Tutoring the Player (Campus Wallflowers #1)(49)

He holds up a hand to shield his eyes from the light when he gets to the top. “Whoa.”

“Sorry.” I set it to the side, and he walks hunched over to me.

He sits so that we’re side by side. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I reply, feeling a little awkward. “Congrats.”

The team won both of their games this week.

“Thanks.” He leans back and adjusts his hat, so it faces forward. “What’ve you been up to this week?”

“Not a lot. Classes and helping Violet plan for the ball.”

“Oh right, the Wallflower Ball. When is it?”

“The fourteenth.”

“Might need you to send me a pic or two in that sexy, yellow dress.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him to be my date, but in what world does Jordan agree to go to a Wallflower Ball? He’s anything but a wallflower. And if he says no, I fear it’ll be the end of us right now. So I just say, “I can probably arrange that.”

He bends forward and kisses me, scratching and tickling me with his scruff. It’s grown since he’s been gone, and it’s a good look on him.

“I like.” I run my hand over his cheek.

“Yeah?” He grins. “I figured you would prefer clean cut.”

“It suits you.”

He picks up my sketchbook near his feet and tips it toward the light.

“Don’t look. It isn’t finished.” I try to grab it, but he holds it out of my reach. “Is this me?”

I climb into his lap and tug at his arm until he lowers it and lets me snatch it back. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

His deep laughter isn’t taunting, but I’m horrified anyway. When I’ve closed it and placed it under the blanket, I finally face him again. “We’re working on facial features in class, and I needed the extra practice.”

Those are both true, but I easily could have picked someone else to draw and now wish I had.

“I’m flattered,” he says. “Did you do that from memory?”

“Yes. You have a very memorable face.”

He traces a finger down the side of my face. “Well, from what I was able to see before you attacked me, it seemed pretty good.”

“I can’t get your mouth right.”

“Oh yeah?” He brings his lips to mine. “Maybe you need to better inspect it.”

I do, kissing him like I’ve wanted to all week. He slides his hands under my shirt.

It’s movement next door that interrupts us as his thumbs glide over my nipples. The guys at The White House are outside, and their laughter draws Jordan’s attention.

“Oh, wow. You have a perfect view into their back yard.”

“Yeah,” I say like I haven’t spent many nights up here watching the parties next door.

“Can they see us?”

“I don’t think so.”

He glances around at the floor around us. “I wish I had something to toss at Gavin’s head.”

“Let’s not give him any reason to come over and set off Violet.”

“Those two really don’t get along, huh?”

I shake my head. “Can’t really blame her. He pretended to like her and hooked up with her roommate.”

“Gavin?” He jabs a thumb toward where his buddy stands. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

I shrug.

He kisses me again, and I forget the reason he came over was to study until the light in Violet’s room flips on.

“I need to finish my sketch,” I say.

“Mhmm.” He kisses down my neck and onto my collarbone.

“Finals are next week.”

With a playful groan, he pulls back and gets his book from his backpack.

“You’re cute when you pout,” I tell him.

“Don’t compliment me now, sweet Daisy, or I’ll be tempted to toss our books over the fence and kiss you until you forget about school.”

I almost do it. It’s only because I know he needs to study that I don’t.





The rest of the week and into the weekend, Jordan and I text but aren’t able to hang out. He invites me to a party on Saturday, but Violet has planned an early birthday party for Dahlia, who turns twenty over the break.

We’re at one of her teammate’s apartment. The living room is filled with people. Some I know, more I don’t. Dahlia refuses the Happy Birthday sash but has on a light-up shot glass necklace that flashes as Jane pours more champagne into it. She bought two bottles of Dom, one that was double the price because the outside was covered in rhinestones.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Jordan’s name flashes on the screen three times. He texts every thought in a different message, whereas I usually fit what would be several messages into one long one that he probably doesn’t read all the way through.

I move off to the side of the room to read his messages. Pick the suit, the first one says with a picture of three cards facing down. I scroll to the next one. Wanna fuck the dealer? And last, P.S. I’m the dealer.

My heart flutters in my chest. Hearts.

A minute later, another picture arrives. The queen of clubs. Uh-oh. Only two chances left.

He follows that up quickly with, Value?