Page 22 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jade

The door opens, and every single thing I’ve been trying to keep at bay is right there, staring me in the face.

Drew.

He stands in the hallway, rain-soaked, and breathing like it took everything he had to get here.

His shirt is plastered to body, dark and clinging to muscles I’ve tried way too much time pretending not to notice.

Spoiler: I failed.

Miserably.

His brown eyes lock on mine, and it’s like I feel everything they convey. Wrecked. Determined. Wild.

For a second, neither of us moves.

We just stand there, suspended in the open doorway, caught in the gravitational pull that has been building between us for weeks. Maybe months. It’s unbearable. It’s inevitable.

Then he steps forward. Just one step, but it’s enough. The air fractures, heavy with everything we’ve been refusing to say.

And somehow, I already know?—

If he touches me, I’m done for. There’s no walking away this time.

He doesn’t say a word.

Just closes the distance, jaw clenched so tight I can practically feel the tension radiating off him.

His hand comes up, slow but sure, and when his fingers catch my jaw and tip my chin, there’s nothing hesitant about it. His palm is rough and warm and so, so real.

I should stop him.

I should tell him this is reckless and idiotic and exactly what we said we wouldn’t do. But all I do is lean in, my breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a dare.

His eyes flick down to my mouth, darkening with something wild and reckless.

“I’ve been trying to stay away from you since the moment I saw you.” His voice is rough. “It’s not working.”

He says it like an apology, but his thumb traces my lower lip while caging his body around mine.

I can’t even remember what I meant to say.

Or if I ever had words at all. I’m not supposed to want this, not supposed to want him.

My uncle would lose his mind if he knew Drew Klaas was here, inches from me, wanting.

But I’m so tired of pretending. So fucking tired.

“Then stop trying.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s thin and shaky and desperate.

Drew makes a sound in the back of his throat, hoarse and broken, and then he breathes, “Fuck it.” He crashes into me, mouth claiming mine so hard Istumble back into the door.

He doesn’t just kiss me. He claims me.

I fist my hands in the front of his T-shirt to stay upright. His free hand slides into my hair, tilting my head, fingers tangling like he can’t get enough. I make a noise, a half growl, half whimper, and he answers it with a low, raw sound that wrecks me even more.

I’m not breathing. I’m surviving.

On him.

On this.

His teeth scrape my bottom lip, and when I gasp, he drags his mouth down the column of my throat, hot and desperate.

“Tell me to stop,” he mutters against my skin, voice wrecked. “ Please, tell me to stop.”

I could.

I should.

But I don’t.

I tip my head back, giving him everything instead.

I was supposed to protect my heart. Instead, I handed it to him and dared him to break it.

His lips crush mine again, his hands moving from my hair to my waist, fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave marks.

I should care about that. I don’t. He walks me backward until my shoulders hit the wall beside my desk.

Books rattle on the shelf above us, but I barely register the sound.

All I can focus on is him pressed against me, his chest expanding with each ragged breath, his heartbeat thundering beneath my palms.

I’m drowning in him, in this reckless, raw mess we’ve created.

“Jade.” He breathes like he’s already forgetting why he shouldn’t be saying my name. It’s almost as if he needs to hear it between us.

His mouth finds mine again as he slips his hand under the hem of my tee.

His touch burns a path across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

I arch into him, greedy for more. More contact, more pressure, more everything.

My body moves on instinct. I tilt my chin up, stretching to match his height, my hands traveling from his chest to his shoulders to the nape of his neck.

He finally wrenches himself away, dragging in a breath that sounds more like a growl. Like it physically hurts him to stop.

He doesn’t go far.

He just presses his forehead into mine, hard enough that it feels like he’s trying to hold himself together with the only thing that still makes sense—me.

His breath shudders out against my mouth, and for one brutal second, he almost kisses me again, like he needs it more than air.

His hands are still tangled in my hair. Mine are still knotted in the fabric of his wet shirt, fists clenching like I can anchor myself to him if I just hold tight enough.

The rain drums harder against the windows, a furious rhythm that paces the need coiling tight in my gut.

For a moment, we just breathe. Heavy. Broken. Like everything that’s been dammed up between us finally cracked wide open.

His nose brushes mine, slow and shaky, like he forgot he’s supposed to let go.

“I wasn’t supposed to do that.” His voice is pained, but he’s anything but sorry.

I close my eyes, my forehead pressing harder into his, desperate to keep us in this stolen second longer.

“Me either,” I whisper back.

Neither of us pulls away. Neither of us apologizes.

Because we both know the truth now.

This was never going to be safe. It was always going to be everything.

I don’t know how long we stand there, breathing each other in, clinging to something too big to name yet too fragile to say aloud. Drew’s forehead rests against mine, and neither of us moves. Neither wants to chance shattering everything if we break the stillness.

Outside, the rain pounds harder. The rain-soaked shirt amplifies his scent, and I want to memorize this moment so badly that it hurts.

Wanting him is reckless. But standing here with his kiss still burning on my lips, it doesn’t feel like a mistake.

“You’re soaked.” His deep, rich voice vibrates through me, making me shiver.

“Yes, I am.” There’s a seductive drawl to my tone because there isn’t one inch of my body dry right now.

“I should do something about that.”

He moves his hands slowly, seductively, higher, tracing a path along my skin.

I’m so fucking turned on, my head spins.

His thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts.

It’s like coming home to a place I’ve never been but somehow always knew.

I lean into him, blaming my frenzied state for my body’s natural response.

But damn, his touch is fire, even through the fabric.

He retakes my mouth, but this kiss isn’t rushed like the one back at the dance club. It’s slow and tantalizing. Perfect.

I moan a sound that’s unrecognizable to my own ears.

It seems to break something loose in him.

He presses harder against me, his hips pinning mine to the wall.

Heat floods through me from the unmistakable bulge pressing against my stomach.

My fingers find the hem of his shirt, pushing under to touch bare skin.

His muscles tense beneath my fingertips. His stomach contracts, abs rigid as I trace the line of hair that disappears beneath his waistband. Our ragged breath fills the room, punctuated by the wet sounds of our kisses and the occasional rustle of fabric as we shift against each other.

Drew’s mouth leaves mine, trailing hot kisses along my jaw and down the column of my throat. His teeth scrape my pulse point, and I shudder against him. My eyes fall closed. My head tips back against the wall. His name escapes me in a breathless whisper.

“Drew.”

He freezes. His lips still pressed to the hollow of my throat, but motionless now. His hands on my ribs, thumbs just brushing the underwire of my bra, become statue-still. For a moment, the only movement is the rise and fall of our chests as we struggle to breathe normally.

Then he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine again. His eyes close as dark lashes fan against his cheeks. A muscle in his jaw ticks, tension radiating from him in waves. His fingers, still beneath my shirt, tremble slightly against my skin.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispers, but makes no move to step away.

His words hover between us, at odds with how tightly he still holds me. I watch his face, the conflict written in the furrow of his brow, the tightness around his eyes. There’s fear there, just below the surface. Not of me, but of this, us, of what it might mean. What it might cost.

My fingers brush his jawline, featherlight. Tracing the stubble there, the sharp angle of bone beneath the skin. He leans into the touch like he’s starved for it.

“Drew,” I say again, my voice catching on his name.

His eyes open, meeting mine. Recognition, or maybe understanding, passes between us. He looks at me like I’m both salvation and damnation wrapped in one confusing package. As if I were something breakable he might ruin.

The air between us shifts and grows heavy with unspoken complications. With all the reasons this is a bad idea.

Hockey. School. His teammates. Coach Howell’s expectations. The future he’s worked so hard for. The one his dad demands he achieve.

Drew’s body stills as his muscles tense beneath my touch. His eyes dart to the door, then back to me. His expression changes and hardens. The vulnerability I glimpsed moments ago disappears beneath a mask of resolve.

And then I hear it. Footsteps. Heavy. Determined. And coming down the hallway toward my door. They’re too loud to be just any student. Too familiar in their cadence.

My roommate is back.

Drew steps back like I’ve burned him. His hands slide from under my shirt, leaving cold patches where his warmth had been. The sudden absence of his touch and the loss of his warmth leave me staggering. I press my palms against the wall behind me, trying to keep my legs from buckling.

“We can’t. ” His voice breaks on the second word as those two syllables cut through me more sharply than anything else tonight. They hurt more than they should, considering I know he’s right. We can’t. It’s a bad idea. It’s dangerous and complicated.

However, knowing something and feeling it are two entirely different beasts.

Drew runs a hand through his hair, messing it further. His chest still rises and falls too rapidly. His lips are swollen from our kisses. He looks wrecked, as destroyed by this moment as I feel.

“We can’t,” he repeats, but it sounds more like a prayer than a decision this time.

The footsteps outside grow louder. Closer. Drew glances at the door again, his expression hardening with resolve. He takes another step back, putting more distance between us. The room feels colder without his body heat, emptier despite being the same size.

I swallow hard and try to find my voice. Try to find words that make sense of what happened between us. But there’s nothing. Just the empty space where, a second ago, we were tangled up in each other.

Drew doesn’t move. He stands there, like he’s fighting every instinct to cross the room and pin me against the wall again. Like he wants to finish what we started. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he finds a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear. His fingers linger at my temple, just long enough to undo me all over again.

“This isn’t over,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion.

Our eyes meet. Neither of us says anything, but we both know.

No running.

No pretending this didn’t happen.

Just everything we can’t say, burning between us, bright, dangerous, and real.

I nod. Just once. It’s small, but it’s fierce. Not goodbye, just a pause.

The door opens, and Callie walks in. She stops, eyes wide, but I don’t care what she sees or why she’s late.

All I can think about is Drew.

How I can still taste him on my lips. Still feel his hands on my skin. Still hear his words echoing in my head…

This isn’t over.