Well, shit. Now, what do I do? Not only does the guy have talent, but he’s the male version of Mary Fucking Poppins. I banked on him being a dick so I could justify my hatred. Indecision on whether to do the right thing and help or ignore him wars in my mind. I slowly exhale my pent-up frustration as my conscience wins. As much as this next move may kick me in the ass, I extend an olive branch.
“If you need anything, I’m always around.”
His eyes light up as he stares at me as if I’m the genie in the bottle who granted him three wishes. “Did you see anything I can improve on?”
This kid is killing me. “The coaches haven’t said anything?”
“They want me to improve on my speed, but it’s hard to judge yourself sometimes.”
My lips thin, and I know I’m going to regret helping. But really, what choice do I have? With a deep breath, I kiss away my upper edge. “You’re very talented, but with that said, your pop time could use some improvement.”
“Yeah, the coaches have mentioned a few exercises for me to do, so I’m working on that.”
I think back to all the drive shuffle steps I practiced improving and doubt he’s put as much effort like that. God, I can’t be dragged into helping him. My mouth opens before I can stop myself. “If you need me to show you some extra feet moves, like going from a linear to a lateral position, let me know. This helps with the timing.”
“That sounds great. The sooner we can work on this, the better.”
I bite back the acid wanting to claw up my throat. I don’t know how I get myself into these situations. “Sure. I’m busy during the weeknights, but Saturday after practice, I’ll work with you.”
“I knew coming here was the best choice for me. My dad said I wouldn’t get any playtime with you around, but I didn’t care. I can learn a lot with this team.”
“Great. Let’s head to the lockers.” I glance around, and most everyone has gone inside.
We start jogging toward the dugout when pain shoots up my ankle. I crash to the ground with a large thump and grab my ankle, biting back the string of curse words I want to say. Shit, this is the last thing I need right now.
Chapter Thirteen
Shannon
My phone buzzes with a message from Noah the moment I turn off the hairdryer. After today’s workout with Dalton, I had to make a decision. Either take a shower before meeting Noah or try to make it to the cafeteria in time to eat. I chose to smell good. I turn my flat iron on and then sit on the mattress to read the message. My immediate thought is he’s canceling. I wouldn’t be surprised. After the first few tutoring sessions, I’m sure he thinks he bit off more than he can chew. Or perhaps, he doesn’t like being in confined places with me. He has switched our sessions to the library and maintained a safe distance between us. Frustrated, I open his text but let out a gasp as my heart sinks.
Noah: Change of plans. Can you come to the house instead? I twisted my ankle and need to keep it iced and elevated.
Worry works through me. I type a question asking if he’s okay but then delete the words. Of course, he’s not okay. Injuries are not to be taken lightly at any level, but when it comes to senior year, the last thing anyone wants is to be sidelined, especially before the season starts.
Me: I’ll be there. Hope the sprain isn’t too bad.
Noah: I don’t think it is. Just come up to my bedroom.
His bedroom? I close my eyes and pound the butt of my phone against my forehead. This is a bad idea. Keeping my emotions in check is hard enough around the man in public, but doing so in his bedroom? That will be a killer.
Me: Okay.
Noah: I’m sorry. I hope the playoff party downstairs won’t be distracting.
It’s not the noise level I’m worried about.
Me: It’s okay. Elevate and Ice. I’ll see you in a bit.
It isn’t long before I’m standing at his bedroom’s entrance. My chest squeezes at the sight of him laid up with his foot propped on pillows and an ice bag draping his ankle. It wouldn’t be so catastrophic if ankles weren’t such a vital joint to catchers.
“Having fun?” I motion to his setup.
“Hardly.” He shifts to sit straighter, and the ice bag falls to the floor.
“I’ll get it.” I dart to pick it up and place it back on his ankle. I adjust the towel and try not to wince at the bruising taking shape. “Have they done X-rays?”
“Yeah, there isn’t a fracture. Just a light sprain.” The dejection in his voice tugs at my heartstrings. I want to reach over and give him a hug, but somehow think that would be a bad idea.
“Thank goodness this happened early before the season officially started.”
“There’s that.”
I give him a faint smile. I don’t know what else to say. He’ll be nursing this ankle for a while. The entire situation sucks.
“Enough about me.” He points to the door, which I intentionally left open. “Are their shouts going to annoy you?”
Garret’s voice rises above the rest as his team scores. The Dodgers have made it back to the playoffs, so there is quite the crowd tonight. I sigh and go shut the door. When I turn back to face Noah, it’s as if closing the door sucked the air from the room. I swallow the suffocating feeling. I don’t even know where to sit. Before the kiss, before things became awkward between us, I would’ve plopped beside him and not thought twice about it. But the awkwardness I thought we overcome is back, and I hate it.
Noah must sense my hesitation. He pats the empty space next to him. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. I promise.”
I force a smile as disappointment grabs hold of my emotions. What the heck? There’s no way I want him saying anything else. He needs to keep his hands off of me. “I know. I just didn’t want to hurt your ankle.”
“I’m a big boy. I can handle you.”
Don’t I know it.
I step forward, and the ice pack falls to the floor again. He grunts in frustration.
“Every time I make the slightest movement, this stupid thing falls off.”
“We need something to tie it on with.” I shift my gaze toward his desk and scan the bookshelves for anything viable. I smile when I come across the scarf I bought him one year for Christmas. It sits coiled on the top shelf. “Yes! That will work.”
“My old scarf.” His voice holds a hint of question along with reminiscent. I can’t help but wonder if his memory holds the same sentiment as mine. When Braxton announced they were going on a skiing trip their senior year in high school, I was so jealous I couldn’t go with them. But then, I worried Noah would be too cold. I geared my Christmas gift toward his trip.
“You surprised me that Christmas.”
I pause before reaching for the scarf and glance back at Noah. Sincerity or maybe admiration coats his face. Those hazel eyes bore into mine and captivate me. “I didn’t want you to get cold on the mountain.” And I wanted you to think of me whenever you used it. That admission I keep to myself. It’s best not to remind him how far back my crush goes.
“But the gift was thoughtful.”
“It couldn’t be any ordinary scarf, ya know.”
“Oh, I know. The last thing I expected was a scarf bearing Cessna U’s logo on it. I belted out a laugh after opening it, remember?”
“I remember.” I find it funny he still has it. And it’s here at college, no less.
“Like I said, it was a thoughtful gift.”
Warmth coats my insides. I have to force myself to pull away from his stare. I blink a few times before yanking the scarf down. A baseball hat shifts in my haste of grabbing the scarf. I go to straighten it, but the end of a piece of frayed brown strap sticks out from under the hat and grabs my attention. The string is the same as the one I made his bracelet from years ago. I open my mouth to comment but clamp it shut. The last thing I need is to remind him of his dead father. What if it’s not the bracelet? He hasn’t worn it ever since starting college. I doubt he still has it. The coach won’t let th
em wear any type of jewelry. I never asked if it’s against the NCAA rules or if it’s a coach rule. It doesn’t matter either way. It’s just something I made when I was little.
Once his ice pack is secured and I’m settled beside him, I pull out my homework assignment. The back of his hand brushes against mine as he points to the equation he’s explaining. I try to ignore the spark the simple contact creates, I do, but it’s nearly impossible. There’s so much tension in this room. I notice everything about him from every breath he takes to the timbre of his voice as he explains the problem in a way the teacher never does. Even the occasional side glance works its way over me. Little things that build on top of each other become suffocating. I should be mad at him for ditching me after that amazing kiss this past summer, but all I can think about is repeating that performance. Is it wrong that I want to so badly? I feel it is as it makes me weak, but a part of me doesn’t care. Because all I’ve ever wanted is him.
“Does that make sense?”
“Hmm?” I ask absentmindedly. None of me wanting him makes sense.
“The problem. Do you think you understand the concept enough to move on?”
“Oh, yeah, actually, I think I do.” I shake the lustful thoughts out of my head and concentrate on what he explained. It makes sense, sort of. “So, if I do…”
I explain back what I learned. His entire face lights up, and his mouth curves into the first genuine smile I’ve seen since before our kiss. Warmth courses through my veins.
“I think you’ve got it. See”—he nudges the side of my thigh—“you can do this.”
I suck in a deep breath because I really need to implement what he’s teaching me. I want to nail the next test. I turn toward him, our gazes meeting. “You really helped.”
His hazel eyes hold so much intensity I feel it clear to my bones. I lick my lips, which breaks his stare as his gaze dips to my lips. My chest rises and falls, wishing he’d see me as more than my brother’s sister. Like me as more than a friend.
We seem to gravitate unknowingly toward each other until we’re practically touching. There’s a yearning in his eyes suggesting he wants me. That makes me think I’m not alone in my thinking. His lips part, and I think I’m finally going to get the kiss I want. But then, he backs away.
“It’s the least I can do. I’ve owed you for a long time.”
“Why’s that?” My voice cracks as my attempt to hide my disappointment fails. My guy radar must be broken because I really thought his lips would be on mine by now.
“You came to my rescue back in the day.” He points to his scar above his left eye. “Remember?”
A soft chuckle passes my lips. “I only did what most people would’ve done.”
“Not your brother. He just laughed.”
“I remember that day so clearly. Braxton thought he was the modern-day Flash and winged the ball at record speed.” Braxton didn’t realize Noah had turned away right when he threw the ball. By the time Braxton yelled, it was too late. The ball smacked Noah right above the left eye.
“Yeah, I still don’t know what was going through his mind at the time.”
“He laughed until he saw the blood gushing out. I was so mad.” I shake my head, getting mad about the day all over again.
Noah lets out a chuckle. “You marched right over to me and demanded I go to the hospital.”
“But your stubborn ass refused to go. You wouldn’t even tell your mom.” We’re more aware of the dangers of concussions now, but I guarantee, had we known back then what we know today, he still wouldn’t have gone. Noah was adamant about not bothering his mom. She still wasn’t handling his father’s death well. Looking back, I’d say she was clinically depressed. But we were in junior high and clueless. Noah didn’t want to burden her. He said he never wanted to burden anyone. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time. I guess I still don’t.
“Yeah, why would I go to the hospital when I got to play doctor with you?”
I laugh. “Sure, but our version was too close to reality.” Not the fun, sexy kind.
Regardless, after inspecting his cut, I went into doctor mode. I grabbed the first aid kit and pulled out the butterfly bandages. I cleaned and closed the gap as much as I could.
“And you did a fine job taking care of me.” The corners of his mouth tug up. My fingertips trace across his scar, admiring my handiwork. I did do a good job. His scar is barely noticeable.
“That was the day I knew the medical field was not in my future,” I say, my words barely audible.
“But you came through.” Appreciation drips from every syllable as those green eyes bore into mine. They swallow me whole, and I sink farther into his trap.
“I’d do anything for you.” I’m not sure how he takes my words, but I mean them. His gaze dips to my lips again as want darkens his eyes. Oh yeah, he definitely wants me. I am not misinterpreting the signs. But he’s still not acting on it. Why won’t he act on it?
“I’d do the same for you. You know that, right?” His breathing ticks up a beat, synching with mine. He’s so close, our lips practically touching.
Every fiber of my being begs for me to scream, “No, I don’t know what you’d do for me,” but that’s not entirely true. He’s always been there for me. I remain silent and don’t do anything but breathe. This guy. This complicated, frustratingly restrained, beautiful man has me tied in knots. I don’t understand how he acts as if he wants me but keeps me at arm’s length. I should do the safe thing and remove myself from the situation. It’s the only thing that will protect my heart. Instead, I trace along the outline of his hairline and weave my fingers into his hair.
“Shannon, I—” He leans into my palm as his eyes close. For a second, he’s so lost in the sensation I think he’s about to cave and give me what I want, but then, his eyebrows pinch together. A pained expression crosses his face as he tries fending off whatever battle he’s fighting. I want to cry out for him to let his reservations go, but I’m too afraid. I move my fingers instead and tickle the part of his scalp I can reach. He lets out a low, hungry moan. It’s the kind that causes your belly to burn and thighs to ache.
“Noah.” His name comes out as a whisper, an unspoken plea for more.
His eyes flutter open, and his stare locks with mine. Gone is the earlier indecision, replaced by a feral need. My lips part from the hunger displayed. “Fuck it,” he says, and then, his lips engulf mine.
I gasp in shock before sinking into his kiss and giving over to every desire, every dream, I’ve had. My mouth parts, allowing his tongue access. A lifetime of need and want smash together as our tongues dance with each other.
This time, his intoxicated level can’t be blamed.
This time, my own vulnerability isn’t an excuse.
No, this is nothing but pure heat, desire, and lust.
Everything him.
Everything me.
Maybe, I should worry about Braxton barging in here. Or that this is another fleeting moment biding time until Noah realizes what he’s doing, and I’ll end up hurt all over again. But I can’t. Right now, all I can think about is Noah.
He angles his head and deepens the kiss. His fingers slide across my shoulder, down my arm, and land on my waist. Heat surges through me. I weave my fingers through the softness of his hair and draw him closer.
His fingers slip beneath my shirt, and I try not to still as he works his way up my side. A war of emotions skates through me: the sensation of how good he feels and the worry over how he’ll react after touching my scars. I try concentrating on the kiss, but my pulse quickens as his hands skim along my flesh. Will he be as repulsed as my ex-boyfriend? Our mouths continue their tango, and his fingers continue their upward projection until he stops at the underside of my breast. His thumb fans across my skin, which enlightens me and frightens me. He’s too close.
A knock is all the warning we get before the door swings open, and Noah’s hand leaves my body and his lips rip away from mine.
Chapter Fourteen
Noah
The quick rapping serves as the only warning before the door swings open. My heart hammers against my chest as I withdraw from Shannon so fast I about give us whiplash. I steel my insides for the verbal lashing sure to come, but when my gaze lands on the intruder, I don’t find my best friend. Instead, I find Dalton standing there, mouth agape and unblinking. That sense of relief jolting through my system dissolves into annoyance.
“What do you want?” My tone comes across harshly, but it isn’t unwarranted. He should’ve waited for a response before barging inside. Since when do we need codes like a sock on the door, for fuck’s sake. Simple common manners would suffice. Jesus, what am I thinking? I have no right kissing Shannon regardless of who enters.
The surprise in Dalton’s expression turns grizzly as his gaze ping-pongs between Shannon and me. Slowly and methodically, he says, “I came to ask if you guys want any pizza.”
His disapproving glare lands on me and serves to fuel my anger. Shannon and he talk—that’s not a secret—but I thought it was nothing more than some harmless flirting. Yes, I did warn him away from her, and it pisses me off how close they are. Deep down, I never believed anything percolated between them. Was that an oversight? I shelve that thought for later.
“I could eat. Did you want some pizza?” I turn to ask Shannon, but she’s avoiding eye contact from everyone. Fuck. The last thing I want is for her to feel embarrassed. This is my fault. I put her in a compromising position, but she doesn’t need to feel that way. She’s pure perfection sitting next to me with tangled curls and swollen pink lips. The crimson shade coating her cheeks tops off her look and makes me want to dive back in. If circumstances were different, I could make kissing her a lifetime achievement.
“No, I-I ate before coming here.” She scoots off the mattress and shoves her supplies into the backpack. She’s flustered, and I have no one to blame but myself. “I need to go. I have other homework to do.”
Behind the Count: Cessna U Wildcats Book Two Page 9
