Page 17 of Blindside Me
“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.
