Tutoring the Player (Campus Wallflowers #1)(16)

“And you’re both already drunk,” I say as I take the shot glasses and put them in the sink.

The Hideout is a classic restaurant and sports bar. On the bar side, Valley students are jammed into tables and booths and every space in between, making it hard to walk through, let alone find a spot to sit down.

Jane stands taller than the rest of us and scans the bar area for somewhere to sit.

“There’s a table in the back right,” she says and makes a beeline for it.

A frazzled server approaches us as soon as we sit down, then gets shoved into the end of the table by a group passing by. It’s vicious in here tonight.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She blows her hair out of her eyes.

“A bottle of your most expensive wine,” Jane says with a dispassionate glance in the direction of our server.

“I need to see your IDs.”

Jane sighs, and her posture loosens. “Just a glass of tonic for me. Lime on the side.”

“Sprite,” Violet says.

Dahlia orders the same, and then our server looks at me.

“Diet—”

Someone kicks me under the table.

“Ouch,” I yelp.

“Sorry. My foot slipped,” Violet’s voice is sugary-sweet, but her eyes are wide like she’s trying to communicate something.

“Diet Coke,” I repeat. “Thanks.”

“Got it.” The server disappears, and I lean forward to rub my shin.

“Ow, Vi. That really hurt. I think I already have a bruise.”

“I’m sorry, but I was trying to get you to order something that would mix a little better.”

Jane lifts a bottle of alcohol from her purse on the seat between her and Violet and then hides it again.

“So the wine was just to throw her off?”

“No,” Jane says, leaning forward on an elbow, so her diamond bracelet catches the light. “I really was hoping for wine, but I brought back up.” Her words get quieter as the server reappears.

“Wow, that was fast,” Violet says.

“You’re my last table, and I am eager to get out of here,” she says and sets our drinks on the table in the same order. “I’m closing out. Jordan will help you if you need anything else.”

My head snaps up, and I instinctively look for him, only realizing she doesn’t mean Jordan Thatcher but an entirely different Jordan that works here. He’s been on my mind, though. The other Jordan. He and Liam, of course.

The game is on, but the angle to the TV is weird, and the players look like blurry dots on the small screen.

“Drink up, ladies,” Jane says.

We make room in our glasses, and then she adds alcohol to each of our drinks.

I take a long sip and cough. “What is that?”

“Vodka.”

“I tried to get you to pick something other than Diet Coke,” Violet says. She takes a small sip from my glass and grimaces. “We need to order you something else after you drink that.”

But by the time I get to the end of the glass, I’ve almost gotten used to the taste. And I’m definitely tipsy. It’s been a while since the four of us have gone out together. Even living together, I don’t see them as much as I thought I would when we moved in at the start of the year.

Dahlia is busy with golf, Violet is busting her butt this semester to put together a portfolio for an internship next summer, Jane volunteers with a local youth music program, and I’m just me.

Dahlia is the most like me, but without Violet and Jane, we’d be two sad friends staring at one another every weekend, wishing the other would force us out of our shells.

I think that’s the thing people don’t realize about being shy. Most shy people desperately want to be included, but to do something as simple as plan a night out makes us anxious. We tell ourselves a thousand stories of how awful it could go and decide the payoff isn’t worth it.

It’s different when Violet is with me. She understands me. She protects me. Which gives me the confidence to say and do things I might not otherwise. Being the shy girl doesn’t mean I’m always quiet. Just when I feel out of my element or like I have a lot on the line. Like talking to Liam.

When it’s time for new drinks, Dahlia and I weave through people to get to the bar. Jordan, not Thatcher, hasn’t stopped by our table once. I can’t really blame him since we’re not ordering food or alcohol.

Two bartenders are working. It’s busy, but even the people coming up after us get waited on before us. Frustration builds. I stand a little taller and plead (mentally, of course) for one of them to notice us. Dahlia and I share a sympathetic smile.

“We might be here a while,” she says.

Nodding, I glance up at the TV hanging behind the bar. It’s the third period, and Valley is up by one. The camera zeros in on Jordan, coming off the ice and tapping his glove with a teammate. Sweat makes his dark hair curl around his helmet. His cheeks are red, and there’s an intensity in his eyes that’s so different than the easy, playful one I’ve seen so often. I think I spot Liam’s blond head, but the camera moves on before I can get a good look.

“What is taking so long?” Violet asks, coming up behind me. She lifts an arm to get the bartender’s attention, which she succeeds in almost immediately.