"With a body like mines?" he repeated with a grin, resisting the urge to flex his muscles. He worked hard on getting the muscular body he had by getting as healthy as he could while also packing up on the carbs. Spending every day in the gym, bulking up, had been worth it on the ice and with the women.
"Leave it to you to miss my point," she said, swirling her noodles around her fork before she glanced at his plate of food under her lashes. "We'll do a trade for trade."
"A trade for trade," he repeated, grinning, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks from his amusement. Professor Bryant was a funny woman. "Okay, bet."
Noah passed her three of his wings, and she passed him some of her food. When he took a bite of it, he could tell why she liked it so much.
"The next time I come here, I got to get this too," he commented. The food here was really good, and the service was fast. It sucked that it was far from campus, but at least it was close to where some of his friends lived. If he was ever down here visiting one of them, he would stop by and make a trip.
They ate their food in comfortable silence until Professor Bryant surprised him by asking a question. Her focus was no longer on the food in front of her, but instead, her brown eyes were trained on him.
“What problems are you going through?” she asked.
Noah chewed his food and swallowed, slightly confused by her question. “What problems?”
“Last time, you told me you were going through a lot of stuff on the ice. What’s the problem?”
He did tell her that, but Noah didn't think she would have bothered to remember nor ask. Everything with her was psychology and nothing else. He thought that she heard nothing of what he told her that night, but apparently, she had been listening.
"You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said, shrugging. “I’m just asking.”
Noah bit his lip, not necessarily certain if he wanted to talk about this with her. He barely wanted to talk about it with his coach. Speaking about his failures did nothing but make him feel shitty and take his confidence away. Right now, all he had was his confidence and he wasn't quite sure if he was ready to lose that so close to the first game.
But for some reason, under the gaze of her brown eyes, Noah wanted to speak. Maybe he should.
“Someone told me the only reason I’m on the ice is because of my father,” Noah admitted. “I’m used to it, so usually I can ignore it, but this time… I just couldn’t.
“I was sure I was going to start on the right foot before the season started, but right now, I'm bombing. I'm not my best, and I'm not hitting the pucks consistently—" he sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his worries heavy on his shoulders. It was too early for things to start going wrong. He had a few more weeks before he would be back on the ice again in front of the world. He had to be his best on the ice, and right now, he wasn't.
"You sure you aren't psyching yourself out?" she asked, and when he arched a brow, she further explained herself. “That person’s words may have triggered doubts you already have. Words usually only bother us when we think they’re some truth to them, which is probably why it’s still on your mind now. If someone called you fat as an insult, more than likely you would brush it aside, unless you had been before or think you are now. Right now, you’re projecting your doubts, and it’s manifesting on the ice.”
Noah blinked. Wow.
"You're really a psychologist. You got all of that out of that one thing I said."
She snorted with laughter, rolling her eyes at his words. Noah found himself smiling. Her laugh was infectious, and Noah was glad to hear it, knowing it was because of him even if he wasn't sure how he made her laugh. It felt good to be under her gaze not as an annoying fly, or a bug, but as someone she saw. Maybe he had always wanted that.
"It's common sense," she said. "Your game is coming up. It's supposed to be your final year before you get drafted, and you doubt yourself. The mind has a funny way of playing tricks on you. If you tell yourself you can't do something, you won't be able to do it."
"How do I stop it?" he asked.
She leaned her head back against the booth, her brown skin warm in the sunlight that peeked through the window, shining on her face.
"Think of positive thoughts. Don't think of the games as your final chance because you're teetering on edge because of it, constantly telling yourself not to mess up instead of just playing. Play like you usually do. Don't play like it's your last time. Play like you're playing for yourself."
Noah processed her words as he nodded, feeling that heavy weight he had been carrying on his shoulders slowly fade, and suddenly, he realized he had been filled with anxiety. He shrugged his shoulders and grabbed another wing again, flashing Professor Bryant an appreciative smile before he ate again.
Before he knew it, both of their plates were clean, and after she paid for their food, they stepped outside together. Noah walked over to Professor Bryant's beat-up car.
"Don't you say anything," she warned him as she opened her car door.
"What?" Noah asked, smiling. It was hard not to notice how bad this car was, and he really wanted to ask why she was riding around in a bucket, but, clearly, he wasn't the first person to ask this.
"I can see it written all over your face," she said with a shake of her head. "You buy a student food, and he's criticizing your car."
She got into the driver's seat and rolled her car window down. "You don't have to see me off, you know. Actually, I should be the one that's doing that."
"It's fine," Noah said. "Thanks again, Me—"
