Page 59 of Blindside Me
“You really believe that?”
“I do.” And I mean it. For all his flaws, Drew has never lacked determination.
He leans in, voice dropping. “You ever write characters afraid to want what they shouldn’t?”
I turn to face him, our faces now inches apart. “All the time. There’s something hot about wanting what you can’t have.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and my body naturally tilts toward him. Control frays to threads.If he kisses me, I won’t stop him.
The space hums with an unspent yes. I can count his eyelashes, see the tiny scar above his right eyebrow that he told me was from a childhood fall, and smell the coffee on his breath.
He doesn’t pull away. His voice is rough. “If I start, I won’t stop.”
“Coach said no distractions,” I whisper, even though I’m the distraction now, and he’s mine.
The reminder is enough to break the moment. Drew pulls back, his jaw tight.
“Right,” he says, looking anywhere but at me.
Smooth, Howell. Nothing kills the mood like bringing up your overprotective uncle.
“But this doesn’t feel like a distraction,” I add softly.
Drew’s eyes meet mine again, darker now. “No. It feels like the only thing that makes sense.”
The tension hangs between us as I grab my phone and stand. My legs shake. I need space to breathe, to think.
I glance at the window. Fat drops of rain start hitting the glass, smearing the yellow security lights. The storm’s here.
“I should probably head out before the rain turns biblical,” I say, trying for lightness.
Drew stands too, close enough that if I reached out, my fingers would brush his chest—the very hard chest I want to trace with my hands. “Let me walk you out.”
“No need.” I back toward the door. “I like the rain.”
“I don’t like you walking across campus alone.”
“I’ll be fine. Seriously. Don’t follow me like last time. Besides, we have our voice-overs to do.”
He grumbles, not liking it, but he knows I’m right.
“And one more thing,” I say, trying for normal. “When you record your ‘deep reflections,’ try not to sound like you’re narrating a TED Talk.”
Drew’s mask slips back into place, and he’s once again the controlled, focused athlete I know. “I’ll try not to cry into the mic.”
I pause at the door, looking back at him. The distance between us feels both vast and nonexistent.
“You’d be surprised how powerful honesty sounds,” I say, more softly.
I leave, feeling Drew’s eyes on me as I walk away. In the silence of the hallway, I exhale. My control wobbles, so I palm the wall and breathe.
Behind me, Drew’s chair creaks as he turns back to the desk. The clicking of keys resumes. He’s working as if the moment never happened.
The storm’s outside now, but the wreckage is happening in here.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Drew
