Page 31 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jade

I slide my toothbrush into its holder and check my phone for the hundredth time.

Still nothing from Drew. The team should be back from their away game by now, but my screen remains stubbornly blank.

I tap it once, twice, as if the force of my thumb will conjure a text out of thin air.

Nothing. Nada. I tap it again, because apparently, I’m a masochist.

Last night’s messages replay in my mind, especially the photo of Drew in those gray sweats. The outline of him was so clear I’d felt my mouth go dry. Wearing those in public should be illegal.

I toss my phone onto my bed before I embarrass myself by texting first.

Callie’s side of the room sits empty, her scrawled note about grabbing coffee still stuck on her desk lamp. I’m grateful for the silence, but the dorm feels too quiet, like every little sound echoes louder than it should.

Boots scrape to a halt; every muscle locks. They move on, and I let the air go.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Drew Klaas, along with all other athletes, was just another name on my hypothetical do-not-date list three weeks ago. Now, I can’t stop thinking about how his hands feel on my skin.

I grab my journal and try to write, hoping my fictional world will quiet my racing thoughts.

My phone buzzes and I quickly answer it without looking to see who’s Facetiming me.

“Hey!” My smile dies when Roman’s face appears, framed by a Colorado dorm room. His sharp jaw and sharper eyes are the same, but there’s a strain in his expression, like he’s holding onto something slipping away.

“Jade,” he says, voice too smooth, like he still has a claim. “Didn’t expect you to pick up.”

“What do you want, Roman?” I snap, leaning against my dorm desk, the vision board behind me a reminder of dreams he’s not part of. His latest text: You really think you’re better off without me? We were good , still boils under my skin. “Your texts are pathetic.”

His smirk falters with a flicker of regret crossing his face. “You think you can just walk away? Act like I was nothing?” He leans closer to the camera, eyes narrowing. “I see you with Klaas, Cessna’s golden boy, strutting like he’s already NHL-bound. You picked him over me?”

I laugh, sharp and cold. “You cheated, Roman. You lied. I didn’t pick anyone. I chose myself.”

His jaw clenches, and the bitterness spills out. “I fucked up, Jade. I didn’t want to lose you. But Klaas? He’s a fluke, just like his brother. Heard scouts are watching, but he’s nothing but a burnout. I’m the one heading to the NHL.”

Jesus, he’s jealous, not just of me but of Drew’s combine buzz. Is he afraid he’ll outshine the Colorado’s stars. It’s not just about getting me back; it’s about proving he’s still the better man.

“You’re jealous,” I say, the truth cutting. “Drew’s earning his way, and you can’t stand it.”

Roman’s eyes darken. “I knew you first, Jade. I know what you need. He’ll crash, and you’ll be alone again.”

“You never knew me,” I shoot back, my voice steady despite the ache his words stir. “You wanted control, not me.” I end the call, my hand shaking as the screen goes dark.

I barely have myself composed when two quick knocks jerk me upright.

I will my heart to relax as I cross the room and open the door.

Drew’s broad shoulders fill the frame. His dark hair is damp from a fresh shower, and his blue Cessna Hockey hoodie hangs unzipped over a plain gray T-shirt. The hallway light catches the sharp line of his jaw and the shadow of stubble. His eyes are dark and wide, like something barely contained.

“I couldn’t wait.” His voice is low and rough.

He steps in, and I step back as the door shuts behind him. I try to be subtle as I breathe in his scent, but damn, that minty citrusy soap fills the space between us perfectly. This is exactly what I need.

“Congratulations on the wins.” I aim for casual, but my voice is way too soft.

Drew’s gaze stays locked on mine. “Thanks. We kicked ass this weekend.”

“That’s—”

“I don’t care about the game,” he cuts me off. “I only cared if you watched.”

His hands find my waist, fingers pressing into the bare skin where my T-shirt has ridden up.

“I watched.” I remind him softly. We’ve already talked about the game. That’s not why he’s here.

Enough waiting.

I go to him first, lifting to my toes and pressing my lips to his. It’s impulsive and reckless and exactly what I want. He lets me. More than lets me. His lips part in surprise before he answers with a groan and deepens it, his grip tightening at my waist.

His mouth is warm. His hands are cold. I taste mint as I feel the scratch of stubble against my chin. My fingers curl into the back of his neck, still damp from a shower, and the contact grounds me while igniting my insides.

He breaks the kiss, panting against my lips.

“This is dangerous,” I whisper, eyes flicking to the door. Anyone could knock. Callie could return. The last thing Drew needs is campus gossip linking him to his coach’s niece.

“I don’t care,” he says, and the raw honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. “I need this. Need you.”

The words hit me like a punch. This thing started as a mistake, a moment of weakness at a club, when I was drunk and making bad decisions. It was supposed to be once. Then twice.

Now he’s here in my dorm room on a Sunday, looking at me like I’m the thing he came home for.

I should be terrified.

Instead, I’m done pretending I don’t want this, too.

Heat presses between us like a kept secret. Drew’s eyes lock on mine, dark and hungry, and the weight of his want presses down on me like a vice. His voice is low and rough, sending a shiver straight to my core.

“I need you,” he says again, and the words aren’t just words. They’re a demand, a promise, and a prayer.

He’s already moving, stepping into my space, and I don’t back away.

Every nerve lights as he crowds me, his body big, solid, and radiating heat.

The back of my knees hit the edge of the bed, and I sit down hard, my breath catching in my throat.

Drew drops to his knees in front of me, and I watch, transfixed, as his hands go to my sneakers.

He peels them off one by one, his touch deliberate, like he’s unwrapping something sacred.

“God, I’ve missed you.” His fingers skim the arch of my foot, and I twitch, letting out a soft laugh.

“Sensitive?” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Shut up.” I try to sound tough, but my voice is shaky. He continues to trace my ankles. The featherlight touches awaken every cell inside me. He knows what parts turn me on. He knows me.

Drew rises, towering over me, and I scoot back on the bed until my head hits the pillow. He follows but then stops.

“What’s this?” The puzzlement on his face has me lifting to my elbows to look at what he’s seeing.

It’s when his face softens and reaches for the parchment paper, I know.

He picks up the sketch, staring at it in awe.

It’s him. Drew from behind, on the ice, his stance perfectly captured because I’d spent hours watching how he held himself.

The set of his shoulders. The angle of his knees.

The way he leaned slightly right when waiting for a drill to start.

My face heats. “It’s not finished. Just something I worked on during practice.”

“You’re amazing.” His voice is quiet, like he can’t believe someone drew him.

“I had a pretty good model.”

“Can I keep it?”

“Of course. It’s you.”

He sets the paper back on the nightstand, eyes darkening. He crawls over me like a predator circling its prey. “You know what’s hot?”

“What?”

His hands find the hem of my shirt, and he tugs it up and off in one smooth motion. The cool air hits my skin, leaving me exposed in the best fucking way.

“You drawing me.” His lips press against my stomach. Goosebumps erupt across my skin.

“You make a good subject.” My breath comes out in breathless gasps.

His hand slides up my thigh until his fingers brush the edge of my panties. I arch into his touch, my breath hitching. His fingers hook into the elastic, dragging them down my legs, and taking his time like he’s savoring every second.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, and I believe him. I feel it. No one’s ever said that to me and made me believe it like he does.

When I’m bare, he pulls back just enough to strip out of his own clothes.

His shirt comes off first, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle that flex as he moves.

His jeans follow, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of him, thick and hard and so goddamn ready for me.

He kicks them aside and comes back to me, his hands finding my hips, gripping tight.

“You’re mine now.” His voice is rough like gravel.

“Always was,” I whisper back, but he doesn’t let me finish.

His mouth crashes into mine, and I’m lost in the taste of him, mint and something darker, something that’s just Drew . His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth, my hands roaming over his back. This isn’t just sex. It never was, not really, but we both pretended otherwise.

We can’t pretend anymore.

His hands grip my thighs as he positions himself between them. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Drew pauses, reaches for his discarded jeans, and retrieves a condom from his wallet.

The brief pause does nothing to cool the heat between us. If anything, the anticipation makes it burn hotter. I watch as he tears open the packet and rolls it on with practiced ease.

Then his eyes find mine again.

“You sure?” he asks.

I answer by grabbing his cock and stroking him once before guiding him to me.

Drew groans, the sound vibrating through me as he pushes inside. The sensation makes us freeze, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained. “You’re so tight. So?—”

He doesn’t finish the thought. He buries his face in my neck and begins to move.