Tutoring the Player （Campus Wallflowers #1）
Rebecca Jenshak
BLURB
I have a type.
I love the good guy.
Responsible and stable. Safe.
So when a beer-drinking, quick-witted, tattooed hockey player asks me to tutor him, I'm suddenly thrust into the world of bad boys and bad decisions.
Jordan is a renowned player on campus.
He doesn抰 take anything seriously, except hockey and partying.
But he gives me butterflies.
I抦 a wallflower tutoring Valley University抯 hottest player.
For all the quiet girls. I hear you.
PROLOGUE
DAISY
揥ould you come down from there??Violet yells up from the ground. My cousin isn抰 the biggest fan of heights or rickety ladders. 揧ou抮e going to catch pneumonia or an airborne STD.?
揟hey won the game,?I say with a quick glance down at her.
She抯 standing on the lowest rung, neck craning up to see over the fence into our neighbor抯 yard. 揥ho cares? Win, lose, they party just the same.?
She might talk like she抯 immune to the fun next door, but I抳e caught her wistfully staring out her bedroom window a time or two in that direction.
揟hey look so happy.?
From my spot in this old tree house, I have a perfect view of the backyard next door. A small group of girls dance in the grass to a catchy, upbeat song. In another area, guys huddle together playing cornhole. Others are in the heated pool, splashing and playing. Everyone else is hanging out on the large patio that spans the back of the sprawling house.
The alcohol is flowing, and the atmosphere is so happy and light that the air even feels different this close.
揟he night is young, and they抮e buzzed. Of course, they抮e happy.?Vi抯 tone is all indifference. 揋ive it a few hours, and people will be so drunk the happiness will dim.?
She抯 wrong. At least once a week, I sit up here watching them drink and laugh, and I can attest that they leave as happy as they came.
揅ome on,?she whines. 揧ou promised we抎 finish Pride and Prejudice tonight.?
I smother a groan but do remember agreeing to that plan before I realized there was a party happening next door. I抦 not even cool enough to know about parties, let alone be invited.
揊ive more minutes.?
揊ine. I抣l make popcorn.?Her voice moves away from the tree house. 揑f you aren抰 inside when I hit play, you抮e on trash duty for the rest of the month.?
揧eah, yeah. I抣l be there.?The wind blows my hair around my face. I untie the flannel shirt from my waist and slip it on, then hug my knees to my chest and drop my chin to rest on my arm.
Three months ago, I moved in next door to the hottest party spot at college with Violet and two other friends, Jane and Dahlia.
The White House, as it抯 called, is aptly named, not only because of its size and color but because the epic parties thrown here are the college version of being asked to dine with dignitaries or royalty. Or, I抦 guessing, since the closest I抳e come to attending a party there is watching from my favorite nook on the other side of the property line.
The starting lineup for the university抯 men抯 basketball team lives next door, but it抯 an all-inclusive place to be for the elite population on campus梞embers of Greek life, jocks of the top sports, stunningly gorgeous girls, and him.
Liam Price梙ockey player, junior, engineering major.
We have a physics class together this semester, so I know the tilt of his shoulders as he leans back in his seat, the way he chews on the end of his pen when he抯 thinking, and that his friends sometimes call him Dreamboat as a way to tease him about his neatly styled blond hair and preppy clothes.
Tonight he抯 sitting with his teammates on the side of the patio closest to me. The guys he抯 with are drinking one cup of foamy beer after another, but not Liam. Like many other nights I抳e watched him, he holds a water bottle in one hand. He laughs and talks along with his buddies, but as they get drunk and loud, his calm and put-together presence never wavers.
My pulse races as a pretty girl approaches his circle of friends. The way she waltzes up to a group of guys with such confidence and ease is truly inspiring. He unfolds his tall frame, offering his seat to the newcomer. She smiles and places a hand on his forearm, then gushes something I can抰 hear over the party noise before taking his chair.
Did I mention he抯 a gentleman?
He drains the rest of his water and looks around the party. Sometimes I think he doesn抰 feel like he fits in either. Still, he抯 on that side of the fence.
My breath hitches when his gaze lifts to the tree house across the property line, but as soon as I think he抯 seen me, his stare continues on.
Invisibility is my superpower. Except I can抰 turn it off. For three months, he抯 looked in my direction without seeing me.
揇aisy!?Violet yells from the back door. I抎 take the trash out every month until the end of time if I thought sitting up here and studying my popular peers would get me any closer to being one of them.
With a sigh, I take one last longing look at everything I抦 missing out on and then start down the ladder. My Saturday night plans include watching Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy for at least the third time this semester. Violet has a thing for Austen, and I have a thing for romance and optimism, so I don抰 mind so much. I prefer the Matthew Macfadyen version, though.
Before I moved next door, I might have even been excited to quote our favorite lines and swoon as Darcy falls for Elizabeth. Back then, it was easy to write off these parties like I wasn抰 missing anything, but now?
Now, as I enter the quaint and quiet stone house practically hidden next to the massive one next door, I wonder, what would it take for a campus wallflower to climb the fence and be seen?
1
DAISY
揑抦 late,?Dahlia calls as she hurries down the stairs with an apple in one hand and her golf bag slung over her shoulder. She puts the apple in her mouth to wave and then flings open the door. A breeze flows through the living room as she slams the door behind her and jogs across the street, joining more student athletes on their way to practice.
Our house is only a few blocks from campus, nestled between dorms on the southside and Ray Fieldhouse and the rest of the athletic facilities.
Weekday afternoons are the best for people watching.
揑 haven抰 seen any baseball players in their cute pants,?Violet says, looking over my shoulder.
揟hey have a day off. I heard a guy in class talking about it.?Jane flips through a Cosmopolitan magazine on the couch. She looks up from the page and pulls back the curtain giving us a better view.
Basketball players jog the street, football players are heading in for weight training in cut-off T-shirts, and if I squint, I can just make out the empty baseball diamond in the distance. The hockey arena is two blocks west and out of view, but I like to picture Liam at practice in all that padding, flashing that big, bright smile underneath his helmet.
The prick of a needle on my shoulder makes me jump.
揌old still. I抦 almost done.?Only Violet could sound annoyed and sympathetic at the same time.
As instructed, I stand perfectly still while she uses me as a model for her latest creation. The material falls to the floor with a small train. The bodice is a black corset that squeezes my ribs and pushes up my small boobs to an impressive, gravity-defying height. Soft, see-through lace covers my shoulders and arms, and clasps at my neck with a vintage brooch. The cropped blouse does nothing to cover my cleavage, but I抦 certain that抯 the point.