Page 58 of Snowballed

“You’re going to expect me to build houses for you. Or even dance like that.” He makes a jerky motion with his arm which is surprisingly birdlike. Noah is very physically gifted, which makes me think about sex again.

“Well, it’s not really a house. More like a bed. But having seen you try to fix the milking stool, I wouldn’t expect you to build me anything sturdier than a snowman.” It feels more comfortable to drop back into our joking ways than to suddenly turn all mushy—no matter how attracted I feel. “But can you even expand your pupils like the bowerbird did?”

Noah leans his face closer to me. So close, he could kiss me, but instead he waggles his eyebrows.

“Am I doing it?” he asks.

I look into his dark brown eyes. His darker pupils are wide in the dim light, and I can see myself reflected. I’d rather see into Noah’s mind and figure out how he’s feeling.

“Nothing happening,” I say.

“I could do the other thing.” Noah’s trying not to smile.

“What other thing? Dancing with blueberries in your mouth?”

“No. I could butt your chest with my head,” he offers with a grin.

Weirdly, I would be okay with that. Until this very moment, I had no idea if Noah was even aware I have a body. I’ve never caught him checking out me—or any woman.

“You’re funny,” I say.

“Also hot,” he says.

I’m going to agree with that, but he doesn’t mean sexy-hot. He lifts the blanket from his lap and pulls off his charcoal V-neck sweater. The sweater lifts his gray T-shirt, and there’s a flash of those epic washboard abs and his indented navel.

Seriously? I’m getting turned on by Noah’s belly button. I want to stick my tongue in it.

“That’s better.” He gets back under the blanket with me. “Fire up the animal porn.”

I giggle. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were a grouch.”

Noah turns to me with a serious expression. “I was unhappy when I got here.”

“Really?” I’m not surprised though, that was my impression too. I slip my arm through his, in case he’s feeling unhappy remembering.

“Yeah. But things are better now. I’m not so anxious anymore.”

“What would you have to be anxious about?” Noah already has it all—looks, talent, brains, and character.

His forehead creases. “It’s the way I’ve always been. When I was twelve, I used to throw up before games.”

“Wow, really?” It’s really hard to imagine the cool and controlled Noah as a nervous little boy.

“My mother finally took me to see someone because I was so stressed about hockey,” he says.

“But you’re not like that anymore,” I point out.

“No. I’ve got the hockey part under control. But my life has been ritualized around hockey: nutrition, exercise, mental prep, game breakdown. Until this year.”

“Nutrition? Are we not feeding you right?” I ask.

Noah finally smiles again. “The food is great here. Seriously, I’m enjoying all my meals for the first time in years.”

I snuggle into his shoulder. “I’m so glad.”

Of course, I was looking forward to getting physical with Noah, but what just happened is even better. He trusts me enough to share intimate parts of his past with me. Somehow this allays my relationship fears better than an intense make-out session could have.

Still, I’m not averse to a little making out.

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