Page 37 of Blindside Me
“Works for me.”
We map out deadlines that somehow feel like compromises rather than concessions. Our fingers brush twice more, and I pretend not to notice how my skin tingles afterward each time.
By eight forty-five, we have a balanced, structured, yet breathable plan.
Drew stands, slipping his planner into his bag. “We could cut clips and focus more on the analysis.”
“No.” I shake my head. “We go all in.”
His eyes flicker. “All in,” he repeats like the words mean more than just a project.
I walk him to the door. My room smells like him now, that clean, minty scent mixing with my coconut and vanilla.
Drew hesitates. “This was … actually decent.”
“Yeah. Against all odds.”
He nods and steps into the hallway. Our eyes meet. Something unspoken lingers.
Then he’s gone.
I shut the door and lean against it, my thoughts are a knotted mess, and somehow he’s right in the middle of the tangle.
I just spent two hours with Drew Klaas and didn’t want to strangle him. In fact, I wanted to...
Nope. Not going there.
I collapse onto my bed, staring at the lighthouse on my vision board and mulling over the representation. Freedom and direction. Things I’ve wanted my entire life.
Which is why I swore off men, especially hockey players. But now? I have an entire semester of Sunday and Tuesday nights with one.
Just one semester. One grade. One project I need to ace without accidentally falling for the guy I’m not supposed to want.
So why am I counting down to Tuesday?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jade
I can’t stop moving. My fingers shuttle colored pencils from one jar to another while I pace the cramped space between my bed and desk. Warm colors in one jar, cool in another. No, that’s not right. Graphite here, charcoal there. Wait, maybe by thickness? Length? What the hell am I even doing? Across the room, my new roommate Callie—the one I knew from the University of Colorado, though we never hung out much—is perched cross-legged on her bed, watching me with the bemused expression of someone witnessing a slow-motion meltdown. She pops a Sour Patch Kid into her mouth, chewing with exaggerated slowness as her eyes track my movement.
“You know what you look like right now?” Callie cocks her head with a bemused smile. “Someone who got ghosted for a Tinder date by a guy named Chad.”
I shoot her a glare. “I do not. I’m just organizing.”
“You’re sorting your charcoal pencils by”—she squints at my hands, eyebrows up—“vibe? That’s panic behavior, Jade. I’ve only lived here for a week and already know your tells.”
“I’m not panicking.” I drop a stubby pencil into what I’ve apparently decided is the ‘rejects’ jar. “I’m just … thinking.”
“About Andrew Klaas?” The name looms overhead like a smoke bomb.
I freeze, pencil suspended between jars. “Why would I be thinking about him?”
Callie snorts and tosses another candy into her mouth. “Because when we ran into him on campus, he looked at you like you’re a human puzzle he’s dying to solve. And you,”—she points a red Sour Patch Kid at me, all accusations—“went all weird and quiet on the walk home.”
“I was tired.” I resume sorting, faster now. “And Drew doesn’t look at me like anything. He looks at me because we’re working on a project.”
“Drew, huh?” Callie’s eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline.
