Tutoring the Player (Campus Wallflowers #1)(73)

Pulling a T-shirt over my head, I walk out of my room to find Liam and a guy I don’t recognize. They’re playing video games, two pizzas stacked in front of them on the coffee table.

“Hey,” I say as I linger in the doorway.

They both glance quickly from the TV screen to say hello and continue with the game.

“This is Cole,” Liam says with another sideways glimpse in my direction, but this time his eyes widen a fraction.

It takes me a second to realize this is the guy Liam’s been seeing. My brows lift, and my mouth makes an O.

I catch myself before Cole looks up and smiles.

“Jordan,” I introduce myself.

“I know. I mean, I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to meet you.” He has a slight drawl that makes his words slow and smooth, friendly even.

“Yeah, same.”

“We have pizza.” Liam nods his head toward the boxes.

“No thanks. I—” I can’t think of an excuse quick enough.

Liam grabs the bottom pizza and holds it out to me. “Cheese.”

I still don’t move, and he shakes it. “Soak up whatever alcohol is still in your system. Captain’s orders.”

We have a home game tomorrow against our rival ASU. They’re undefeated, and we would love nothing more than to destroy their perfect record.

Cole scoots closer to Liam, and they both look at me expectantly.

“All right.” I take a seat, and Liam passes me the box over Cole’s head, grinning like a fool.

“How’s the cheek?” Cole asks, biting back a smile.

I bring a hand up to rub my face. “Fine. No thanks to this fucker.”

We laugh, and the sound dregs up emotions I’ve tried to keep at bay.

“No offense, but it sounds like you deserved it.”

I flip him off, and Cole just laughs at me.

That’s how I find myself spending a Friday night hanging with Liam and Cole. We play video games and eat pizza.

I learn that Cole is from Texas, majoring in exercise science, and totally gone for Liam. He doesn’t say the latter, but he gets this look on his face—pure adoration—anytime the two of them are talking. I like him, and I like how happy Liam looks.

Eventually, they go to Liam’s room, and I shut myself back in mine. Over the last week, I’ve perfected my playlist of sappy songs that say all the things I feel and can’t say to Daisy. Staring up at the ceiling in the dark, listening to other people’s confessions of the heart, I compose a thousand texts that I won’t allow myself to send (twenty unanswered texts is a line even my pathetic ass won’t cross).

I vacillate between frustration and self-loathing. That’s to say nothing of the sadness that lingers like a second skin.

I miss her.

Fuck, do I miss her.





Liam lifts a fist as I pass him in the line down the tunnel for the final period of the game.

I tap it, and he falls in beside me. He has a pep in his step as we make our way to the ice. The crowd is on their feet, and the nearly packed arena is electric.

I don’t dare look at the student section for Daisy. I know she isn’t here. I can feel it—the distance between us.

I let it fuel me for the next twenty minutes of play. Hockey is the perfect distraction. I dig deep, tapping into the anger and frustration, even the sadness. Aggressive on the verge of reckless. Only Liam understands the real reason. The rest of the team eggs me on, mistaking my hustle for my determination to beat ASU.

And we do.

But I still miss her, and when the game is over, I’m back to needing a distraction.

“You want to go to The Hideout?” Dallas asks me as we’re changing in the locker room.

“Yeah, I’m in.”

Liam stops me before I can go, stepping in front of my path to the door. “Did you hear anything I said the other night?”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

He cocks a brow.

“I heard you.” I sidestep him. “I just don’t think there’s any getting her back.”





32





DAISY





I went to bed early again. Now it’s two in the morning, and I’m wide awake, and my stomach is grumbling. I skipped dinner because I could hear Violet downstairs. We still haven’t spoken, and it’s reached the awkward point where I’m tiptoeing around waiting for her to leave before I come out of my room.

But now the house is dark and quiet. I pad softly out of my room and downstairs to the kitchen.

Violet’s sitting at the kitchen table with her tablet in front of her. The only light comes from its screen as she hunches over, drawing on it with the stylus.

Momentum propels me forward when I’d really like to backtrack. She looks up as I’m trying to decide how to flee without being seen.

“I thought you were asleep,” I blurt out.

“No. Not yet.” She blinks a few times. Her eyes are heavy with the hour. She hasn’t been to bed.

Since I’ve already intruded on her, I go to the fridge and open it. It’s as empty as I feared, and the only thing in the pantry cabinet is a sleeve of Saltine crackers.

I turn on my heel, prepared to go, when she pushes the bag of pretzels on the table an inch in my direction. She doesn’t say a word, but the invitation is there.