Page 13 of Blindside Me
Klaas. No. No way. Not that Klaas.
I blink. Once. Twice.
Oh my God.Thisis him?
The guy I’m supposed to write a glowing character piece on for the journalism class Uncle Rick basically blackmailed me into taking.
Of course, it’s him.
Of course, the universe shoves me naked into a situation with the one guy who now holds the key to both my GPA and my punishment.
My stomach free-falls like someone just yanked the ground out from under me. The blood drains from my face and rushes to … other places because, of course, he’s standing there practically naked and smug as sin.
“You okay?” Drew asks, one brow raised, all too aware I’ve glitched.
I force air into my lungs. “My assignment,” I blurt. The words escape before I can choke them down.Damn it.
His smirk curves sharper, more amused now. He knows. Yep. And he’s enjoying every second of this little identity reveal like he’s got front-row seats to my meltdown.
“He made you sound like a mob boss’s daughter,” Drew says. “Like we’d end up sleeping with the fishes if we looked at you wrong.”
Not far off.
“So yeah,” I mutter. “I heard I’m off-limits. Like I’m radioactive or something.”
“I guess that makes us both toxic,” he says.
“Especially after what happened last night.” I wince, and inside I want to scream. Of course, my escape from reality would be with a fucking hockey player. A Wildcat on top of it. Maybe that’s why he seemed so familiar. “We should probably forget that happened.”
“It was a rather painful experience.”
I squint. “What?”
His stare is unreadable. After a beat, he sighs and says, “Nothing.”
He still stares at me like he can see through my skin, and for a second, I want to bolt. Just leave. Pretend this never happened and ghost the article, just like I’ve ghosted every other uncomfortable thing before this.
Classic Jade. Run before they get the chance to leave first.
A system that worked until my ex. But I’m not running now.
Something stops me. Maybe it’s the bruise I left on his pride or wherever else it is. Maybe it’s the way he’s so calm and cocky while I’m standing here unraveling like a pulled thread.
Or maybe I’m justso goddamn tiredof people deciding who I am before I get a chance to show them.
This isn’t just some write-up for Howell. This is my grade. My ticket to graduation. My chance to prove I’m more than the messed-up girl he dumped a punishment on so that he wouldn’t have to deal with me.
I shouldn’t ask. I should walk out, flip him off, and make a scene that’ll go down in team history.
But I don’t.
I square my shoulders. Lick the fear off my teeth.
“We’ll do the interview and be done with each other.” My words come out sharper than I want. “You can stop stressing. I’m not here to collect a hockey boyfriend.”
“Good. Because I’m not interested in distractions.” He folds his arms, like what I said actually irritated him.
And then I see it.
