CHAPTER ELEVEN ALARA #2
He moves to stand in front of me and I can’t do anything except look at the concern etched on his face. “No, I’m being genuine. And I think you’re authentic, fun, and passionate.”
The conviction in his words does something to me that I can’t explain.
It’s not that I’m not confident, because I am, but sometimes I feel I’m a little bit too simple for men to notice me.
I like my space, my comfort, my routine.
I like my life in this small town, and I’m indecisive about my future.
But the fact that Diego sees me makes it harder for me to fix in my brain that he’s not here to stay.
I’m about to reply when the lady managing the stand says, “Next, please.”
Diego pivots and asks for two original hot cocoas.
The girl, a pretty blonde wearing a light pink beanie and a matching fleece jumper, does a double take at Diego. I don’t blame her – he’s gorgeous to look at, standing there under the glow of the city lights, the cold reddening the tip of his nose. “Diego?”
He tilts his head, cataloging the other girl’s face for a beat. He scratches the back of his head, obviously unable to remember her name. She looks vaguely familiar to me. “Kayla, right?”
“Kelsey,” she corrects, offering him a smile. “It’s been a while. You look good. How are you? Are you visiting?”
She slides one cup of hot chocolate across the counter. Diego scoots closer to me, and when Kelsey finally notices me she reluctantly hands me the other one.
“Something like that,” he replies absent-mindedly, taking his wallet out.
Pushing his hand back toward him, she trails her French-tipped nails up his forearm. “On the house. We should grab a drink and catch up before you leave.”
The corner of his mouth curves upward, and, for a long heartbeat, my chest pangs with a jealousy I shouldn’t be feeling.
I then realize that his smile isn’t genuine – because I know what it looks like, and, right now, it barely reaches his eyes.
He’s just being his charming self, the way he is when fans ask for a picture or women try to get his number.
Grabbing the two hot beverages, he takes a step aside.
“Thank you for the hot chocolates, but I can’t take you up on that offer. Have a great night.”
He pushes past the crowd as Kelsey frowns.
She looks at me and I simply offer her a sympathetic smile, and hurry after Diego.
The relief rushing through my veins is a bit alarming.
I have no right to be feeling jealous of another woman, and I shouldn’t feel victorious either at the thought of him rejecting her.
Again, he probably turned her down because he’s leaving soon and he doesn’t want to start something that might not last.
He’s sitting on a bench in a secluded area behind the stands, one arm draped over the backrest. I’m mesmerized by the way he tenderly looks at me as I approach. Taking a seat next to him, I accept the warm cup he hands me, and notice he’s taken his gloves off.
“Ex-girlfriend?” I ask, gesturing toward the chalets with my head. I already know the answer, because if they’d dated he wouldn’t have forgotten her name. I just want to hear the confirmation.
Diego emits a dry chuckle and blows on his drink. Scooting closer to me, he twirls some strands of my hair between his fingers. “No. We were just in the same history class in high school. Pretty sure she had a crush on me.”
“I mean, who didn’t?”
His smirk widens and I realize my mistake. “What was that?”
“I didn’t say anything.” I take a sip, but it’s still so hot that I scald my tongue.
There’s one secret I’ll take to the grave and it’s the pathetic crush I had on him.
No way in hell he’ll ever know about that.
I look at him over the rim of my cup, feigning exasperation.
“Another day, another heart breaking because the most eligible bachelor in town doesn’t want to take anyone out. ”
The sound of his laugh rumbles deeply in a way that etches itself into my memory. “Not my fault if no one catches my interest.”
“Except me?” I joke.
But when he replies, roughly and seriously, “Except you,” I don’t know how to react. How to feel.
Focusing on the heat seeping from the cup cradled between my hands and not the way our thighs are now touching, I say, “I know you have questions, so ask away.”
He makes a noncommittal noise. “How many do I get?”
“I’d say one, but that wouldn’t be fair on you.”
“You don’t get to give me just one shot at getting to know you better. That’s cruel.”
“Exactly. So, ask anything that comes to mind.”
“Anything?”
I hold his gaze. “Anything.”
His eyes drop to my mouth – subtle, fleeting, but there, and enough to cause my heartbeat to speed into overdrive. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to me, Alara.”
“Good thing I like taking risks, then,” I murmur.
Diego takes a drink of his hot cocoa, nodding. “Alright. When did you start snowboarding?”
“I think I was around three or four. Like most kids who grow up here.”
“You’ve only started to compete in the amateur tournament recently, right?”
It’s my turn to nod. “About five years ago. It was always something I looked forward to when I came home for the winter break.”
“I love that.” He smiles down at his lap, shaking his head. “I was really surprised to see you out there. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Timidity creeps up the back of my neck. “I wanted to surprise you. Did it work?”
“You have no idea,” he replies, with an exhale, amazement dripping from every syllable. “But, to be honest with you, I was impressed way before seeing you in that halfpipe.”
“You’re a flirt.”
He winks. “You love it.”
“Possibly.”
With his arm draped over the back of the bench, he continues to twirl a strand of my hair between his fingers, like he’s enthralled. “Would you want to be a ski or snowboard instructor for the rest of your life?”
I take some time to gather my answer by taking a small sip of the hot drink.
“I don’t know. I’m only doing this now because the job will tide me over until I figure everything out.
And, don’t get me wrong, I love giving those lessons, but I don’t think it’s my calling.
I like to think of it as a stepping stone that’ll help me achieve what I’m meant to do in the near future. ”
“That’s fair. I love your way of thinking – it’s super sexy.
” There’s a small pause as he studies my features.
Slowly. Carefully. Like he wants to take his time and remember every detail of my face.
The shape of my brows. The specific shade of my irises.
The slope of my nose and the way the tip is slightly upturned.
The heat coloring my cheeks thanks to his praise.
The fullness of my lips. With a simple sweep of his gaze, he makes me feel beautiful.
“Would you move out of Blue Ridge if there was a job interesting enough for you to take?”
“Sure,” I reply, without missing a beat. “But I don’t want to jump at the first opportunity and regret my decision after a month or so.”
People make it seem so easy – go to college, find a job, start your career – but nothing about making a decision about your life is easy.
Maybe I’m wasting my time by staying here and asking myself questions, maybe I’m doing something wrong, but I’ve always promised myself I’d live a life I love, and so I’m going to take it slow and easy for the time being.
He sets his drink on the bench behind him, rubbing his stubbled jaw with a hand. “I get that. You know what I like about you?”
“My sharp tongue?”
A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Definitely my favorite thing. No, seriously, I like that you know what you want.”
I narrow my eyes. “How is being confused about my future knowing what I want?”
“You want to think about yourself and your well-being. You want to find a career where you can see yourself in five, ten years from now. That’s admirable.”
My gaze slides away to a family walking past us. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”
His cold, trembling fingers find my jaw, gently cupping it as he turns my face back to him. I find myself involuntarily leaning into his touch, my pulse quickening until it becomes deafening and out of control. “Next question,” he whispers.
“Yes?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear with his other hand, dark eyes settling on my parted lips. “Can I kiss you?”
Everything around me comes to a stop. I feel my heartbeat speeding up, so fast, so loud, that I barely hear myself whispering, “What?”
I follow his gaze as it slides over our heads, and I can’t help but chuckle softly when I see a sprig of mistletoe hanging there.
“Can I kiss you, Alara?” he repeats, his breath fanning across my mouth.
I nod, and it’s all it takes for his lips to crash onto mine.
Time stops.
The world blurs.
And I melt into him.
The first press of his lips is gentle but firm, and it sets my racing heart on fire.
He pulls away momentarily just to watch my reaction, just to make sure it’s what I want, but when I throw my cup to the ground and fist his coat to pull him back to me, he laughs and kisses me again, the sound of his joy evaporating in the intermingling of our breaths.
His hands cradle my face as his mouth moves with mine in a slow, sensual dance. He tastes like chocolate and sugar – he tastes like everything I love.
Winding my arms around his neck, I pull myself as close as I can, which causes a moan to erupt in the back of his throat.
The sound makes a shiver rush down my spine.
When he tilts my head at the perfect angle to deepen the kiss, I sigh, and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth.
Our tongues meet for the first time, sending a shock of electricity through my body, and, as if he’s felt it, he smiles. Slipping a hand to the back of my head, Diego tangles his fingers through my hair, grunting in satisfaction when I respond with equal fervor, with equal passion.
He’s really kissing me.
I’m really kissing Diego.
I feel like I’m dreaming.
There’s an urgency in the way he claims my lips, as though he needs every taste like a cure to an addiction. Like he can’t get enough. Like he doesn’t want to breathe. Like he can’t be sated. But eventually, as my nails scrape his nape, he pulls away just to take a shaky breath in.
My lungs don’t need the air, they don’t need the break, so I seek his mouth again, and find myself moaning at the way he kisses me with a force that renders me defenseless and utterly speechless.
My palm slips up to cup the side of his neck, his pulse erratic underneath it.
Our rhythm falls into something slower, tender, and I try to commit the feel of him to memory.
I’m the first one to pull away, my head spinning with the intensity of it all, and every inch of my body burning like an inferno.
Dropping his forehead to mine, he kisses me one more time – softly, the brush of an unspoken promise lingering between us.
I slowly come back to reality, basking in the way his thumb caresses my flaming cheekbone.
“Alara,” he whispers gruffly. “I—”
He’s interrupted by someone clearing their throat. “Sir?”
We pull away to see an elderly man standing in front of us, a knowing smile on his lips. He points his cane to Diego’s lap. “You have some hot chocolate on your pants.” Then, he saunters off, whistling as if he was never there.
Diego and I exchange a glance, then burst out in laughter.