Page 5 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

CHAPTER FIVE

Drew

The gym lights hum above me, loud and insistent, like they’re mocking my every move. The sound is twitchy and grating. Just like my mood.

I keep my head down, determined to focus on the new layer of tape I’m wrapping around my stick’s blade. Left hand steady, right hand tight, though I wince as I shift on the bench, the lingering ache from that damn club night still nagging. This is supposed to calm me down. It doesn’t.

She’s late.

Not that I’m counting minutes, but I am. I’ve been here since my early morning workout. Coach didn’t set a time, just said “by seven.” That means before, not after. Order matters. Discipline matters.

Jade Howell? She does not care about either.

The door creaks open behind me, and the temperature in the gym feels ten degrees warmer, just like that.

“Sorry,” she calls out, voice bright and unapologetic. She’s all golden hair and zero accountability, sipping coffee like she’s strolling into brunch. “I’m allergic to seven a.m.”

I don’t bother looking up. I just rip the tape with my teeth. “You’re late.”

Her laugh cuts through the cold air, sharp and clear. “Nice to meet you, too, Sunshine.”

She walks in like this is her stage, and I’m just the warm-up act. And somehow, I’m the one who feels off balance.

I tear off another strip of tape, keeping my eyes locked on my stick. Girls like her are distractions, pure and simple. And I don’t do distractions. Not anymore.

“Don’t you have a class to sleep through?” I ask, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

She drops onto the bench beside me and crosses her long legs like she’s got all the time in the world. “Not til later.” She sips her drink, watching me over the rim.

That look? It’s a scalpel. Sharp, precise. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Guess you’re stuck with me.” She sets a recording device between us. It looks like something out of the nineties. “Hope you don’t mind. I borrowed this from Dear Uncle.”

I do mind, but it’s not as if I have much choice. The tape curls under my thumb, useless. I toss it aside and grab another roll.

“I finally figured out why you look familiar.”

My jaw clenches as I glance up, meeting her gaze. “Yeah?”

“Yep.” She pops the “P.”

I just stare, waiting for her to elaborate, but she takes her sweet time, sipping that damn coffee.

After a few beats, she sets the cup down and grabs her pen. “You’re in my media class.”

“Really?” That catches me off guard, and not in a good way.

“I sit in the back row. You breeze in, sit in the front, and bolt as soon as class ends.”

I turn back to the blade, wrapping it slower this time. My fingers are steadier, but something under my skin isn’t. There’s a project coming up that requires a partner. If we get paired together, I’m screwed. The last thing I need is Coach’s niece tempting me for an entire semester.

“I don’t like to stick around class.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” She scribbles something in her damn notebook.

“That girl back at the dance club.” My spine stiffens as I instantly regret mentioning that night, but she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Isn’t my thing.”

Right. Because dancing like that in a sea of sweaty strangers screams “private.”

I shake off the image of her tight, round ass grinding against me and focus on the tape. This gym is empty. It should be silent. But with her here, it hums like it’s wired to explode.

“If grinding against strangers isn’t your scene”—I tamp down my skepticism—“then what is?”

She leans forward, grinning like I just handed her the punchline. “Don’t know yet,” she says. “But I’m sure I’ll find one.”

That answer shouldn’t get to me, but it does.

She wanders closer, eyes roaming the gym like she’s taking inventory. The weight plates scattered across the floor. The shifted mats. The damp towels that someone forgot to clean.

“So,” she says, “nobody here’s heard of neatness?”

“We don’t do late either,” I mutter.

She hums like she finds that funny and scoots a little closer. Vanilla with a hint of coconut fills my senses, and I’ve never yearned for a pina colada so badly in my life. It’s a flashback to Sunday night, and the reminder throws me off all over again.

Great. Now every tropical drink has me drooling like Pavlov’s dog.

“Looks like you’ve been here for hours.”

Her words make me pause, my thumb pressing flat on the tape. “Got something to prove. But you probably figured that out.”

She studies me long enough that I feel it.

“You have me all wrong, you know,” she says. “I barely even know you.”

“You knew who I was the other night.”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I like competition.” She places her hand on the bench, eyes dancing with mirth, and shifts forward. She’s closer now, way too close. I can feel the heat coming off her skin, or maybe it’s just the way her eyes spark like she already knows I’m seconds from losing it.

A muscle jumps at my temple. Reel it in, Big Guy. Focus. But no sooner than I tell myself this, the grip on my stick tightens anyway.

I scoff, voice low. “This your thing, then? Rile me up, make me screw up, then disappear?”

She shrugs. “Not my thing. But I could make an exception.”

And damn if that doesn’t hit somewhere it shouldn’t. I need to redirect this conversation.

“Maybe they’re just waiting for you to screw up again, so Coach makes you clean up behind them.”

For the first time, she looks like she might fold in on herself.

“Yeah, feels that way sometimes.”

The softness in her voice has me instantly regretting my words. I don’t mean to be a dick. It just happens when I feel cornered. And she’s got me feeling things I shouldn’t.

“What did you and your uncle argue about the other night?” I ask to smooth things over.

“I didn’t mention an argument.”

“I pieced it together. You showing up at Beats. Him not liking you there.” I shrug. “Seems like an escape.”

Another long pause. “I wanted to live in the dorms. Uncle wanted me at his house.”

“Who won?”

The way those glossy lips spread into a smile and light her entire face makes me salivate. Damn. She really is pretty.

“Me.”

I go back to my stick, winding tighter than I need to. Crisp. Clean. Controlled.

“So what’s it like, being you?” she asks.

I blink. “Being me?”

“Having it all figured out.”

I don’t answer. Not because I’m ignoring her, but because I can’t.

“What’s the one thing you’re afraid people will discover?” she asks next.

My hands still. Just for a second.

Her voice is so casual, like she didn’t just stab me through the ribs with a whisper.

“That bad, huh?” she teases.

“Not afraid of anything,” I say, but the lie sounds off in my own ears.

She tilts her head, grinning. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Captain Overkill.”

I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that you’re always here first. Always stay last. Probably sleep next to your skates, dreaming of drills. What’s the story?”

I glare. “I work hard. That’s the point.”

“Yeah,” she drawls out. “But do you have to work that hard? Or are you just terrified of what happens if you slow down for five seconds?”

I flinch and wait a beat too long before answering. “You’re reading way too much into it.”

“Mmhmm. That’s exactly what someone who is freaking out would say.” She holds up her phone. “I could title the piece Captain Overkill: The Wildcat Who Can’t Sit Still. Has a nice ring to it.”

“You wouldn’t put that in the article.” I shake my head. “Besides, I’m not the captain. Blake is.”

She shrugs and shakes her phone with a mock-innocent smile. “I could. Unless you give me something better.”

“Like what?”

She softens. Just a little. “Something real.”

That word. Real. It lands somewhere I don’t want to examine, but there’s a part of me that wants to say it. Just one truth. One crack. But I don’t. Because if I start talking, I won’t stop.

“You don’t need to be perfect, Drew. That’s not the story anyone wants.”

I don’t have an answer. So I don’t give her one.

She watches my reaction closely, and I don’t know what she’s looking for. But it feels like she’s already found it.

I try to play it cool. “So, did you know who I was when we...” I trail off, leaving the rest hanging.

“No,” she says too quickly. There’s a flicker in her eyes as a flush creeps up her neck. Finally, a crack in her armor.

I knew this girl would be trouble, but I believe she didn’t recognize me the same way I doubt she’d want a second ride. Not that she got the first ride. Not that I want her anywhere near my dick. But still, there’s something about her.

“Look,” she adds, eyes darting down to my crotch. “I’m sorry about your … situation.”

I huff a laugh. “I’ve been hit by pucks that did less damage.”

She doesn’t respond. She just gives me a look that cuts deeper than her apology, like she sees more than I want her to.

What she says next is soft, simple, and deadly accurate.

“You’re not as closed off as you think.”

I bristle. Her words wedge under my ribs, and I hate how much they feel true.

“You know a lot about me for someone I barely know,” I say, trying to flip the script. But the edge is gone from my voice.

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug. “Or maybe you’re just easy to read.”

That hits harder than it should. I finish wrapping my stick with more force than necessary, the tape snapping as I shove it back into my bag.

“You’re wasting your time,” I tell her. “Whatever you think you’re doing here, it’s not working.”

She tilts her head, and I hate how calm and controlled she is. “You don’t scare me, Drew.”

The way she says this is too calm. Like she meant it. Or she doesn’t. I can’t tell. What I should do is walk away and shut down this interview. But I don’t.

I stand and give her a shred of what she wants. “My skates.”

Her head tilts. “What?”

“They’re my lucky charm. They’re broken in and worn, but never let me down.” That’s the closest to the truth I’ll get.

The softness in her expression steals my breath, and I find myself drowning in blue, staring into those eyes. Beautiful.

“Thanks for that.” Her words break whatever spell was between us.

“This isn’t—” I start but can’t finish. I didn’t even know what I was going to say.

She gets up, shouldering her bag like she’s already won. And maybe she has. Right before she gets to the door, she stops for a second and glances back.

“Just think about it,” she says. That smile of hers is all mischief and steel. But she still has one final hit in her. “You can pretend you don’t have feelings, but you flinched at that question.”

The door shuts behind her before I can respond.

And I’m left standing in a gym that suddenly feels way too quiet.

You flinched.

I rewind the tape again, tighter and harsher, but it doesn’t help.

Jade Howell lit a fuse I’ve spent years burying.

Now, I’m the one coming apart, and she didn’t even look back.