Page 24 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jade
I wake up tangled in my sheets, the sun streaming in like the storm never happened.
My body feels electric and hollow, buzzing with the memory of Drew Klaas and empty from everything we didn’t say.
He kissed me like he was starving, like he wasn’t just taking, but unraveling.
I keep trying to stack up excuses between us: adrenaline, loneliness, and the goddamn storm—but they all crumble before they even reach my lips.
Because the truth is, it wasn’t just physical. It never was.
God. I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only makes it worse.
All I see is Drew backing me against the wall, rainwater dripping from his dark hair onto my collarbone, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my knees buckle.
I can still feel the phantom pressure of his hands gripping my waist and lifting me slightly, so our bodies align perfectly.
I kick the sheets off and sit up, running my hands through my tangled hair. I’m all jitter and heat, incapable of pretending I don’t want this.
Seven hours. That’s how long it’s been since his mouth claimed mine, and we broke apart at the sound of Callie’s key in the lock. Seven hours, and I still can’t breathe right.
The scent of rain clings to my skin, though the storm passed hours ago. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I still want to smell him on me. Either way, the sheets are a disaster, twisted and rumpled like the mess in my head.
“It was just physical,” I whisper to my empty room. “Just bodies, proximity, and adrenaline.”
The words fall flat. Empty reassurances that even I don’t believe.
I make a mental list of reasons why last night shouldn’t matter:
1. Drew Klaas is hockey royalty at Cessna, and I’m the coach’s niece. Untouchable.
2. He has that whole stoic, disciplined robot thing going on. Probably kisses girls and forgets them hourly.
3. It was raining. People do stupid things in storms, especially here, where they’re rare.
4. He was probably blowing off steam after our late-night study session.
5. We barely know each other.
But every excuse rings hollow, disintegrating under the memory of how my body reacted to his, how it still reacts. No one’s ever kissed me like that before, like I was dissolving and solidifying all at once.
“This isn’t over.”
The look on his face when he said that nearly did me in.
I reach for my phone. One notification waits for me.
Drew : I can’t wait to taste you again.
Why does that make my pussy clench like a starving traitor?
I drop the phone on my pillow and flop backward, eyes on the cracks in the ceiling.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not the type who obsesses over boys.
Or men. I like my life predictable, my problems solvable, and my heart locked up tight.
Last night, Drew picked that lock with his bare hands and didn’t even break a sweat.
The dorm room’s door swings open with a clang that makes me jump.
“Great, you’re awake!” Callie barges in, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping. Water droplets trail down her bare shoulders. “I was going to wake you if you didn’t get out of bed soon.”
She stops short when she sees me, still in last night’s clothes, hair a mess, and lips swollen . A knowing smirk spreads across her face.
“So,” she says, crossing her arms. “That was quite the scene I walked in on last night.”
My cheeks burn. “What scene? There was no scene.”
“Please. You and Hockey Boy were five seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off.” She cocks her head to the side. “If I’d been five minutes later, I would’ve needed bleach for my eyeballs.”
“It wasn’t like that.” The lie tastes bitter. “We got caught in the rain. He was just warming up.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Callie snorts, moving to her dresser. She drops her towel with zero shame. “Because from where I was standing, Drew Klaas was ‘warming up’ with his tongue down your throat.”
I grab a pillow and throw it at her. “Shut up. It was nothing.”
But my voice cracks on “nothing,” and Callie, damn her, notices. She pauses halfway through, pulling on her underwear.
“Wait.” Her eyes widen. “Oh my god. You like him. Like, actually like him.”
“I do not!” The protest comes too quickly, too forcefully.
“You totally do.” She pulls a Cessna University T-shirt over her head. “I mean, I get it. Those arms alone are worth the price of admission. But he’s so … intense.”
I drop back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. “He’s not always like that. He’s different when—” I stop.
“When what? When he’s got you pinned against walls?” Callie wiggles her eyebrows.
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re transparent.” She sits on the edge of my bed. “What happened before I got back? And don’t say nothing, because your face is doing that thing it does when you’re hiding something.”
I press my palms to my cheeks. “What thing?”
“That scrunchy nose thing.” She twists her face up in a parody. “Like you’re constipated with secrets.”
“I do not look constipated!” I sit up, indignant.
“Focus. Klaas. Details. Now.”
I sigh. I really hate lying. “Seriously, we just got caught in the rain walking back from campus. It was late, and I didn’t have an umbrella. He offered to take me home.” That’s not a total lie. He did offer. I just didn’t accept. She doesn’t need to know he showed up after I got back.
“Very chivalrous,” Callie says dryly. “And then he just happened to shove his tongue in your mouth as what … a parting gift?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I repeat, but the memory of Drew pushing me against the wall makes me shiver. “It was … I don’t know what it was.”
“Looked pretty clear to me,” Callie says. “But whatever helps you sleep at night.” She stands, gathering her dirty clothes and tossing them in the hamper. “I’ve gotta hurry. Or else I’ll be late for class.”
“Wait, why were you coming home so late? I thought you said you’d be gone all night.”
Callie freezes, then shrugs too casually. “I was going to, but plans changed. My study group quit early.”
“Uh-huh.” I lean back. “Does this ‘study group’ have a name? Maybe a male gender one?”
Callie’s cheeks flush pink. “Shut up,” she mutters, grabbing the hairdryer. “At least I can admit when I’m into someone.”
“I’m not—” I start, but she turns on the dryer, drowning out my weak protest.
My eyes narrow. I’m not sure I believe her, but we both seem to be lying through our teeth this morning. Maybe that’s the real bond, pretending things are easier than they are.
Callie dries her hair, staring into the mirror like nothing life-altering just happened. Like my world isn’t still tilted sideways.
She finishes, grabs her book bag, and darts out the door. Silence roars back in, and I sag into it.
That’s when I spot my sketchbook, still open on the desk.
My feet move before my brain catches up.
I slide out of bed and sit at the desk. My fingers find a pencil, and before I realize it, my hand is moving.
Line after line emerges, sharper and more urgent than my usual work. The curve of a hand gripping a waist. The angle of a jaw, tight with tension. The wild, almost desperate look in a pair of eyes that I’ve tried not to notice during class, games, or study sessions.
I blink, suddenly aware that I’ve filled three pages with Drew. His hands. His eyes. The exact moment before he kissed me when everything changed.
“Shit,” I mutter, slamming the sketchbook closed. This is not happening. I am not becoming one of those girls who lose themselves over a hockey player. Not again. Not after falling for a player who was good at pretending he cared.
I’m smarter now.
Less na?ve.
I shove the sketchbook aside, telling myself I’m overreacting, and head to the bathroom.
But if I thought the hot water would wash away the memory of Drew’s touch, I was wrong.
If anything, it intensifies it. The heat against my skin reminds me of the heat of his body.
My fingers linger on my lips, which still tingle.
Wait.
Callie’s not right, is she? I can’t be falling for him.
No, no, no. Absolutely not.
But the lie is so obvious it’s almost funny. The truth barrels in. Last night wasn’t just heat or a mistake. It was real. Terrifying. Consuming.
I feel it in my bones, in the racing of my pulse, and in the way my skin remembers exactly where his fingers pressed. Something changed when Drew kissed me. Something fundamental shifted, like tectonic plates rearranging the landscape of what I thought I knew about myself.
I dry off and recheck my phone. The same message taunts me. First, I need to get dressed and get to class. Then, I’ll find him. And I know right where to look.
I grab my favorite leggings that hug my curves in all the right places, a soft tank top that makes my eyes look bluer, and combat boots that make me feel taller and more confident.
Before I leave, I glance at my sketchbook one last time. At the evidence of how thoroughly Drew Klaas has invaded my thoughts. My art has always been my most honest confession.
Time to make him confess, too.