Page 69 of Blindside Me
The words fall flat. Empty reassurances that even I don’t believe.
I make a mental list of reasons why last night shouldn’t matter:
1. Drew Klaas is hockey royalty at Cessna, and I’m the coach’s niece. Untouchable.
2. He has that whole stoic, disciplined robot thing going on. Probably kisses girls and forgets them hourly.
3. It was raining. People do stupid things in storms, especially here, where they’re rare.
4. He was probably blowing off steam after our late-night study session.
5. We barely know each other.
But every excuse rings hollow, disintegrating under the memory of how my body reacted to his, how it still reacts. No one’s ever kissed me like that before, like I was dissolving and solidifying all at once.
“This isn’t over.”
The look on his face when he said that nearly did me in.
I reach for my phone. One notification waits for me.
Drew: I can’t wait to taste you again.
Why does that make my pussy clench like a starving traitor? I drop the phone on my pillow and flop backward, eyes on the cracks in the ceiling. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not the type who obsesses over boys. Or men. I like my life predictable, my problems solvable, and my heart locked up tight. Last night,Drew picked that lock with his bare hands and didn’t even break a sweat.
The dorm room’s door swings open with a clang that makes me jump.
“Great, you’re awake!” Callie barges in, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping. Water droplets trail down her bare shoulders. “I was going to wake you if you didn’t get out of bed soon.”
She stops short when she sees me, still in last night’s clothes, hair a mess, and lips swollen . A knowing smirk spreads across her face.
“So,” she says, crossing her arms. “That was quite the scene I walked in on last night.”
My cheeks burn. “What scene? There was no scene.”
“Please. You and Hockey Boy were five seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off.” She cocks her head to the side. “If I’d been five minutes later, I would’ve needed bleach for my eyeballs.”
“It wasn’t like that.” The lie tastes bitter. “We got caught in the rain. He was just warming up.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Callie snorts, moving to her dresser. She drops her towel with zero shame. “Because from where I was standing, Drew Klaas was ‘warming up’ with his tongue down your throat.”
I grab a pillow and throw it at her. “Shut up. It was nothing.”
But my voice cracks on “nothing,” and Callie, damn her, notices. She pauses halfway through, pulling on her underwear.
“Wait.” Her eyes widen. “Oh my god. You like him. Like, actually like him.”
“I do not!” The protest comes too quickly, too forcefully.
“You totally do.” She pulls a Cessna University T-shirt over her head. “I mean, I get it. Those arms alone are worth the price of admission. But he’s so … intense.”
I drop back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. “He’s not always like that. He’s different when—” I stop.
“When what? When he’s got you pinned against walls?” Callie wiggles her eyebrows.
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re transparent.” She sits on the edge of my bed. “What happened before I got back? And don’t say nothing, because your face is doing that thing it does when you’re hiding something.”
