CHAPTER THREE
DIEGO
Alara Bradford is so devastatingly beautiful that, every time I glance her way, it feels like there’s a force squeezing my chest. It hurts.
And no matter how hard I try to look away, she pulls me back into her orbit and distracts me in the most infuriating manner.
She’s sitting at the front desk, long brown hair gathered over one shoulder, her attention zeroed in on the computer. Her soft hum is a sweet harmony to the song blasting from the speakers, the radiant smile she throws at every customer so goddamn destabilizing that I feel misplaced frustration course through my veins.
Obviously, Alara isn’t the reason I’m in an execrable mood – she could never be, not after coming up to me this morning with the sweetesthiand apologizing for being rudely sarcastic yesterday. The reason I’m such a grumpy ass today is because I am stuck in a nightmare. My career is at risk, and while I understand that I have to face the consequences of my actions, I still can’t grasphowworking in a gear shop is going to help.
My first couple of hours at Rock Snow have been hell. What the fuck do I care about stocking up the socks or beanies? Whatthe hell are those different skating blades Joe showed me? What the fuck am I supposed to do with the customers asking for advice? I’m a snowboarder, not a salesman.
As if doing this is going to miraculously clean up my image. This is bullshit.
“Morning.” Alara’s feathery voice cuts through my torment, bringing my attention back to her as she welcomes a customer.
I think the main reason why irritation claws at my throat whenever I take a peek at that stunning profile and dazzling smile is because I’m so determined not to be distracted by her. She’s not even trying to grab my attention, yet she fully has it.
She was so kind and patient when she started training me earlier, always checking if I understood everything and giving me the time to process every piece of information she tried to wire into my brain. I’ve been mostly silent, save for the occasional answers whenever she tries to make conversation. Part of me doesn’t understand her friendly behavior after the way I’ve been acting, but there’s also this sense of yearning when she tries to push past my walls of self-preservation.
I don’t like it one bit.
Maybe if I keep being a dickhead, she’ll beg Coach Wilson to get me out of here. But I can’t do that because, for one, Coach will beat my ass for disrespecting not only his rules but a woman too, and, two, he’ll terminate our contract and that’s not something I want.
Snowboarding is my life, my dream, my everything, and I can’t lose the only thing I’ve ever loved.
I really, truly need to get my shit together.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do it, though. Every time I glance at the back of the store where snowboards line up an entire wall, I feel my chest tighten, my eyes watering at the thought of not being able to ride.
“Mierda,” I whisper, when I realize I’ve been staring intospace for too long. I shake my head, going back to stocking up the socks.
I appreciate Joe for giving me easy tasks to do. He knows about my injury, about what Coach wants from me, and he’s been nothing but friendly and understanding.
“Everything all right there?” Alara asks softly when the customer exits the store.
It takes a few beats for me to realize the question is directed at me. “Yeah.”
She shrugs, turning back to the computer. “Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need any. I’m right here.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m perfectly capable of stocking up this aisle on my own.”
“I knew you were competent enough,” she quips, and I don’t know why, but my lips twitch like they want to break into a fucking smile.
It took me a while to understand where Alara’s familiarity was coming from until it struck me like a lightning bolt. Yesterday, when I stepped inside Rock Snow to meet with Joe, I was able to put the pieces together when I saw Gaby tug Alara toward me.
Alara was the sweet, timid girl who used to tutor Gaby in high school. She was often at home, helping my sister with her dyslexia in any capacity she could. We had never interacted much aside for the odd casual greeting when I’d find her sitting at the kitchen table as I got home from practice. She’d often stay over too, to have dinner or hang out with my sister.
I wonder why I never paid attention to her when she was a constant presence at the house. Maybe because my sole focus has always been snowboarding. Besides, she was always so quiet and serious and studious, which made me believe she wasn’t interested in talking to me either.
Okay, focus, man.
I need to stop thinking about this girl.
Kind of hard to do so when she’s directly in my line of vision.
“What’s the matter, superstar? Is the job too tough for you?” Alara props an elbow on the countertop, placing her chin in the palm of her hand. I glance away from her infuriating, beautiful smile.
