“Apologize,” Noah states.
“I’m so-sorry, sir.”
Noah jerks his head toward me. I really didn’t think he noticed me until now. “To her, you asshole.”
His eyes widen when he realizes his mistake. “Yes, right. I-I’m so so-sorry, ma’am,” he stammers, clutching his camera to his chest, probably cursing the moment he decided tofollow me.
Satisfied, Noah shirks him away. “Now, leave.”
The reporter doesn’t have to be told twice. He runs away with his tail between his legs, without a backward glance. Within seconds, his jeep is zooming past us, leaving behind a thin curtain of suspended snow.
Unfisting his hands and sliding them in his hoodie, he turns to me. “You alright?”
His tall frame has me tilting my chin up, releasing my breath, which I didn’t realize I was holding. “Yeah, I guess.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it at the last second. “Wait here, I’ll bring the car around.”
Still reeling from the aftermath of the incident, all I can do is nod.
Noah pulls up close to me and gets out of the car to open the passenger door for me. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say, making my way toward the vehicle.
“Of course, I do,” he mumbles in a low voice, his brows furrowing as he holds out his hand to me.
Surprised, I place my hand in his, and a zap of electricity travels through my body. The starksize difference in our hands would’ve made me giggle if it were any other day. But after the run-in with that reporter, I can’t find it in me to feel a positive emotion.
As I lift myself to get in the car, I catch Noah staring at where we are joined. I wonder what he’s thinking. He pulls back his hand just as quickly, and I instantly miss the heat.
Don’t think that, Andie. He’s your brother’s best friend.
I try to remind myself of it as he jogs his way to the driver’s side. Opening the car door, he smoothly slides inside. We’re soon on the mostly empty road, the car enveloped in utter silence save for the sounds of our breathing.
My head is pressed against the foggy glass of the window, and I feel my heart finally calm down, when Noah’s voice filters into my ears. “Are you alright?”
Turning to him, I catch him glancing at me before focusing back on the road. “I’m fine.”
“How often does this happen?” he asks. I hesitate to answer. It’s not like he can help it. He might even tell Ezra about it, which is the absolute last thing I want.
When I don’t answer, he halts at a red light andtwists in his seat to look at me. “How often, Andie?” He repeats, this time his tone holds a command to it, compelling me to answer.
“It’s been happening for years now. Since Ezra joined the NHL and has become one of the youngest captains in the league, it’s gotten worse,” I reveal with a sigh. I shouldn’t, but I feel a bit better after sharing it with someone.
His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Have you told anybody?”
“Nope.”
His eyes flare at my response, as he grits out, “Not even Ezra?”I shake my head in denial. “Why?” he asks, astonished at my choice.
I shrug, choosing not to explain myself and look outside the car.
“Fuck,” his voice echoes in the silence of the car. When I think he’ll demand an answer, he surprises me by saying, “Are you hungry?”
“What?”
“Are you hungry?” he repeats.
“Won’t you ask me why I told nobody?” I challenge, trying to get a read on his intentions.
This time, it’s Noah who shrugs. “You would’ve told me if you wanted to. If you don’t want to, I won’t force you.”