Chapter 3
Jamie couldn’t hold back anymore and blurted out:
“It’s true, okay? But why are you throwing away the presents? They’re expensive—and your friends gave them to you with good intentions!”
Some of those gifts even had handwritten Christmas cards inside.
For Jamie, who’d never received a single present that year, his actions made no sense.
“Because I don’t need them. But I can’t exactly reject them to their faces, can I?”
He took a few steps closer while she frowned at him.
Then, out of nowhere, he asked coldly:
“So, what do you want me to do to keep your mouth shut?”
His blue eyes glinted with a chill.
“Well? Say it, Jamie.”
“I told you—I’m not going to tell anyone.”
He laughed softly, amused.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Just wondering if you really plan to waste an opportunity like this.”
He stepped even closer.
Jamie froze as he looked down at her, his voice steady and deliberate.
“You know, those presents—they weren’t really for me. They were bribes. For the future heir of the Christensen family.”
“…”
“Think about it. How many of those gifts do you think were actually bought by the kids themselves?”
Finally, she started to understand why he’d thrown them all away.
“Right… the parents probably picked them out, not the kids.”
Even so, Noah kept staring at her. His eyes were still cool, but there was a flicker of something uncertain—like someone facing a problem he couldn’t solve.
And that’s when Jamie realized: maybe the only way to ease his tension was to ask for something.
She hesitated, then her gaze landed on a shopping bag he hadn’t thrown away yet.
“…Then give me that one.”
He looked startled for a moment—then burst out laughing.
Finally, he picked up the bag, walked over, and handed it to her.
Inside was a soft, luxurious cashmere blanket.
“Thanks. I’ll use it well.”
Clutching the bag, Jamie spun around and hurried off.
She couldn’t shake the worry that he might bother her later.
But surprisingly, after that day, Noah acted as if nothing had happened.
He never mentioned it, never teased her—just ignored her, the same as before.
Not long after, her father’s used-car business ran into financial trouble.
They could no longer afford the expensive private school tuition, so Jamie transferred to a nearby public middle school.
And with that, her connection with Noah seemed to end completely.
Only years later did she learn the truth:
Christmas Day—the day she saw him throw everything away—was actually the anniversary of his mother’s death.
She couldn’t imagine how he must’ve felt that day—arms full of glittering gifts while the memory of his mother’s death loomed over him.
He’d had to pretend to be fine in front of everyone.
Jamie suddenly felt a pang of sympathy.
But then she laughed bitterly at herself.
“Who am I to pity him?”
She glanced out the library window again.
The football field was now completely empty.
A quick check of her phone—5:20 p.m.
“Oh no, I’m going to be late!”
She grabbed her things and dashed out.
***
The Locker Room
When Jamie reached the football team’s locker room, she hesitated at the door.
The strong smell of sweat hit her nose—and just then, someone popped their head out of nowhere.
“Boo!”
“Ah! You scared me!”
Laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world stood Augustine, one of the defensive players—massive, over 100 kilograms, and notorious for bullying weaker students.
“What are you doing here, little chopstick?”
“None of your business. Leave me alone.”
“Oh, come on. Why are you lurking outside the boys’ locker room, huh?”
He grinned wide, showing his unnaturally white teeth, and stepped closer. Jamie’s heart pounded.
“Noah asked me to come.”
It was the only thing she could think to say—and thankfully, it worked. Augustine stopped in his tracks.
“He did? Why?”
“I don’t know. If you don’t believe me, go ask him yourself.”
He squinted suspiciously, then waved her off with a mocking smirk. Still glaring, he finally stepped aside.
When she entered, the place was empty. Practice must’ve ended a while ago.
“He called me here… so where is he?”
The air smelled faintly of new paint—maybe the locker room had been recently renovated.
As she walked past the lockers, reading the engraved nameplates, she turned the corner—
and froze.
A perfectly sculpted upper body filled her vision.
Jamie’s breath caught.
She stood frozen, unable to look away.
Broad shoulders, a thick neck, a sharply defined back—muscles running like carved rivers down his spine.
A towel hung loosely around his waist, and his legs looked impossibly long.
It was Noah.
Sensing her presence, he casually slung another towel over his shoulder and turned toward her.
Jamie gasped and spun around, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Sorry!”
How many times had she apologized to him today?
He chuckled softly, clearly amused by her panic.
“Not bad. That reaction was pretty natural.”
“I didn’t peek on purpose! Just—just tell me when you’re dressed!”
“You sure? I said to meet me in front of the locker room, not inside.”
His footsteps approached.
She could feel the warmth radiating from his freshly showered skin behind her neck.
“Why are you coming closer—”
Her fists clenched. Just then, a locker door creaked open in front of her.
She peeked through her lashes—he was just pulling a deodorant can from the shelf.
“This brand smells good.”
He tossed it lightly in the air, catching it again with a grin.
Jamie sighed, half relieved, half annoyed.
“He’s such a tease…”
He laughed quietly and went back to his locker, taking his time dressing.
Jamie stood like a statue by the wall until he finished buttoning up.
Then he shut the metal door with a clang and said,
“Perfect timing. Now we can be alone.”
Still smiling mischievously, he led her upstairs to the football team’s second-floor lounge.
“This is where we do strategy meetings.”
Inside, there was a large screen, several desks, and a whiteboard filled with play diagrams.
Two big sofas and a cabinet sat against the wall.
He sat beside her at a computer table and pulled a notebook from his bag, handing it to her.
“Your task’s simple. I just need you to clip the highlight moments from our game replay and turn them into one video.”
The paper was full of neat handwriting—times, play names, and football terms like Down, Dist, and Form.
He was clearly using it to analyze plays.
“Did you write all this yourself?”
“Of course.”
He answered casually, as if the question were silly.
His handwriting was so perfect it looked printed.
“…Is he a perfectionist or something?”
Noah kindly explained how to use the video software.
But Jamie’s attention kept drifting.
The loose white T-shirt he wore clung to his build; his shoulders filled the fabric completely.
And every time he moved slightly, she caught a faint, clean scent—something that reminded her of a white seaside mansion in East Hampton.
“Jamie, you listening?”
“Ah—yeah. Got it.”
She snapped back to focus, cheeks hot.
He smiled and patted her shoulder lightly.
“Good. I’ll leave it to you.”
Then, instead of giving her space, he sat right next to her—though there were plenty of other seats.
He started working on his own assignment, writing neatly on a yellow legal pad, every letter perfectly pressed.
His long legs didn’t quite fit under the desk, so he shifted now and then.
Their shins brushed—just slightly.
Jamie flinched, startled.
But Noah didn’t even look up.
The air between them felt tense.
She hesitated, then quietly pulled her leg back after a few seconds.
He kept his eyes on his textbook, not moving an inch.
