Icouldn’t sit still. My left leg bounced and my right foot tingled and my heart raced faster than the time I challenged myself to sprint upstairs without breathing. I crossed my legs, then uncrossed, and then pulled my knees up to my chest.
Mr. Silent and Sexy wasn’t helping either. He hadn’t said a word since we’d gotten in the truck. My face flushed red, and my mouth seemed too dry. I wanted a huge sip of—
“Shit!”
Hayden jerked the truck to the right, his gaze slicing to me. “What? What is it?”
“I left my water bottle back in my car. What if someone steals it? It has my stickers on it, and that collection might be my pride and joy. You have a child, I have my stickers. You get it.”
His jaw twitched. Typical Hayden. I’d seen that action a million and a half times since I’d known him. Call it a point of pride, getting under his skin.
“I thought I was gonna hit something. Just settle down.Have some of my water.” He picked up his large Hawkeye Baseball water bottle and handed it to me. Our fingers brushed when I grabbed it, and my body temperature spiked like a fever.
I’d played softball my whole life. As a kid, in college, and now I was about to interview for the varsity head coach position at the high school where I’d taught for four years. I’d shared thousands of water bottles. So many that it was gross. Yet the thought of putting my mouth where his lips had touched made me giddy and silly and warm. “Can I crack a window?”
“Or we could turn the heat down. Char,” he said, his deep voice all gravelly. “Are you alright? You’re acting strange… r than normal.”
“I don’t know. I could’ve died, and now I’m stuck in a car with—” I clamped a hand over my mouth, the flames of embarrassment clawing up my throat.Save the situation!“With a wedgie. Yeah, that’s it. I’m uncomfortable.”
Hayden cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable too. The nice thing about having him crush my fantasy three years ago was that I stopped caring what he thought. No moreOh, will Hayden notice me in this?orDoes this shirt make my boobs look like Hayden would check me out?
He had made it real clear he’d never view me that way. How was a girl supposed to move on from the most embarrassing night of her life when he was always around?
“Ah, well, do what you need to do.”
“I will, thanks.”Jeez.That was close.
I pretended to adjust my pants, which was just the cherry on top of the morning from hell. First, my best friend atwork texted me saying how she heard the coaches at school talking shit about me. They felt I was too young and inexperienced to run an entire program. She meant well, she really did, but that’s not the crap I needed to hear before my interview. Secondly, I almost died in the Mazda Igloo. Third, I was stuck sitting next to Hayden Porter, the guy I have loved my whole life and who thinks of me as a foolish kid sister. His words, not mine.
My eye roll made my head pound, again.
“You really should see a doctor. I’m sure the resort will have one.”
His voice broke through my trip down bad-memory lane. I didn’t spare him a glance as I replied, “I have some medicine. That’ll help.”
“I’ll feel better if you get checked for a concussion.” He stared at me for a beat. “You already have a bruise forming and blood on your face.”
I rubbed my forehead and winced at the small lump. “When I wanted an excuse to not ski, this wasn’t on my list.”
“Dare I ask what was on your list?”
“Lost a contact. Jammed a toe. Or a finger. Forgot how to walk. Have a weird rash. The usual.”
He puffed out a breath that was almost like a laugh. God, why did the grumpy, silent ones have to be my type? When did that even become a thing for me?
Oh. Right.
When I was twelve and Hayden was sixteen. My brother was the chatterbox, the outgoing, annoying pain in the ass, while Hayden was strong, silent, and careful. Earning a smile from him felt like a million dollars. Even back then,when he was the hotshot shortstop for the Hawkeye baseball team, he led the team by example. By small gestures, not loud, shiny ones. It was how he never drank and was always the designated driver for the other players or how he cleaned up the dugout after every game. It’s why he was such a good assistant college coach now.
What are you doing, ding-dong?I was supposed to not think of all the reasons why I used to have feelings for Hayden. Unreciprocated ones at that. My brain and my heart and my vagina had a team meeting and agreed, wholeheartedly, to passively ignore him. Or to do the casual small talk likeOh, how’s your daughter? You like the weather? What’s your favorite Christmas movie?
It was safer and less embarrassing to keep it shallow. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. God, what a terrible phrase. My third-grade teacher repeated that every day, and now it was tattooed on my memory card no matter how much I wished it away. The phrase did not apply to my feelings about Hayden. Not even a little bit. I scooted closer to the door, like adding two extra inches between us would settle me down.
“So,” he said, his grumbly voice hitting me right in the soul, “what are you going to do if everyone else skis?”
“Great question. I have ideas. There’s a hot tub and a nail salon. Plus I have my e-reader. I never leave home without it, and I can read by the fire all day. I downloaded three new books, all with serial killers, obviously, and I can do that while you all frolic on your skis.”
“Not sure I’d call it frolicking.”
