Her soft legs soothe me as I run the palms of my hands up her thighs. She clasps her hands together behind my neck andruns her fingers through the back of my hair. It’s almost like she knows how comforting that simple touch is for me.
“You can talk about her, Noah. It’s okay.” Her head dips down, searching for my eyes, and I can’t look away any longer. Her smile is soft and genuine when she says, “Please.”
I hold on to her hips, not for any reason other than the way touching her apparently keeps me feeling grounded.
“She’s gentle,” I finally say. “I wouldn’t say she's quiet, but she’s definitely softer. And she’s kind.”
“She sounds like you.” She smiles, and I pause at the unexpected emotion in my throat. I’ve only ever been compared to my dad. I’ve been regarded as a hockey player my whole life. Aside from Silas and Maverick, most people look at me and just see my stats or my victories. Honestly, I’m not sure what they see sometimes, but I do know it’s neverme. It’s always Noah the player and never Noah the person. It’s never been about that with Savannah.
I pinch a loose tendril of her hair between my fingers, debating on returning the question. I want to know everything about her. I would greedily listen to every morsel of information that she wants to share with me, and I would do so completely aware of how lucky I am to receive it. At the same time, I want to respect and believe that she’ll share everything she wants with me on her own terms. For now, I’ll keep it light.
“When you're done keeping us a secret, you can meet her.” I kiss the tip of her nose, and pull back but continue to hold her for a moment longer. I trace her face with my gaze, soaking in the softness of her eyes and the knowing smile that undoes me, inch by inch. I brush the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip and soak in the hammering between my ribs. In this moment, I fear I’ve become addicted to her smile.
28
noah
Sixty-nine percent.The messy handwriting stares up at me, mocking me. Sixty-nine. Nowhere near one hundred. I can’t act surprised that I'm officially failing my Astronomy class. Between my other classes, all my extra practices, traveling for away games, and wanting to spend every free moment with Savannah, I haven’t spent any time studying for this class. I’ve been getting by solely based on whatever my professor says in class, and even then, my mind drifts half the time. I take a deep breath while rubbing at the pinching feeling in my chest.
Getting drafted and being told that I’m staying put for at least another year felt like a blessing at the time. I needed to have a fallback plan after seeing how getting cut and being lost in this world affected my dad. He had said,‘Needing a fallback only proves that you’re not one hundred percent in this.’I didn’t argue with him. It was the league’s decision, not mine. I just so happened to benefit from it. Unfortunately, the closer we get to the end of the season, the louder the voice in my head gets, telling me that maybe I’m still here because I’m not cutting it, and I possibly never will.
We’re three weeks away from spring, and yet, it’s the coldest day we’ve had all winter. I hurry across campus, desperate for some warmth, and as I open the door to the coffee shop, I find it. My grumpy ray of eternal sunshine. Savannah scrawls a name on a paper cup, her hair pulled back into two tight braids. Her fluffy white sweater under her apron is a stark contrast to her usual all-black, but I like the way the color pops against her deep, tan skin.
The corners of her lips turn up in a polite smile when she hands the cup to Peter, and I smile to myself at how sweet and gentle she can be.
I like her unruly attitude and her sharp tongue. She’s cross and prickly, but I’ve witnessed the softer side of her. I’ve gotten a glimpse at who Savannah Alvarez is if you are lucky enough to be someone she opens up to.
The line moves forward again, and if I hadn’t been paying attention, I would have missed the slight shift in her demeanor. She recovers quickly, but she’s now wearing a phony smile for the guy standing in front of me.
“Hey.”
“Back at ya.”
Now I understand the facial switch-up.Who talks like that?
“What can I get started for you?”
“I don’t know.” He props a hand and his hip against the counter, giving me a view of his profile. “What’s your go-to coffee order?”
Grande, hot, flat white, with a triple shot of decaf espresso, whole milk, extra foam only on the bottom, two pumps of hazelnut, one pump of caramel syrup, and a sprinkle of cinnamon.
He smiles, and something about his large, angular nose is familiar, but I can’t place him.
“Black coffee,” she lies.
“Badass.” He straightens. “I’ll take two. One for me and one for you.”
Savannah’s forced smile and customer service voice never falter when she says, “How about just one? It’s a little too late for me to be having caffeine.”
That, partnered with the fact that you only drink decaf.
“Well then, how about another time?” When she doesn’t say anything, he continues, “Before or after we get dinner?”
‘I was thinking we could grab dinner sometime and catch up’
Tucker.
“Thank you, but… I don’t think either of those things will be happening.”
