Tutoring the Player (Campus Wallflowers #1)(71)

With no sanctuary in sight, I go back home. Sitting on the floor next to my bed, I reach under and carefully pull out the box of candy. I don’t open it, just stare at it, trying to picture Jordan tossing things inside.

I miss him, and I really, really hate that I do.

He knew I liked Liam and he deliberately kept us apart. I’m used to being overlooked or dismissed, and that hurts in its own kind of way. But being seen and not being good enough—that’s brutal.

I don’t even wish that Liam had asked me out, not anymore, but I hate that Jordan took that from me. It wasn’t his place. He did something he knew would hurt me and then he knowingly deceived me by throwing himself in front of Liam and pretending to need my help.

All those nights getting to know him that I’ve held so close to my heart. I can’t help but look back at every encounter and second-guess the things he said and did. How could he do that? How could he kiss me and say such sweet things without telling me?

I’m mad at him, but I’m mad at myself too. I ignored all thoughts that we didn’t make sense together. Did I really think the hottest player on campus was spending all that time with me because he genuinely liked me? The ache in my chest gives me my answer.

Leaving the box untouched, I go downstairs and out into the back yard. The music is going next door, and voices carry over the fence. It’s early, and the party isn’t at full volume, but it drowns out my footsteps as I cross the yard to the tree house. My favorite place is ruined with memories that make me feel like a fool.

My chest lifts and falls as my breaths quicken. My steps are slow and measured, my body trembling. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

I love him.

My fingers wrap around the ladder. I squeeze the wood and pull, wishing I could tear the whole thing down with my bare hands. It doesn’t budge.

This close to the fence, I can hear the party more clearly—the laughter, the happy chatter, and drunken squeals of delight.

I grip the ladder until my knuckles turn white and my palms sting. And then I open my mouth, and I scream.

I scream until my throat is raw and no sound is left.

I scream until I’m me again. Quiet Daisy.





31





JORDAN





We get back to Valley late Wednesday night, and Coach gives us Thursday off practice to rest.

Rest, get blackout drunk, tomato tomahto.

Power hour is followed by a trip to the bar, and then we head to McCallum’s apartment. I haven’t found the point of drunkenness that makes me forget about Daisy and the gaping hole where my heart is supposed to be, but I have found the point that makes it a dull, blurry ache.

I’m not really in the mood for cards or video games or even talking, so I head outside to the back deck. Someone brought the speaker out here, and girls are dancing in a big group.

“Yo,” Dallas says as I fall into the chair next to him. He eyes the bottle of Fireball in my hand. “Can I get a shot of that?”

“This one is all mine,” I say, and lift it to my lips. The cinnamon whiskey slides down my throat. It’s the same bottle Daisy and I shared, and I’m going to drink every drop myself unless it’s her asking to have a drink.

I let my head fall back, and I stare up into the clear night sky. The stars are visible, the moon shining bright. Is she in her tree house looking up right now too? Maybe plotting my death or wishing on a shooting star she’d never met me.

Long hair falls into my face, and for a couple of glorious seconds, I think it’s her.

“Thatcher!” Cybil’s voice rings out, and then she tucks her hair behind her ears, so her face is visible. I sit up, and she comes around in front of me.

“Hey, handsome. Wanna dance?” She tugs at my hand.

“No thanks.”

“Come on.” She pouts.

“Busy drinking,” I say, and then bring the bottle up to take another drink. The last drops trickle onto my tongue, and it feels like the end of so much more than a fucking bottle of whiskey.

“Looks like you aren’t busy anymore.”

I let her pull me to my feet, but I hold on to my bottle. I sway, and the world spins.

“Nope,” I say before dropping back into the chair.

“Fine. You sit, and I’ll dance.”

I don’t understand at first, but then she takes a step closer until she’s standing between my legs. She moves slowly to the beat. Cybil’s gorgeous and fun, but she isn’t Daisy.

I’m about to move when Liam walks up next to her and steps between us.

“What the hell?” he grits out.

“It wasn’t what it looks like,” I start, but my tongue feels funny, and the words come out jumbled.

“Sorry, Cybil,” he says. “I need to get him home.”

“I’m not ready to go home yet.” I pull my arm away when he grips my elbow. “Grab me a beer, will you?”

“I got it,” Cybil offers.

“No.” Liam’s tone is hard as he snaps at her, and I can see the regret immediately as she looks at him in shock. His voice softens. “Can you give us a minute?”

She nods and turns toward the door.

“I’ve never heard you be such an ass before,” I note when she’s gone.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never wanted to kick someone’s ass as much as I do right now.”