Page 1 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

CHAPTER ONE

Jade

Clubs are loud. Sweaty. Full of bad decisions marinating in vodka and regret.

So naturally, I’m here.

I needed this. All of it.

The loud music.

The drowned-out conversations.

The escape.

“That’s the best artwork I’ve seen yet.” The bartender sets my third tequila shot down, gesturing to my napkin.

“Thanks.” I eye thenapkin, where I’d unconsciously doodled a gravestone with the words REST IN PEACE, DICKHEAD above a silhouette. The likeness of Roman’s jawline is uncanny.

“Let me guess, an ex?”

“That obvious, huh?” I crumble the drawing and toss it in the trash behind the bar.

“He must’ve been an ass.”

“You have no idea.”

I suck the lime wedge as if it had insulted me and slam the glass down.

The burn makes me wince, but I don’t let that slow me down.

I’m up and weaving through the crowd until I hit the dance floor.

Swaying my hips, I chase the beat to drown out the ex who cheated, the school I torched on my way out, and the uncle who decided to be Father of the Year a decade too late.

Sweat beads on my neck as I spin, letting the strobe lights blur my edges, the world shrinking to sound and movement.

It doesn’t take long before I spot him.

Tall. Broad. Cut from varsity-level arrogance and protein powder. Black T-shirt stretched across his chest like it’s two sizes too small. He looks like trouble. My kind of trouble.

But there’s something familiar about him that I can’t quite place. Maybe a poster in the student union, that cocky grin plastered above some hockey team slogan?

I shake it off. He’s probably some athlete who thinks his stick-handling skills translate off the ice, too.

Maybe I’m projecting. Whoever he is, there’s no denying his hotness level. He’s the kind of distraction I’m looking for.

Mr. Hottie watches me with hooded eyes and a slow drag of his gaze, like he’s already undressing me in his head. Usually, I’d roll my eyes and move on.

But tonight? I want to feel wanted.

Crave it even.

I keep moving to the music and don’t bother hiding the smirk that slides across my face as he comes to me like it’s fate. Or maybe just pheromones.

His hands land on my hips. Big, warm, confident. I lean back into him, letting the heat of his body chase away the chill of every damn thing I’m running from.

I don’t care who he is. Hockey player, frat boy, undercover Calvin Klein model. I’m not asking for his resume. Just his hands.

His grip tightens, like he knows exactly what I need. And maybe he does.

Because tonight, I’m in control.

Tonight, I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’m looking for a mistake I’ll regret tomorrow morning, with a six-pack I won’t.

“What’s your name?” His rough, calloused fingers slide up my curves and rest on the skin just below my shirt. They just don’t graze me; they claim me, leaving invisible lines of fire that make my breath hitch. I arch into his touch, needy and fucking desperate for more.

“Does it matter?”

He laughs as if we’re in on the same joke. “Guess not.” His lips brush my neck, and I shiver in a way that feels like victory.

God, this feels amazing. Safe even. Maybe it’s the tequila. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of being rejected, and tonight I just want to feel.

He stays quiet while my body moves with his, reckless and untethered, the club spinning around us.

Strobe lights cut through the dark, flashing over faces I don’t know or care about.

This is my first real night out since I arrived at my uncle’s house, and after our argument tonight, it is my first chance to forget what I’ve left behind.

Who’s already forgotten me.

An ex who said we’d go the distance but was caught tangled up with my best friend the next night.

A mother too busy “finding herself” to bother with her daughter.

A fucking uncle who only showed up when it was convenient.

That last one stings the most.

Or it did.

I’m over it now.

The next song hits louder and dirtier.

Mr. Hottie’s touch is strong, sending sparks through me and making me shiver.

I lean closer and lose myself the way I’ve wanted to all night.

I can’t tell if I’m doing this because I want to feel alive, because I’m reckless, or because I’m already obsessed with unraveling someone who seems so perfectly together.

Maybe it’s all three.

His touch presses deeper, guiding me as I move, and I match him, beat for beat, until the music is everything, and I can barely breathe.

“You’re mine,” he growls into my skin, his voice thick and dark like he’s already picturing me screaming his name.

I don’t argue. I can’t. His other hand slides up my thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to make me moan. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t wait. His thumb finds the wet heat between my legs, pressing in just enough to make me jerk against him.

“Fuck,” I pant and spin to face that cocky grin of his. Oh, yeah. He’s used to girls tripping over themselves for that smile. I shoot one back at him, daring him to keep up.

“You going to make me guess?” he asks, dipping his head closer as we move together.

The music pulses around us. My head spins as the tequila hits heavy and electric. “What?”

“Your name.”

What is the obsession with knowing my name?

Instead of answering, I say, “Go wild.”

His lips brush my neck. My entire body tingles from the contact. “You look like trouble.”

I laugh at that. Rich, coming from him. But he’s right.

We’re in our own little world now. Everyone else is just a blur of color and sound, and I’m not thinking about anything but this moment. This guy whose name I don’t need to know. This night I’ll forget by morning.

He’s hard against me, all muscle and confidence. His hands roam lower, grip firmer as he pulls me tight.

Everything spins in the best way.

I grin at him as we grind against each other, surrounded by the chaos I’ve craved for weeks. We don’t even stop when the music changes. The faster beats pound harder and push us into a new rhythm that leaves no room for doubt.

No room for thinking.

God, I need this.

We collide with the couple next to us, and I’m half-surprised my partner doesn’t shove them away. His hardened expression looks like he could break them, but he moves me again and keeps his focus like it’s all he’s ever done.

Like he’s incapable of failing at anything.

“Where’d you come from?” I blurt out, not even thinking, as his hands slide under my shirt again.

“Does it matter?” He echoes me.

“Not even a little.” I lean into his touch, basking in the way we fit together.

He smiles, and it makes him stupidly gorgeous.

We keep moving together. His greedy hands keep roaming along my body as if he’s already planning an after-party for two.

Heat floods through me as his fingers continue their exploration.

This is so unlike me. I don’t usually let guys get this far without figuring out what they’ll cost me in the long run.

But I’m not thinking about that now. Or thinking at all.

The beat changes to a different tempo, and I find myself again grinding into him. His noticeable bulge makes me smile, and I’m tired of waiting.

“Wanna get out of here?” I ask.

“You’re hot.” He’s close enough that the words vibrate against my neck. “But drunk.”

He’s close enough to know that, too.

I don’t bother denying it. Instead, I pull away just enough to see those dark eyes watching mine. This guy thinks he’s got me figured out. Thinks he knows exactly what kind of girl I am.

He might be right about that, too.

I slide my hands up that rock-hard chest I’d already admired. “I know what I want.”

“Is that right?” His cocky grin says it all.

He thinks he knows exactly what this is. That makes two of us.

“Let’s go.” Grabbing his hand, I lead him off the dance floor without a word. The club is a whirl of lights and noise behind us as we cut through the crowd and find a dark hallway.

I don’t think. I just act. I shove open the first door I see—thank God it’s a bathroom—and drag him inside. The lock clicks, and he’s on me before I can breathe.

His kiss is urgent and demanding. His tongue is slick, tasting like whiskey and sin.

I groan into his mouth as my hands claw at his shirt and pull it up over his chest. Goddamn, I hit the lottery with this guy. His abs are rigid and defined. I can’t resist running my fingers over them. His breath hitches as he shivers under my touch.

“Fuck,” he growls against my lips, sliding his hands under my shirt. His rough fingers brush against my nipples, causing them to tighten as I instinctively arch into him, desperate for more. But I’m not giving him my body. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m taking.

“No time for talking.” I’m greedy for the escape he gives me, already tugging at his jeans. My fingers fumble, but I get them open and yank his pants down just enough to free his cock.

Holy shit. Lucky lottery winner indeed.

He’s bigger than I expected. Bigger than anyone expects. It’s thick, heavy in my hand, and already leaking. My mouth waters just looking at it. I drop to my knees without a second thought and wrap my fingers around the base, while grabbing hold of his thigh with my free hand.

“Dammmn.” His low and gravelly groan fuels me on.

I don’t waste time, parting my lips and taking him into my mouth, inch by inch. He twitches against my tongue, which draws a moan from me. I don’t know why this turns me on so goddamn much, but there’s nothing better than having a man fill my mouth.

“Fuck, that’s good.” He tosses his head back and tangles his hands in my hair.

I suck hard and swirl my tongue around the tip before taking him deeper. My jaw aches as I stretch to accommodate him, but I don’t care. The way he groans, the way his thigh tenses under my hand, it’s worth it.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, his fingers tightening in my hair.

He pulls me closer, guiding my head as he fucks my mouth.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes as he hits the back of my throat.

I gag but don’t stop. I can’t. Not when he feels this good.

Not when this helps break through some of the numbness that doesn’t seem to go away.

The bass from the club thuds through the walls, matching the rhythm of his hips. My pussy throbs, wet and aching for him, but this isn’t about me. Not yet.

Then the banging starts.

“Hey! Open up!” Some asshole outside yells, pounding on the door.

He swears and pulls back, but I keep going. I tighten my grip on his thigh, work his base with my other hand, and suck him harder and faster. My lips are wet and messy as I work him toward that edge. The tequila’s got me spinning in the best way, making me bold and desperate for more.

“They’re gonna fucking come in,” he mutters, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Let them,” I think, my mouth too full to say it out loud.

His hips jerk forward, and I take him deeper, swallowing past the gag. He’s so close. I can feel it in the way his cock twitches and in the way his breathing gets ragged.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants as his hands grip my hair like he’s trying to hold on.

The banging on the door grows louder and more insistent. “Come on! Open up!”

Jesus, they’re going to burst in any minute. I should stop, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m on a mission to finish him.

Pulling back, I shift my focus to his cockhead.

My tongue circles it, teasing him closer to release.

His hands are tense as if he’s hanging on to control by a thread.

I’ve got him. I know it. I take him in again, hollow my cheeks, and suck hard.

His cock pulses in my mouth, and I know he’s right there, ready to explode down my throat.

“Hurry,” he grits out, his voice strained. It almost sounds painful. I take that as his needing me tofinish strong.

I redouble my efforts, sucking him like my life depends on it. My jaw is screaming, but I don’t care. I want to make him come so hard he sees fucking stars.

He swears again, but it’s not nearly as sexy this time.

Before I can analyze it, the lock clicks open just as he’s about to blow. But when the door slams into the wall with a crash that echoes in my skull, I pull back and stand.

Then, I do what I do best and bolt.