Page 45 of Snowballed

“Zoe?”

I hear Noah’s voice, and I turn to see him in the open doorway. He looks at me, at the axe in my hand, and then at the headless chicken.

I see his eyes go blank, then close, and he begins to crumble in slow motion. I drop the axe, dash over, and catch him before he hits the floor. The dead weight of his body staggers me, and we end up lying on the floor. While I’m worried about Noah, being this close to him and feeling his hard body on top of mine is distracting. I’ve imagined having sex with him, and now I’m actually lying under—stop it, Zoe!I can’t fantasize about an unconscious person. Is he okay?

I struggle out from under him and cradle his head in my lap. What should I do now? Calling an ambulance seems like overkill. Maybe I could drag him into the car and take him to the clinic. Seeing Noah suddenly vulnerable throws me off. All my protective instincts are fired up now. I need to take care of him. I push his hair away from his face, the texture is both silky and coarse under my fingertips.

After the longest twenty seconds ever, his eyelashes flutter and he looks up at me.

“What happened?” he asks in a hoarse voice.

“You passed out.” He tries to raise his head, but I put a restraining hand on him. A hand that’s covered in blood but luckily, he can’t see that. Is this going to be like a cartoon where he revives and then faints again when he sees the blood? I wipe my hand against the back of my coveralls.

Noah’s expression is still blurry. “Why did I pass out?”

I decide not to go into all the Carrie-on-prom-night details. Noah’s nightmares tonight are already going to involve an axe, a chicken, and me. “Um. I think it was the sight of blood. You said before that you can’t stand it.”

He closes his eyes. “Yeah. That would do it.”

He seems content to lie here on my lap. I can’t deny how good it feels to have Noah’s warmth against me. Obviously, it’s been way too long since I’ve had male attention. Not that this is attention—it’s more like triage. But now that he’s okay, my hormones are really going into overdrive. His head is in my lap, right next to all my lady parts. A red alert is going off in the lower half of my body:Open pod doors and welcome our sexual overlord.

I swallow. “Um, has this happened to you before?”

“Yeah, just once. At hockey, one of the guys got cut with a skate blade. I went over to help, and next thing I knew, I woke up in the trainer’s room. Lucky I didn’t get a concussion.”

Then his eyes open. “Do I have a concussion this time?”

“No, I caught you before your head hit the ground.” What if I hadn’t? He could have been seriously hurt. My stomach drops as I imagine the possibilities.

“Oh. Thanks.” Noah is usually so driven, but right now he’s dreamy and remote. He seems content to lie with his head in my lap. And I’m content with that too. His warmth is radiating heat into my thighs and my very core.

“Should I get up?” Noah asks as if I’m a medical expert.

“No… maybe it’s better to rest. Until you feel 100%.”Because if you move right now, it will wreck me.Correction: I’m already wrecked.

I look down at Noah’s long lashes brushing against his perfect skin and angular cheekbones. His gorgeousness affects me less now that he’s so familiar. Not that he’s any less handsome, but now I know the multifaceted person under the skin. His intelligence, his impatience, his drive, and the sweetness under his stoic exterior.

But eventually Noah raises himself up on one arm. He must be getting cold.

“I guess I should let you get back to—” He turns to look towards the back of the barn, and I panic.

“Don’t look.” I put my hand on the side of his face to keep him from seeing the chicken carcass again.

He sits up and places his soft hand over mine. His eyes are dark and intense. I feel this pull between us: unspoken emotions made almost tangible. But there’s no way that Noah could feel the same way that I do.

He doesn’t break our gaze, but his face is coming closer and closer. So close that I can feel the warmth of his exhalation. There’s one moment of glorious anticipation—then I feel the touch of his mouth on mine. Feather soft at first and then firm and confident. The real Noah is coming back to life, and right on time.

This kiss is amazing. Skin on skin. Heat on heat. Noah kisses like he knows exactly what I need, pushing and backing away, parting my lips and letting me feel the touch of his tongue but never too much. Or is it perfect because it’s the most anticipated kiss of my entire life?

Finally, he breaks away, and we look at each other again.

“Wow,” I say.

The corners of his mouth turn up.

“I should have knocked you unconscious weeks ago,” I add.

“I don’t think you even liked me weeks ago.” Which is true. I’ve spent a lot of our time together hating him for no real reason.

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