what I want to say.
“How’s everyone at home?”
“Good.” This time, it’s not a lie. “Mom’s ecstatic that I’m here, Gabs too. Valentina is busy with midterms.”
There’s no comparable feeling to being home.
Mom’s cuisine is, as usual, exquisite, which I made sure to tell her when she made dinner for the four of us.
Valentina helped me clean the dishes after, all the while talking my ear off about her group of friends from school, and Gaby came to hang out with me before we both fell asleep on the couch.
And even though this entire situation is pissing me off, knowing I have my family to come home to after a long day makes this somehow better.
“I’m glad to have you back too.” His voice lowers. “I know it all seems like a punishment, but we’re not here to make your life a misery. You’ll get back on that board before you know it.”
The lump building inside my throat becomes thick and hard to swallow. “Thanks.”
Joe nods, squeezing my shoulder in silent encouragement. “Okay, well, if you need anything just let me know. Alara’s happy to help too.”
“I’m sure she is,” I grumble. When I look over to the front desk, she’s nowhere in sight.
But then she pops around the corner, slipping a coat on. “I’m going to grab a coffee from the Latte Lounge. You guys want anything?”
“The usual for me,” Joe says, then drops a kiss on her temple before sauntering away. “Thanks, sweetie.”
“Anything for you?” Alara directs at me.
“No.”
Slowly, she nods. “You’re charming, you know.”
A muscle in my jaw tics. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
It’s so strange, the way she draws me in. So, I watch her walk away until she’s out of the shop, and I run a frustrated hand through my hair, not caring if I tousle it. I get lost in my thoughts, wondering what I’m supposed to gain from this.
Having to make up for my attitude by working at the store feels akin to having a bucket of ice poured over my head. I’m hyper-aware of what is at stake – my whole future – but I still don’t want to admit that the team, Coach, and the sponsors could drop me if I don’t fix it.
“Excuse me?”
I turn around in time to find a woman, probably in her mid-thirties, looking up at me.
I blink, and she takes my silence as a form of encouragement to continue asking about whatever it is that she wants from me. “I’m looking for base layers.”
My brows pull together, trying to remember the shop’s outline. “They’re two aisles down, to your right.”
“Thank you so much.” The customer offers me a smile, but I simply turn around and resume my boring task.
I don’t know how many minutes pass by until I realize I’ve been glaring at the thick pair of socks bunched in my fists. My name is being called, and I try to relax my frown when I pivot, but the annoyance stays simmering deep in my gut.
To be honest, I would rather unload boxes or do inventory instead of helping out customers. I haven’t been in the mood to socialize, and I don’t have what it takes to be a good sales assistant. I know the only reason Coach asked me to work here is to fuck with me.
Glaring at the camera hanging above my head, I hope that Coach has access to the recordings. I hope he can see the hatred in my gaze. I’m so close to flipping him off, but I’m a better man than that.
A guy I’ve never seen before is standing in front of me, smiling so widely that I wonder if his cheeks are hurting. “Can I get a pic with you?”
?No mames! Can’t a guy have a moment of reprieve?
Apparently, word has gotten around fast. This is the third customer who’s come in to ask for a picture, and I’ve only been back at Blue Ridge Springs for less than forty-eight hours.
I should be flattered, but I’m just thoroughly annoyed and bothered by the disturbance.
Everyone already knows that I’m working here during my recovery time, which means everyone is going to try and catch my attention.
Listen, I know I sound like a spoiled little brat, but as much as I love my life and what comes with being a professional athlete, sometimes all I need is quiet and solitude. Like right now. I just want to stock my socks in peace.
Man, I never thought I’d say that, but look at me already making some progress.
I fight the urge to scoff as the guy takes his phone out. “No. I’m working.” And then I walk away.
I don’t watch his reaction. Don’t even muster the energy to give him an apology.
I hide between two aisles at the back of the store, tipping my head back and letting out a sigh. The burning irritation makes my hands tremble, so I curl them into fists.
If I’m going to feel this way for the next couple of months, I might have to find a way out that won’t jeopardize my career.
But the more I think of it, the more I realize there’s nothing I can do to make Coach change his mind.
Even begging on my knees won’t do it. Maybe shed some crocodile tears?
No, he won’t pity me at all. So, maybe I just need to—
“Too busy to even take a picture with a fan?”
Alara’s voice causes my shoulders to drop slightly. Turning toward her, I notice that she’s in possession of a cup holder, her cheeks slightly flushed, perhaps from the cold.
“As I said, I’m working.”
I lean toward her, but only to take a peek around the aisle. The customer who wanted the photo is now gone, and a sigh of relief escapes.
“At least you have your priorities straight.” She hands me a paper cup, scanning my face for a few heartbeats too long.
The small line between her brows vanishes, the sudden tenderness swimming around her hazel eyes a mystery to me.
I feel paralyzed, feel my skin prickle under her scrutiny – it’s like she’s trying to peel off my mask.
Like she’s seeing me in my most vulnerable state when I’m desperately trying to keep my armor up.
I don’t feel judged, though. I feel . . . seen. That fucking kills me.
I’m about to leave and hide again, but I remember that she’s standing in front of me – totally real and no daydream – still holding on to a coffee that’s seemingly reserved for me. I don’t deserve her kindness.
“Is that for me?” My voice is gravelly, as if she’s rendered me speechless.
“Pretty sure I’m handing it to you, so yes.”
I shrug. “Just checking.”
Alara doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t relent. Doesn’t seem impressed by my coldness. “I’m not sure what your usual order is, so I figured a double espresso would do. We have cream and sugar in the office if you want.”
Reluctantly, I take hold of the beverage, frowning. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
“Most people usually say thank you when someone is nice to them,” she fires back.
Her selflessness warms me like a flame, trying to melt the thawing ice shielding me, and that scares me.
It terrifies me that, in just a few hours, she’s managed to catch a glimpse of what I’m hiding behind my tough facade.
I hate that I’m letting her see me. I hate that I can’t tell her to mind her own business.
“I was getting there,” I mutter. “Thank you, Alara. I appreciate it.” Though my tone is cold and clipped, I mean it. I truly do, because I really need some caffeine right now. And a double espresso is perfect.
Her almond-shaped eyes track my reaction and make my pulse quicken.
I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the concern in them.
Maybe it’s the intensity weaving through the hues of gold and green.
Maybe it’s the way they’re so captivating that I get lost in them – spiraling and losing all sense of everything.
“You’re welcome.” She turns on her heel, takes three steps, then peers back at me from over her shoulder. “Can I give you unsolicited advice?”
“Something tells me you won’t take no for an answer, so be my guest.” The heat emanating from the cup warms my hand, my chest.
A soft chuckle escapes her. Alara is unnerving.
I don’t understand why she’s not blatantly annoyed by my attitude.
“Be nice to the customers,” she says quietly yet firmly.
“We have a reputation to uphold, and you might not understand the townspeople’s point of view, but everyone is happy that you’re back.
You’re obviously not, and I don’t know why, but that’s not a reason to give people shit.
We’re also here to help, not to hurt you.
So, if you could please just be agreeable to your fans, that would be great. ”
She has a point, but I don’t want to admit it because it fucking hurts. The realization that the only way I’m getting redemption is by executing Coach’s instructions makes my mind go off in a constant frenzy. So I stare at her, jaw-slacked by the fierceness she carries so gracefully.
“At least do it for my dad,” she adds, before finally leaving.
Fuck me. This is going to be the longest three months ever.