Page 6 of Blindside Me (Cessna U Hockey #3)

CHAPTER SIX

Jade

The corridor leading to Coach’s office is so quiet it’s almost creepy.

Not that I expected a party at this hour, but the silence makes me nervous.

If Dear Uncle knew I was here alone, he’d lose his mind.

Whatever. I’m just going to slip the recorder back on his desk and vanish before anyone notices. In and out. No drama.

A totally normal errand. Not at all a desperate spiral into self-sabotage.

My hands shake as I pat the recorder in my purse, trying not to spill my coffee everywhere.

Do I regret using Uncle’s instead of the papers?

Not even a little. My excuse is solid. I ran late the day I interviewed Klaas, and trotting across campus to the newsroom would’ve added another thirty minutes.

That was a risk I couldn’t take, given Klaas’s flightiness.

The guy barely wanted to stick around as it was.

Still, the way he watched me that day, like he was weighing whether to let me in or shut me out, has haunted me ever since.

And now I’m here. Alone. With that same annoying flutter in my chest.

What’s worse? That I borrowed Coach’s recorder without asking, or that I can’t trust myself to be around Drew with any kind of boundary in place?

It’s just a guy. Just an interview. Just … the one person I can’t seem to get out of my head.

God, I hate that.

I hate that he managed to get under my skin without even trying.

But it’s ridiculous to be this nervous. I’m just returning a recorder. No big deal. What are the odds I’d run into Klaas at this hour? Practically nil. Besides, I’m being responsible. A total professional. I am in control- ish .

I grip the coffee cup tighter as I pass the locker room and turn the corner.

Oof.

I slam right into a wall of sweaty muscle.

The lid pops off.

Coffee goes flying.

Directly onto Drew Klaas’s crotch.

“Shit!” He jumps back, grabbing at his waistband and staggering back, face twisting into the most undignified look I’ve ever seen on him.

I freeze, horrified. “Oh my God?—”

“Jesus, Trouble. You weaponizing caffeine, now?”

“I didn’t mean to!” I scramble forward, napkins flying out of my purse like some kind of an emergency kit. “Oh my God, I just assaulted your … your junk.”

Drew looks up, still wincing, and somehow manages to smirk. “That seems to be your thing.”

My face flames. “It is not.”

I place the napkins on his stomach. My eyes drop, tracing a line of dark, curly hair down to … No! Absolutely not.

“The answer is yes.”

His voice zaps through me. I look up. His eyes are dark, unreadable and my breath stutters in my chest.

“Yes?” The statement confuses me.

“Yes, you do owe me dinner after this.” He steps closer, and I’m suddenly aware of the heat rolling off him.

“I do not!” I press the napkins harder, and this time he takes them from me.

His laugh edges on the side of sexy. “Not how I pictured our next run-in.”

“I swear I’m not normally this … violent.”

“It’s fine. You just scorched my ability to reproduce. No big deal.”

A nervous laugh bubbles out of me, half horror, half adrenaline. “Do you want me to help?”

He straightens, still grimacing, and gives me a dry look. “Not unless you’re a trained ice pack.”

I cover my face, groaning. “This is so bad.”

“Eh, could be worse.”

“How?”

“You could’ve missed.”

The situation is so absurd, we both start laughing. He’s half grimacing. I’m giggling helplessly, the kind of laugh that only comes when something is so mortifying it circles back to hilarious.

“It shouldn’t stain. It’s just plain coffee with two sugars. Not cream.”

He takes the cup from my hand and tosses it in the trash, still watching me like I’m some unpredictable storm.

“You’re back here again,” he says, calmer now.

I nod, trying not to stare at his damp pants. “Returning this for my uncle.” I fish the recorder out of my purse and hold it like a shield.

He doesn’t even look at it. His eyes remain on me, and I’m melting into a puddle of bad decisions. He’s not telling me to leave. That should be my first clue that this is about to get stupid.

My second clue? The way I’m not leaving.

Why am I still standing here? Oh right. Because self-sabotage is apparently my love language.

It’s not like we’re touching. Not really. But it feels like if I breathe too deep, I’ll brush up against his control and unravel it.

He’s too close. I should step back. I should.

I don’t.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” His words are pure seduction, sliding over me like a hot, impossible promise. My heart’s pounding so loud I’m sure he hears it.

I shrug, pretending the lack of space between us isn’t driving me crazy, and try to ignore how his sweat-slick skin glistens under the dim lights.

Or how a single drop slides from his neck to his shoulder, tracing the line of his muscle like an arrow pointing straight at disaster. A huge fucking disaster.

“Then why aren’t you making me leave?” I lift my chin.

His eyebrows raise like he didn’t expect me to throw that back at him.

The silent challenge hangs between us. My stomach twists in a way I hate but can’t help it.

The way he looms over me, his sweaty scent (should be repulsive, but it’s not), and that goddamn curiosity in his gaze is so tempting I’m one second away from doing something stupid and unforgettable. Like kiss him. Or worse, mean it.

“You like trouble?” he asks.

“What do you think?”

“I think I should stay away from it.”

He isn’t saying anything I don’t know, but for some reason, I hate hearing it. Why do I care?

“That would be smart.” I shift my weight, desperate to break the tension. My purse slips off my shoulder. He catches it before I can. Our fingers brush, sending a ripple of pleasure throughout my body. My eyes go molten.

This is bad. Seriously bad.

He hands the purse back, but his hand lingers on the strap, and everything inside me goes dizzy and hot.

His chest rises and falls. My breath catches, causing his gaze to drop to my lips. The air around us tingles with anticipation. There’s nothing but the sound of my heartbeat and the soft hum of the hallway lights. The world narrows to this one moment, this one breath before the fall.

For a second, I think he’s going to touch me. Close the distance. Bridge the gap with something so real it’s terrifying. And God, I want him to. I want to see where this goes.

I should be scared of how he makes me feel, but it’s too thrilling to be this close. To be right at the edge of something I can’t take back.

My entire body leans toward him, craving the touch I shouldn’t want. The touch I might not survive if I get it. One more second of this tension, and I don’t know what I’ll do.

I’m in too deep, and I don’t care. Not even a little.

His breath brushes my ear as he leans in. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll forget every reason I’m not supposed to touch you.”

A shiver jolts down my spine. I open my mouth to say … what, I have no idea.

Then, my uncle’s office door swings open.

“Jade?”

Coach Howell’s voice hits like a siren.

We jump apart, my arm knocking into the wall and sending the recorder clattering to the floor.

Caught. My uncle stands there, filling the doorway, staring. I can’t breathe. Drew straightens, his face unreadable.

“Nothing happened,” I blurt.

The silence that follows says everything else.

I grab the recorder and jam it back in my purse like it burned me. My uncle’s still watching. So is Drew.

I avoid both their eyes. “Just dropping this off. That’s all.”

But my breath won’t level, my legs shaky, and I can feel Drew’s stare like a bruise I asked for.

Nothing happened. But it almost did.

And that’s what terrifies me most.

Leaving Drew standing next to my uncle, I walk away, each step echoes louder than the last. I should feel proud for cutting it off and not falling for yet another athletic fuckboy. But all I feel is the sting of almost.

Almost wanted. Almost seen. Almost kissed.

Almost ruined.

I walk out, biting the inside of my cheek. I won’t look back.

This can’t happen again.

…Right?