Tutoring the Player (Campus Wallflowers #1)(39)

“Did you get it?”

“Yeah.” I step back and clear my throat.

She pulls the dress over her head and then uses it to shield her front from me. “I, uh, just realized I’m now mostly naked, and you just saw me in my underwear. I am mortified.”

“Striptease was not on the choose your own adventure map, but I am happy to add it.”

“Just turn around or something.”

I do and step out of the closet but can’t resist taunting her more. “Already seen your cute white panties, Daisy.”

She groans. “I wasn’t expecting for anyone to see me naked tonight, or I would have worn sexier ones.”

Well, that’s… intriguing, and my mind processes it in a fashion show of Daisy in an array of colorful panty options. Her easel is set up next to her desk, and I walk toward it to inspect her drawing. Even in the near dark, I’m impressed. It’s a man—or the beginning of one.

She reappears next to me in a T-shirt and cotton shorts, holding a bottle of Advil. “Did you get water?”

I motion to where I set the glasses on the desk when I came in. “This is good. Who is it?”

“No one. It’s for class.” She moves the easel where I can no longer see her work. “Thank you for the water and for… you know.”

“Getting you naked?”

“You live for embarrassing me.”

“Absolutely, I do.”

Her face pales. “The room is spinning.”

“You should lie down.”

She takes the medicine and another sip of water.

“What time will Violet be home?” I ask.

“Not until the morning. She texted earlier and said they were staying at Eric’s.”

She gets in bed then glances at the closet light.

“I got it.” I turn it off and then hesitate. Every fiber of my being is yelling not to leave her like this. “Scoot over.”

“What?”

I kick off my shoes and peel off my T-shirt. She’s staring at me wide-eyed as I stalk toward the bed.

“I’m not having sex with you,” she blurts.

“No shit.” I pull back the comforter. “But I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“I’m fiiine,” she whines and then winces and curls into a ball. “My stomach doesn’t feel great, but if I’m going to throw up, I’d rather be alone.”

“Been there plenty of times.”

She makes room for me, and I lay down beside her. The bed is small, Daisy-sized, and my feet meet the end of the mattress.

“You look ridiculous in my bed.” She giggles.

“I never look ridiculous in bed.”

Her gaze falls over my bare chest, and I’d bet if I could see better in the dark, I’d find her blushing.

She reaches out and touches a tattoo along my ribs. The date we won the Frozen Four my freshman year. “Show me your other tattoos.”

I shift to show her my left shoulder and bicep.

“These are cool.” She runs her finger along the outline of the mountains, then the sun, and compass. Then she reads the three words inked into the design, “Friendship, strength, and honor.”

I say nothing as she continues to touch me.

“What about the ones on your legs?”

“You’ve seen them?” I ask.

“You wore shorts a couple of times in class.”

I nod, filing away the tidbit that she noticed me, or at least my tattoos, before we officially met.

Daisy snuggles closer. “Show me. You’ve already seen me in my underwear. Seems fair.”

Except, I’m sporting a semi.

“Come on.” She pushes my shoulder playfully. “Strip.”

Laughing, I get out of bed and unbutton my jeans. “I like it when you’re bossy, sweet Daisy.”

“I am not sweet!”

I drop my jeans to the floor and step out of them. She isn’t bashful about looking, and since I’m already on display, I draw her attention to my thighs. “I got these two last year.”

She gets on her knees and inches to the edge of the mattress, then sits back on her heels. “Any others?”

I nod, swallow, and turn so she can see my back. The cross I got for Mark is the most personal of my tattoos and sharing it with Daisy makes the moment feel heavier. Her cool fingertips meet my skin, and my spine tingles. I know she’s reading the name and dates and figuring out that it’s a memorial. I continue to face away from her until her hand falls away.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice comes in a whisper. “I’m assuming this is your friend from the picture?”

I get back into bed and roll to face her. “Yeah. Mark was my best friend all the way back to middle school.”

“What happened to him?”

I take a breath, and she adds, “If you don’t want to talk about it…”

I usually don’t, but something in Daisy’s meek expression compels me to tell her.

“He was killed in a hit and run. We were at a party, and he decided to walk home. The driver never saw him.”

“Oh my gosh.” Her bottom lip trembles, and I reach out and smooth the pad of my thumb along it without thinking.

“Do you have any tattoos?”