Chapter 38
HANNAH
Barely eating dinner the night before is one thing, but skipping breakfast is a whole new kind of torture.
And it’s all my own doing. Because why train on a full stomach and risk barfing around Noah, since, ya know, we’ve been here since seven in the goddamn morning.
Not a single peep about yesterday’s extra activities, I might add.
I’ll call it intermittent fasting, but not even my bottle of water can suppress the sounds my stomach is making.
At least Noah is too preoccupied with my constant direction to pay attention.
But I’m also hyperaware of every move he makes, right down to the way he adjusts his winter hat, even his goggles hang seductively from his neck. Sometimes I catch a vein, thick and pulsating against his tawny skin, whenever he fingers his collar to readjust.
Last night, I remained wide awake, going over every possible scenario, wondering how to bring it up, but every time Noah has a few minutes in between my commands, the words fail on tight lips.
Then again, he hasn’t uttered a word either, so does it have to be up to me to start the conversation?
No, but someone has to do it, right?
Not quite sure how I’m holding myself together at this point.
And then there’s the matter of his stunning brunette friend. Is he also screwing her? Is he using protection with her? Shit, does he see me after he has his fun with her?
My eternal spiral continues as Noah tries to practice edge changes. I hear f-bombs before he topples, somewhat sliding down the halfpipe on his ass.
Thankfully, news hasn’t broken over his catastrophic demise, and I wonder if that has something to do with his freakishly quiet PA, Henry.
It doesn’t help that Noah still can’t overcome his mental block.
He climbs the side of the halfpipe, head down, board somewhat dragging along with him, winter hat skewed.
He claims my anxiety is distracting him, the pressure to be perfect.
I don’t get how it relates to his previous record or how he snapped out of it in the first place, but if it’s an excuse to get into my pants, he’s already halfway there.
But judging by his attitude and constant swearing, then yeah, maybe I can ease up the tension a bit.
He tries again, barely getting the tail above the lip, and falls backward, screaming fuck across the resort. Noah’s voice echoes across snowcapped mountains when I coast down to where he lies sprawled out.
He shouts, almost close to the sound of a lion’s roar, digging his gloved hand into the snow, throwing a chunk over our heads.
I smirk. “Broadway already had their auditions for The Lion King.”
Noah looks at me through his goggles, breathing heavy. “Your one-liners are lame.” But I swear the corner of his lips perked up slightly at my joke.
Unless the lack of food is causing my brain to malfunction, making me see shit.
Noah pulls out two granola bars from his pant leg pocket, tossing one at my feet.
We eat in silence, chewing on peanut butter granola.
“I heard your stomach, thought you might need something.” He finishes it in two bites, removing the binds from his boots.
Watching him chew is oddly sensual, especially because his jawline is cut to perfection.
He swallows, his Adam's apple working to push the food down.
Why is it so hot? Shut up, Hannah. “Should really eat something light because not eating at all is dangerous.”
“Since when do you care about my health?” I say in between bites, almost choking like an idiot. Nobody ever has before, not even Liam. His kindness is out of the blue, and I’m not sure how genuine he is.
“Since you’re supposed to be my saving grace in fixing me? I can’t have you half dead, barely focusing because your lapse in proper dietary needs goes unchecked.”
I blink, swallowing the last of the bar down my very dry throat. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
Underneath the surface of our conversation lies the more serious one, the one where I said yes to something deranged. Maybe I was silently malnourished, barely focusing when I agreed.
His sultry eyes pin me in place, making my heart accelerate at an abnormal speed. I wonder if he can hear it and see the anxious look in my eyes. How my hands sweat profusely inside my thick gloves, to the point that sweat soaks my clothes.
Noah moves an inch before I’m backing away, looking for an excuse to dip early.
“I forgot that Maya needs me soon to go over event details, so…” I’m already retreating, and he mirrors my steps by walking forward.
“Freeze, Red.” His voice, a low, sexual tenor, halts my movements.
Gripping my snowboard to my body, trying to create some barrier between us, is honestly pathetic on my part because no amount of obstacles is going to stop Noah Hart from getting what he wants.
“Coach Jones wants an update on my progress by the end of this week…if I remember correctly—”
She’s back, the pretty brunette that was on his arm last night, stealing his attention.
She sashays over, hips swaying with more force than necessary.
Her outfit consists of a sleek black puffer jacket with matching snow pants and boots, while her makeup is done like she’s heading out early to a nightclub.
She’s everything I’m not. Everything Noah should have.
They make sense. We don’t.
So why give me the choice? Why not ask for someone else to help you get over your mental block, who isn’t dripping with anxiety everywhere she walks?
She playfully rubs his arm, flipping her perfectly styled hair over her right shoulder.
Using the brief interruption to escape, because I’ve personally had enough of watching her sexualize him, I nonchalantly dip out, but take one last look behind me. Noah is completely engrossed in their conversation, and I run as fast as I can away, trailing my snowboard behind me.