Page 34 of Rookie Season
He looks almost rueful as he says, “Same. Sore from practice earlier.”
It’s going to look really weird if I make an excuse to not go in the hot tub now, so I jerk my head in the direction of the patio. “Guess we’re both headed in the same direction, then.”
“Guess so.”
Just when I thought the painful silences were over for the night.
I follow Noah to the living room, trying (and failing) not to notice the freckle on his right shoulder blade, or the twindivots at the base of his spine. I wish I wasn’t so hyper aware of how painfully attractive he is, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m some kind of masochist—being attracted to a guy that dislikes me after months of not feeling even an inkling of attraction to anyone.
We step out onto the patio, and immediately goosebumps rise on my skin. After such a warm day, it’s chilly outside now, with a bite in the night air.
“Brr.” I wince against the wind as Noah removes the cover from the tub, sheds his towel, then immediately sinks below the steamy water.
Meanwhile I stand there on the patio, clutching my towel to my chest, suddenly feeling unsure.
But then Noah averts his eyes in a way that reminds me of one of those regency romances—all gentlemanly and polite. And immediately, I feel at ease again.
Somehow, I justknowthat I’m safe with him. Maybe he feels safe because he clearly has no interest in me.
I shed my towel and jump into the scalding water, submerging myself as quickly as possible. My skin prickles and zings at the shocking sensation of the heat, and I choose to sit on the other side of the jacuzzi from Noah.
“Better?” he asks, his eyes tentatively making their way to mine.
I nod. “Much better. Fisher’s family really went all out with this place, huh?”
He frowns at me, like he’s trying to read into what I’m saying, but he’s failing to come up with whatever explanation he’s looking for.
“Were you guys tight at USG?” he eventually asks.
I shake my head. “No, not at all. I was a sophomore last year and he was a senior, and USG’s a big school, so wedidn’t have any classes together or many mutual friends. We’d just seen each other around, for the most part.”
“You were a sophomore last year?” Noah’s eyes search mine. “I thought you moved out here after you graduated.”
“I dropped out the day before I drove out here.”
His eyebrows shoot up for a moment, and I know what he must be thinking—dropping out midway through a semester reeks of self-importance, thoughtlessness—but he quickly regains his poker face. “Why?”
“Needed a change.” I swallow thickly. “I was on scholarship, so it's not like my parents paid for a semester that I didn’t finish or anything.”
He nods, and I sense no judgment, which makes me feel a little less nervous.
“What was your major?” he asks, pushing his dark hair back off his forehead.
“Performance Arts. Dance, specifically.” I give him a sheepish little smile. “I had some teaching credits under my belt already, though, which I’m sure helped me get my current job.”
“Do you want to be a dancer?”
His question feels like a slap, causing my breath to hitch.
Since that night, dancing hasn’t been the same for me. Despite how many times I’ve given myself stern talking-tos, steeled myself against those vicious words hissed against my skin last spring, I’ve been overly conscious about my body. How it moves. The messages it might be sending.
The solo contemporary piece I was working on at the beginning of the semester felt stilted and wooden, and my instructor was a little baffled with how much my style had changed. And then, when Tyler transferred into that contemporary class earlier this month and requested me and him bepaired together again for our junior showcase piece, I got the hell out of there and haven’t danced since.
Teaching littles is my new happy place with dance. It’s safe, allowing me to enjoy dance again without worrying about sexualizing myself—something I’d never worried about before that night with Tyler.
“I used to,” I tell Noah. “It was my whole life growing up, I was absolutely obsessed.”
This earns me a rare, lopsided grin from him. “Sounds like me and hockey.”
