Tutoring the Player (Campus Wallflowers #1)(38)

“Will do.”

By the time I’ve said goodbye to the rest of the guys, Daisy is fighting to keep her eyes open.

I help her to her feet and wrap an arm around her waist.

“I’m fine,” she protests even as she leans into me. “But you smell good.”

“Another compliment. A guy might start to think you like him.”

“I do like you,” she says. “We’re friends, right?”

I pause inside of the house and find her big, blue eyes staring up at me from only a few inches away. It’d be so easy to kiss her, show her how not friends we are.

“Sure we are.” I tighten my grip on her. “Did you bring anything else with you tonight?”

She shakes her head.

“All right. Come on, let me walk you back.”

“No.” She straightens. “I haven’t seen the house yet. If this is my only chance ever to be inside, then I have to see it all.”

“All right then. Let me be your tour guide, sweet Daisy.”

“I need a new nickname.” She huffs as I lead her through the kitchen, stopping in the theater room briefly where I wave to Jenkins and more people sitting around watching the giant TV on the wall.

“But this one suits you so well.”

“Sweet makes me sound like a twelve-year-old girl selling cookies and lemonade.”

I bark a laugh as we head upstairs.

“Is that how you see me?” She stops on the top step and faces me.

“No.” I tuck the dark blonde hair hanging in her face behind one ear. The air crackles between us, but a couple is coming up the stairs, and we move forward out of the way.

“This is the gym.” I point to the locked door.

“They have their own court?” Daisy asks as she peers inside through the little window.

“Yep, and the rest of upstairs is bedrooms and bathrooms.”

“This is so much nicer than our house,” she says.

“It’s nicer than most people's houses.”

“True, but they don’t have an epic tree house like we do.” She walks the length of the hall and then comes back. “Thank you for indulging me. I can cross this off my bucket list now.”

“You don’t think you’ll come back sometime?”

“With who?”

“With me.”

She stops again. Her blue eyes narrow on me, and then she takes the railing in one hand and steps down the stairs. “You and I don’t make any sense.”

“Why’s that?” I ask as we step out the front door.

The breeze blows against us. She shivers and ducks her head into my shoulder.

“I’m a wallflower. You’re a popular jock.”

“Liam is a popular jock.”

“Yeah, but he’s different.”

There’s no denying it, he’s definitely not your average popular jock, but it still nags at me. She pulls away at her front door and digs through her purse for a key. It takes her a few tries, but she lets us inside and flips on a lamp near the doorway.

“Thank you for walking me home.”

“Do you have any Tylenol?”

“Advil is better when you’ve been drinking.”

I lift a brow.

“See? I know things.”

“Okay, smarty pants. Take some and drink a full glass of water.”

“You drank as much as me.”

“Yeah, but you weigh like half as much.”

“I don’t weigh half as much as you.”

“God, you’re exasperating. If I drink a glass of water too, will you drink one?”

She nods. “I’ll get the Advil. It’s upstairs.”

I walk toward the kitchen, find two glasses, and fill them with water. I need to make sure she’s okay and get the hell out of here. It feels like a betrayal of Liam just thinking the things going through my head.

She hasn’t returned when I get back to the stairs. I wait, then call up to her. No answer. Dammit, Daisy.

I take the stairs two at a time. I check the bathroom first. Empty. All the lights are off upstairs, but her bedroom door is ajar. Light from the closet spills out. I set the glasses on her desk and then move toward the closet. I’m expecting her to be passed out on the floor, but instead, she’s grunting and flailing with her dress up around her chest.

“Oh shit,” I say and turn around. “Sorry. I yelled up but got worried when I didn’t get a response.”

“Help me,” she whines.

“Uhh. What?”

“I’m stuck.”

Slowly, I face her, taking in the scene in front of me—Daisy with her dress caught around her boobs—with amusement at first, but then my gaze drops to her tiny white panties and all the smooth, pale skin on display in front of me.

My pants grow snug in the crotch, but I step forward with purpose. I try to lift the fabric, but it doesn’t budge.

“How did you get this on?”

“There are buttons in the back.”

The view in the back is even worse, or better, depending on your perspective. Ripping off her dress and kissing her was not in the plan for tonight.

I fumble with the three tiny buttons running down her spine. Her skin is smooth and warm. The fabric gapes and the clasp of her bra stares at me, begging to be undone.