Page 47 of Blindside Me
This may not be love, but I’m sure feeling something.
I push through the doors into the night air. Campus is dead at this hour. A few distant voices. Someone’s music plays from an open dorm window. The walk back to my place is short, but I drag it out.
Sunday at seven. I’ve already rescheduled my evening workout, pushed up my film review, and crammed my study time. My dad would lose his shit if he knew I rearranged my carefully planned schedule for a girl.
But she’s not just a girl. She’s Jade Howell, with her cartoon references and her blunt questions and her ability to see right through me.
I check my phone one more time before I reach my building. No new messages. I didn’t expect any. But I like knowing the conversation is there, waiting.
Sunday can’t come fast enough.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Drew
ICE. SKATES. PUCK. That’s all I’m supposed to care about, three things at morning practice. Not the burning in my legs or the sweat trickling down my spine. Not the voice in my head telling me I could be better, faster, stronger. And definitely not the blonde sitting in the third row, sketching away with those sharp, focused strokes. But my eyes keep betraying me, flickering up to her for the fourth time in ten minutes. Damn it. I can’t afford distractions.
The cold clean ice smell is the same as always at six a.m. Skates cut through the surface and echo off the walls. This is my sanctuary. My proving ground.
“Klaas! Position!” Coach Howell barks from the bench, slicing through my momentary lapse in concentration.
I snap back, realigning myself for the defensive drill. Blake sends the puck flying down the ice. I intercept it easily, my muscle memory kicking in as I dodge Ryan’s attempt to steal.
“Good! Again!” Coach calls out.
We reset. My eyes sweep the ice, calculating angles and positions. Perfect. Except?—
My gaze strays to Jade. Is Coach still making her clean up after practice? If so, she’s early. Practice doesn’t end for another hour. Why is she?—
The puck slips between my skates.
“Klaas! What the hell was that?” Coach’s voice booms. “You letting your mind wander during a game, too?”
Heat rushes to my face. I don’t mess up. Not on simple drills. Not until this season.
“No, sir. Won’t happen again,” I grit out.
Coach’s eyes follow my earlier gaze up to the bleachers. He spots Jade, and his expression hardens further. Their eyes meet in a silent standoff before he turns back to the ice.
“Everyone, line up! Suicides. Now!” he shouts, and the team collectively groans. “Thank Klaas for the extra cardio.”
As we line up at the goal line, Ryan glides up next to me.
“Careful, Klaas. Don’t bruise your ego like you did your cock.”
“Shut it, Sorenson.” My voice comes out low and dangerous.
Blake glides to my other side, a smirk playing on his lips. This can’t be good. “You talking about the night of the ‘Vacuum Incident’?”
That night at Beats flashes hot in my mind. Jade’s sexy-ass eyes as she made her way to the dance floor. Her body pressed against mine. How I followed her to the bathroom. Her attempt at sucking me off.
My jaw tightens. The memory should be nothing. Just heat and bad timing. But the way Jade looked at me after, like she regretted it more than I did, that part still stings.
“Both of you can fuck off,” I mutter, bracing for the drill.
Coach blows his whistle, and we’re off, sprinting to the lines and back. My lungs burn, but I push through, determined to finish first. No weakness, not after screwing up.
Between sprints, I glance back at the bleachers. Jade’s face is an impressive shade of red. She’s hunched over her sketchbook,but her pencil isn’t moving. She heard them. Fuck! Of course she did. Sound carries in an empty arena.
