“What?” I say, turning toward him.
He shakes his head at me, holding up his watch. I look at it twice, realizing he’s right. I was in such a rush that we are early, and I didn’t even realize it.
“I hate you,” I state, slowing my pace.
“I’m sure,” Noah replies, a stupid grin on his face.
For someone who was so nice to me yesterday, he must be feeling extra feisty today. I’m not sure if it was his early morning run or his abundant alone time in the shower, but he’s in a particularly good mood and remaining so at my expense.
When we get a block away from our regular coffee shop, Noah grabs my arm, leading me around a different corner.
“Where are you going?” I ask, peeling his fingers off of me.
“There’s a café up the street that sells freshly pressed juices. Thought you would be interested,” he replies, looking sincere.
And his thoughtfulness takes my breath away. I stop walking for a second, taking in his consideration.
“Oh, thanks,” I reply, not sure what else to say.
I want to be sassy, but it is really nice of him.
And that makes it even worse because I wanted to yell at him the whole way to school this morning.
But then he had to just go and start being nice by making my lunch and stopping to get me juice.
Picture him shirtless.
Statistics
We get into Statistics early, which is a small miracle, and I happily sip on my coffee while Noah drinks one of the juices we bought. He ordered an assortment, saying that we should test them out to see which ones are the best.
“I like this pink one,” he says. “It’s kind of spicy.”
I take the bottle from him, reading the ingredients. “Apple, ginger, beet, and pear.” I take a sip, enjoying the kick from the ginger. “It is nice.”
“So, are you a fan of the place?” he asks, watching as I try the green juice.
“Yeah, I am. Mine’s really good too. Apple, cucumber, kale, and celery. It’s crisp.”
“I swear, you’re the healthiest person I’ve ever met.” Noah laughs, settling into his seat.
Mr. Johnson walks into the classroom, happy as usual. I put the cap on my juice, setting it under my desk.
I pay attention as he scrawls across the board, moving through the last part of our chapter, which is apparently supposed to be the missing piece that will allow us to complete our single-question assignment. He emphasizes that, after today, we’ll be able to crack our problem.
Yeah, right.
For some reason, his grin and humor do nothing but irritate me today, and I struggle to stay focused and follow along, my mind thinking back to this morning.
Because, holy shit, I did not expect that from Noah.
I peek over at him in the desk next to me. He pushes his hand back through his chestnut hair, leaning back in his chair. He looks calm and focused. He is paying attention, but not too much attention. Every once in a while, he writes down a note or doodles, but generally, he’s just listening.
He glances over at me, and I whip my head back toward the front of the class, putting my elbow on my desk and my hand up by my face, trying to hide. Because Noah’s white shirt was pulling across his chest, and when he moved his arm, all I could do was picture him shirtless.
I close my eyes, trying to wash away the memory of Noah almost naked. The way that his hard body was towering over me made me feel breathless, and I know that’s wrong. And I feel horrible for thinking about him in that way. I mean, it’s Noah.
It’s not like I like him.
It’s not like I want him. I was just … appreciating his body.
Yes, that’s what it was. It took me by surprise, and of course, it’s a natural instinct to look.
It’s natural.
I push out a breath, trying to get him out of my mind. I decide to think about Harry instead. I’ve seen him shirtless, and I should focus on that. I should focus on the way it feels when his body is pressed against mine. How I want more with him. How he makes me feel so comfortable.
The bell goes off, waking me from my thoughts. I look around, not believing that class is actually over.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, looking down at my page, seeing it empty. I took not. One. Single. Note.
I’m fucked.
“All right there?” Noah asks, tilting his head to one side.
“Not really,” I whine, knowing that when it comes to Statistics, I’m doomed.
I stand up, throwing my notebook in my bag, and drain my coffee. Noah is standing there, staring at me, and I see his lips start to move.
When they form words, I take in his lips, his strong jawline, and I notice, in all the commotion this morning, that he must have forgotten to shave. His creamy skin is highlighted by a five o’clock shadow, and it makes him look even older than he is.
“… if you want to join?” Noah seems to be finishing a sentence. “Mallory?”
I flick my gaze up to his eyes. I realize that the entire time he was talking, all I heard was the end of it. My eyes go wide. What is happening to me?
“Mmhmm,” I say, nodding vigorously. “I most definitely do.” I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to, but I don’t want him to think I wasn’t paying attention or that I was just staring at his lips and not actually listening.
My chest is pounding, possibly because all I can smell is Noah’s shower gel. My mind flashes to seeing his towel drop, and I turn away from him, practically running out of class.
I rush to my locker, searching for my Latin book because I need to get to Latin so I can talk to Mohammad. But I don’t even know if I can talk to Mohammad about this. I think I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t talk to someone though.
Ugh. Helen was right; I really need to be friends with a girl.
“I’ll meet you on the field at lunch then, yeah? Let Mohammad know,” Noah says, stopping for just a second at my locker.
I nod at him, slamming my locker shut.
“Sure,” I reply, giving him an affirmative smile. What? Is that what I agreed to—going down to the field at lunch? But why am I bringing Mohammad?
Wait, does that mean I wanted to meet Noah on the field—alone?
I’m not sure what is happening to me.
I saw a naked butt.
Latin
I rush to Latin, realizing I’m one of the first ones there, and I sit, waiting patiently until Mohammad arrives. My whole body floods with relief when I see his pearly smile.
“Thank goodness,” I whisper, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him closer to me.
“What’s up with you?”
I’m sure I look funny, hunched over and whispering to him, but I don’t have a choice. I have to talk to him, and we have to be quiet about it.
I think about the millions of things I want to tell him.
Finally, I just blurt out, “I saw a naked butt.”
He looks at me sideways, narrowing one eye. “What am I supposed to do with that information?”
I want to scream that I saw Noah naked! That I saw his chest, his arms, his back. And his butt. Yes, his naked butt. But I don’t know what good it will do. It will just make things more confusing. It will open up new questions.
Why do I care?
Why does it have me in such a frenzy?
Why, why, why?
I take a deep breath, trying to slow down my heart rate. I have to pull it together.
“I don’t know,” I admit, letting out a nervous laugh, not sure how to salvage the conversation. “Mohammad, can we pretend I never said that and just start our conversation over?”
Mohammad looks at me, perplexed, but he nods in agreement.
“Awesome.”
“On a different note,” he says, “my parents have gone out of town.”
I sit up straighter, trying to act more normal. It’s just a normal day. Normal old Latin class. Me and Mohammad, talking and gossiping.
; “Really? Where did they go?”
I realize I don’t actually know that much about Mohammad’s family. Well, besides the fact that his mom is apparently a force to be reckoned.
“My dad has extended family in Mumbai, and they went to visit,” he replies.
“Whoa, that’s really cool,” I say, thinking about India. “Do you wish you could have gone with them?”
“Definitely not,” he says, wrinkling his nose at me. “It’s just a bunch of loud second cousins and twice-removed aunts who all want to have a say in your life. I’m glad they went without me.”
I let out a laugh at his description. “I think everyone feels that way about family sometimes. My dad’s side of the family is like that too. I hardly ever see them because they’re spread out everywhere, but he’s always wanting us to visit this brother or that sister.”
Mohammad nods. “Most of my aunts and uncles live here, so my parents don’t travel there often, but I guess they were itching to visit. They even took my little sisters out of school to travel with them.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Three, unfortunately,” Mohammad says, rolling his eyes.
“Aww,” I coo, bringing my hand up to my chest. With Mohammad’s good looks, I can’t imagine them being anything other than beautiful.
“Don’t get too excited. They might look like little angels, but they’re terrors,” Mohammad states, remaining serious. “They bite me and eat all the food. They pull my hair and make me sit while they do my makeup.”
Mohammad’s eyes go wide at the memory. I laugh at his expression.
“That’s the thing about family; you can love and hate them at exactly the same time.”
“Do you miss home?” he asks seriously.
“Yeah. I actually just called my parents last night. I really miss my dad. I got to talk to him and my mom. I felt emotional about it,” I tell him. I think back to my conversation with my parents. “I apologized for not calling sooner and told them about how school was going, about the Williams, and that I would likely fail my three weeks of Statistics.”
Mohammad laughs at my statement, knowing just how much I hate the course.
“Anyway, my dad just laughed and said, ‘As long as you tried.’ ” I shake my head, realizing how great my parents are.
“You’re lucky. Mum would have my head on a platter.” He grins at me. “I think we need to do something fun this weekend. Noah has a football match tomorrow. Are you coming?”
“Speaking of Noah,” I say, remembering his words in the hallway, “he wants us to meet him on the field for lunch.”
Mohammad nods, like he already knows. “It’s our tradition. Every Friday before a match, Harry and I eat lunch by the field and watch Noah practice.”
I smile, realizing that Noah was including me in that. “I can’t wait.”
He’s taunting me?
Lunch
“Will we get in trouble for skipping lunch?” I ask Mohammad, following him outside to the practice field and noticing that he packed his lunch today.
“Nah,” he says, waving off my question. “No one ever comes out here during the school day, apart from during practice. We’ve been doing this for, well, as long as Noah has played football.”
We take a seat at the edge of the field, opening up our lunch bags. Mohammad pulls out a container of noodles, loaded down with chicken and vegetables, along with a bag of chips, a brownie, and a soda.
I peek in my bag, not finding the usual sandwich, apple, and chips. There’s a sandwich, but it’s cut in fourths, and there are vegetables marinated in what looks like a pesto sauce. I pull out a bag of mini carrots and then a plastic container. To my surprise, when I open it, I find cut-up apple slices with almond butter on top. My mouth practically drools at the spread.
Mohammad is shoveling in his first bite of food when I hear footsteps coming toward us, and I turn around to find Noah. He’s changed into the T-shirt he got out of my bag last night and a pair of athletic shorts. His water bottle and sack lunch is in one hand, a soccer ball in the other.
“Hey!” Mohammad says to him.
“Hey,” Noah replies, walking up to us. He drops his lunch and water bottle before kicking the ball into the middle of the field.
“You excited for tomorrow?” Mohammad asks, watching the ball slow to a stop.
“Yeah,” Noah replies with a grin, taking a seat next to us. “It’s going to be a tough match. Westminster has a great team.”
I look over at Noah, noticing how different we look in the same shirt. It fits snuggly across his broad chest before tapering at his waist while it was just baggy on me.
When he catches my eyes lingering on him, I see his lips pull at the corner. I want to blush, realizing I’ve been caught looking at Noah for too long for the second time today, but I push the thought from my mind.
“I wonder if I’ll end up helping out with your match,” I state, taking a bite of carrot. “I’m not really sure who to talk to about it. I guess one of the coaches?”
“Coach Carson is always complaining about not having enough volunteers,” Noah comments, biting into his sandwich. “You should talk to him first.”
“All right,” I reply, giving him a nod. “What does he normally need help with?”
“He’ll probably have you hand out programs or give water to the players,” Mohammad says, rolling his eyes. “Coach Carson has always wanted a cheer team. I’m sure the moment he sees you and Olivia walk into his office, things like doing team laundry or putting out practice cones will slip his mind.”
I tilt my head to the side, narrowing my eyes at him.
Noah lets out an easy laugh, taking in Mohammad’s expression.
“He’s just sour about it because that’s what he had to do last time he got detention,” Noah says.
“Not detention,” Mohammad corrects. “It was the only way I could avoid detention. I had to beg the headmaster not to call home. He only agreed to it if I volunteered instead.”
“Really?” I laugh, realizing Mohammad must actually be terrified of his mother.
Mohammad nods at me, his mouth full of food again.
“All right,” Noah says, wiping his hands against his shorts and crunching up his now-empty lunch bag. “Mohammad, you’ll keep the time?”
“You got it,” Mohammad replies, getting his phone out of his pocket.
There are cones set up on the field, and I watch Noah start with the ball at one end, weaving his way through them with ease to the other. After each set, Mohammad resets the timer, keeping track.
“Noah looks really good,” I comment.
Mohammad’s eyes are glued on Noah, but he replies with, “He is. He has always been good at football.”
“Is there anything Noah isn’t good at?” I ask, watching him dribble the ball back up the field.
Mohammad laughs. “Noah’s either amazing at something or he’s complete shit. He’s super serious about the classes he likes, but he tends to like what comes easy to him. And football too. He works hard at it.”
“And the things he isn’t good at?” I say, glancing down to the timer. The numbers across the display are all similar, and I wonder if Noah will be happy about them.
“He’s shit at History,” Mohammad says, thinking. “And if he gets focused on something, like a project or practice, he’ll completely forget the time. He gets upset if you mess up his routine, but he doesn’t really have one.”
“I wonder if that’s why he hated me so much when I first got here. I was messing up his routine.”
“Probably,” he admits. “He is terrible with change, especially if he hasn’t had time to think about it. It takes him forever to make a decision.”
“So, what’s your favorite course?”
Mohammad presses the timer again, glancing at me, his lips pulling into a grin. “None of them.”
“Not an option,” I say, shaking my head.
“School is boring. I’m not su
re I’m good at any of it.”
“School isn’t for everyone,” I say. I can tell the conversation is bringing him down. “You know, I think you’d do really good in business.”
“Really?” he asks, his mood brightening.
“Yeah. You’re a people person. You’re always in the loop, and you seem to have people figured out from the moment you meet them.”
“I do, don’t I?” He grins.
“See, look at you. You’d fit right in at developing relationships or managing them. I bet you’d be a great matchmaker.”
“I’m not sure about that one,” he says, scrunching up his nose. “Too much drama in relationships.”
“How was I?” Noah asks, jogging up to us, breathing heavily. I watch his chest rise and fall.
“Pretty good,” Mohammad says, checking his phone. “Better than last week, for sure.”
Noah nods, glancing at me. I’m taking a bite of my apple and almond butter when he pulls off his shirt. I feel my mouth fall open, but I instantly catch it, pulling my jaw closed. Noah’s eyes are sparkling, and I feel my own eyes betray me when they slide down his naked chest.
“Seems like you were lying this morning,” Noah comments, tossing his shirt onto the grass in front of us, running back out onto the field.
I narrow my eyes in at him. Because what a little weasel. I want to run after him and wipe that smug look off his face.
“Why is he always so infuriating?!” I huff out to Mohammad, who’s looking at me, entertained.
He doesn’t answer my question, asking one of his own instead. “What happened this morning?”
“Nothing,” I state, not wanting to get into it. It’s what I tried to tell him in Latin but decided against. “He’s just being extra cocky today.”
“Mallory,” Mohammad presses, obviously not believing me.
He pointedly looks at me, and I can tell he isn’t going to give this one up.
“I saw him naked,” I state, rolling my eyes.
“What?!” Mohammad shouts, grabbing Noah’s attention.
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