Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(22)

On my way to the bathroom, I slam into a firm body, confirming how running into people is becoming my specialty. A hand grabs my arm and steadies me. My eyes land on Noah’s face, his deep blue eyes piercing mine. His hand remains on my arm while goosebumps break out across my skin.

I sigh at the contact, not liking these uncontrollable physiological responses. “I’m so sorry, I should watch where I am going.” First Sophie, now him.

He pulls down his headphones. “No problem. These halls are pretty tight.” His voice rumbles. Why can’t he have a nasally voice that throws me off, something to take away part of his sex appeal? I doubt it’s too much to ask.

My eyes have a mind of their own, taking a quick peek at his body because I lack self-control. His race suit fits snugly against him, emphasizing his muscular form, the vibrant red color flattering his tan skin. My eyes close in a useless effort to try to rid the image of him. I wish Santi had an unattractive teammate because I’d describe this experience as the worst kind of punishment.

“Have to get used to how busy it is around here on race days. What are you up to in there? You always seem quiet.” I point my head in the direction of his door.

He taps his headphones. “I listen to music and get in the mental state for racing. Give myself a pep talk and work out.”

“You need a pep talk? I can’t believe it. I thought the fantastic Noah Slade could do no wrong, with no feat too scary.” I look up at the ceiling wistfully as I place a hand on my heart.

His smirk falls, but he recovers quickly. “Even the best need to get motivated. We drive cars at super speeds, so it can still be intimidating as fuck.”

His arm grabs mine again and pulls me toward the wall. An attendant runs by, hands full of car parts and bags.

“Gotta be careful around here. You’re small enough to be run over by a cart or something.”

I look up into Noah’s eyes and immediately regret it. His shade of blue easily becomes my favorite, reminding me of Barcelona’s coastal waters.

“Good to know. I’ll leave you to it then.” My hand taps on his headphones before I turn toward Santi’s room. I need distance from him, anything to break his arm away from mine.

“Wait.” A calloused hand strokes my arm again, heating my skin where his touch lingers. Noah’s lack of personal space frustrates me. His touchiness overwhelms me and overrides my brain, making me crave him. My body refuses to follow my brain’s memo about Noah being bad news.

“Uh…” I can’t form logical sentences while his hand lingers on my arm.

Not sure where this is going, a feeling of uneasiness flows through me.

Noah speaks up. “Why do you spend time with your brother before races? It’s distracting.”

I blink once, twice. And one more time for good measure. Okay then, who died and made you king?

His fingers trace patterns on my skin like he didn’t say something rude. I doubt he grasps how his words come across to others. Why would he when he always gets what he wants anyway, and is never told the words no or please. Entitled prick.

Dislike rolls through me at the response my body has toward him, the way my heartbeat picks up at his touch, and how it ignites something inside of me. I stare at his hands and will them away. He has strong hands that look large enough to dominate. Ones I want to feel on me, touching and squeezing.

My physical restraint around him is commendable. I deserve my own trophy and champagne shower, especially when his intoxicating clean scent confuses me. He makes it challenging to think about anything but him.

“It’s not disturbing to my brother and that’s who matters to me. No offense.” My breathy voice doesn’t pack the punch I intend. I blame Noah’s stupid hands for disrupting my brain cells, making me unable to form coherent sentences.

“I can hear you through the walls sometimes, your laughs included. Must be fun in there.”

My body tenses at his admission. He sounds sincere. Maybe even wistful? I can’t tell if I am imagining things, guessing emotions that could be wrong.

“I’ll be sure to keep my voice down and not laugh too much. Don’t want to disturb the Champ and all.” Sarcasm packs a blow this time around. High five to myself.

I confidently gaze into Noah’s eyes again as he lets out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

A little too late for that.

My gaze remains on his face, silently encouraging him to continue. I can wait for apologies.

“I’m not used to you or Santi being here. It’s usually quiet on race days. My old teammate was like me; he typically listened to music and worked out. He took naps too. I don’t mean to make you feel bad about it so please don’t take it the wrong way.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

He comes across genuine at least. His hand runs through his hair, making the dark strands stick up everywhere. A typical look for him. I smile at his state of disarray, aware I’ve found Noah’s nervous tick. Who would have guessed the hotshot had one?

“It’s okay. I don’t want to be distracting for anyone either. I’ll keep it down.” I offer a sincere smile.

“All right, thanks.” He turns toward his door.

“Noah,” His name rolls off my tongue, prompting him to look over his shoulder. “Good luck today.”