Teaching Tucker (Face-Off Legacy Book 3)

by Jillian Quinn

  “I can’t afford to say no. You know that.”

  Eden nods, holding out her hand to help me up from the bed. “Speaking of things you can’t afford, it’s almost time for work.”

  I sigh and then take her hand, wishing things were different and that I had the life of the wealthy students at Strickland University. My life is no picnic. I’ve never had a single thing handed to me. Now, it’s time for job number three. And if all goes well at my interview this week, I’ll have a fourth job secured for next semester.

  Eden is already dressed in the green polo shirt we’re required to wear to work. Broad Street Beans, the coffee shop on campus, is a popular hangout for students, though I’ve never had the pleasure of sitting down to sip a latte. Not like I can afford a five-dollar coffee anyway. I’m a barista, the girl making the drinks, the person everyone yells at if the espresso isn’t steamed enough or the coffee’s not hot enough. It’s a thankless job, one that pays very little, but it helps pay the bills.

  Unlike the mass majority of the student population, I’m here on a scholarship. People like Eden and me are so few and far between. At least, we have each other. We understand each other in ways no one else at this school could possibly comprehend.

  “This guy I have to meet on Friday is going to be a piece of work,” I say to Eden as I swap my Ramones t-shirt for the Broad Street Beans polo in my closet, dropping one on the floor to pull the other over my head. “I don’t even know if it will be worth the fifty dollars an hour he’s willing to pay me.”

  She gasps. “Fifty dollars? Get out of here. If you don’t tutor him, I’ll be more than happy to take your place. You’d be an idiot to turn down that kind of money.”

  “I’ll meet him,” I admit. “I don’t want to, but I will. I have to pick up groceries for my dad this weekend. I can use the cash.”

  She frowns at the mention of my dad. I’m the parent in our relationship. His lack of parenting skills has made my life ten times harder than it needs to be. But he’s my dad, and he needs me.

  Eden holds the front door open for me, allowing enough room to step into the hallway and then locks it behind us. We share a two-bedroom dormitory suite with each of us having our own room and a communal bathroom and a small kitchen. Even though I was raised thirty minutes from campus, I choose to live in Jefferson Hall because of my dad and the fact I can’t stand to be in the same house as him for more than ten minutes.

  Eden tucks her keys into her jeans pocket, her green eyes filled with sadness. “Do you need me to come with you again?”

  “No, I should be okay.”

  We dodge a few people as they pass us, keeping to the right side of the hallway where we have more privacy to talk. Two girls stand outside of their rooms. Their voices are so loud and clear they project down the hall, so I can hear them perfectly. Dorm life isn’t the best. In fact, it kind of sucks, but it beats the alternative.

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind being your wing woman.” Eden talks over the loud voices and rap music cranking out from the room at the end of the hall. “I work in the morning. I’ll be off by lunch.”

  I never let anyone into my life. Eden’s the only person who knows about my dad and how rough it is for me to visit him every week. Most days, I do my best to forget he even exists. Until the weekend comes and the fridge is empty, or he’s out of smokes or spends his paycheck before he remembers to pay the electric bill.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine.” I force a smile for her benefit. She knows I’m lying, and I love her for wanting to help. “I’ll be in and out by the time your shift is over.”

  She nods, and we don’t speak again until we’re out of Jefferson Hall and crossing the Quad, headed toward Broad Street.

  “Are you finished with your piece that’s due tomorrow?”

  Eden shoots me a goofy look. “No. Don’t kill me.”

  I’m an associate editor at the Strickland Gazette which makes me Eden’s boss. Well, sort of. It’s not like they pay me, so I have a hard time considering myself in any type of managerial role. Jared Salt, our actual boss, has the final say over everything that’s printed in our little paper.

  “I can help you… if you want.”

  She tilts her head back and laughs. “Right. With all the extra time you have in your schedule.”

  “I write most of my articles on my phone while I’m at work. How many words did Salt say you need to hit?”

  Thinking it over, she bites the inside of her cheek. “Five hundred, I think.”

  “Piece of cake.” I wave off her concern. “You got this. If not, I can write it for you on my break.”

  Eden has done so much to help me over the years. She even dated a stupid frat boy to help us get closer to the more newsworthy students on campus. I don’t mind stepping in when she needs me.

  “How about we swap articles this week?”

  Her face illuminates from the smile reaching up to her eyes. “Are you sure?”

  My smile matches hers. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Eden lets out a sigh of relief, and I know why.

  Her article is one of many fraternity hazing exposé pieces our staff is working on. Every member of the paper has contributed, myself included. It’s harder for Eden than the rest of us. She was in the Delta Sigma Phi fraternity house for some of the craziness that went on during the pledging process.

  She saw things firsthand that no girl should have to witness. And now, we’re going to turn this story on its head and spill all of the juicy details to the world. But she’s afraid of the backlash, and I don’t blame her. We’re all nervous about what will happen once the truth is out there. But the truth must be heard.

  “Thanks, Sam.” Eden pats me on the shoulder as we stroll into Broad Street Beans. “You’re a life-saver.”

  Eden approaches the long counter and waves to our boss to signify we’re here. He acknowledges us with a quick nod and then continues writing on the clipboard in his hand.

  “Do me a favor, though?”

  “Anything,” she says without hesitation.

  “Save me if the guy I’m meeting on Friday is an asshole.”

  She looks over her shoulder at me and winks. “I got your back.”

  I smile, a real one this time. Eden always has my back. She’s the only person on this planet who does.

  Chapter Three

  Tucker

  The scent of coffee smacks me in the face when I open the door to Broad Street Beans, the sweet aroma filling my nostrils. I can’t believe my tutor wanted to meet me here, of all places. Where everyone on campus will see us together.

  The coffee shop is packed to the brim, the tables crammed with groups of students, some dressed in Strickland University shirts. A few people are wearing shorts and sandals with socks. I’m analyzing every single person as I pass through the crowded space in search of the girl in the green shirt.

  She’s not here.

  Other than the employees, no one in the store is wearing green. A sea of navy and white—Strickland University colors—surround me.

  By the window, a group of girls gather around a table too small to fit all of them. One of them notices me, and when she does, the rest of their heads snap in my direction. I give a quick wave and keep moving toward the back of the shop where there’s an open table set further apart from the rest, right next to the restrooms.

  I drop my bag to the floor and take a seat hoping no one comes over to ask questions. Everyone on campus knows me or at least has heard of me. It’s hard not to gain unwanted attention when your dad is a famous hockey player. Because of that, no one can know I need a tutor. My academic history is one of the best-kept secrets on my team. And now, that secret could easily be exposed. But Sam didn’t leave me much of a choice.

  Thirty minutes pass where I flip through the social media apps on my cell phone trying not to look like I’ve been stood up.

  This is a first.

  She told me to be on time.

  Because o
f her attitude and apparent anger with me, I showed ten minutes early. No one has approached me. The only girls who have glanced in my direction I already know.

  A sliver of hope passes through me when a girl in a green shirt steps into the café area with a tray in her hand. And that hope fades the second I realize she works here. So, what should I do? Is she testing me to see if I’m worth her time? If that’s the case, I will sit here all damn day and night just to prove her wrong. I like a challenge.

  I answer a text and comment on a few Facebook posts by the time I hear a female voice. My name is like a melody when whispered from her lips. Expecting my tutor, I’m surprised to find Jemma, the girl I intentionally knocked over in the Quad last week to catch her attention.

  Pale skin, auburn hair, and the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen greet me along with the smile that graces her perfectly plump lips. She’s gorgeous with a body that has all the right curves in all the right places. I scan every inch of her delicious body before refocusing my gaze on her mouth.

  “Jemma with a J,” I say with a wicked smirk.

  She’s glowing, her skin touched by a slight blush that spreads from her cheeks to her chest. “Hey, Tucker.”

  I nod at the open chair across from me. “Keep me company.”

  Jemma glances at the chair and then at me.

  “Unless you want to sit in my lap,” I offer, patting my thigh with a wink.

  Her skin turns red from my suggestion, and she tucks her hair behind her ears, turning her head away from me for a split second. “No, that’s okay. I was just running to the restroom real quick, and then I have to get going. But I’ll see you around.”

  “Party this weekend. I better see you there.” I flash a quick smile that earns me one in return.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Jemma waves, and then passes me as she heads into the ladies’ room.

  I’m striking out with women today. First, Sam stands me up, and now Jemma’s turning me down, or at least playing hard to get.

  What the hell is going on?

  Irritated about Sam blowing me off, I open the Strick Net app on my phone to send her a message. I might have been a little bit of a dick toward the end of our conversation, but we had a deal. She was supposed to be here by now.

  PuckMe_69: I’m here. You’re late. We still on for today?

  Seconds turn into minutes, and before I know it, another ten minutes has flown by without a response. I’m about to leave the coffee shop when a blonde wearing a green Broad Street Beans polo takes the seat across from me. She stares at me in horror as our eyes meet when she realizes I know her, too. But I don’t know her as Sam…

  Chapter Four

  Sam

  The line hasn’t died down since the minute my shift started. At least a hundred students are in Broad Street Beans taking up space in the café or sipping lattes out front on the small terrace which overlooks Broad Street. As one group leaves, another enters, demanding even more complicated drinks. Rich kids are the worst. They’re difficult and expect everything a certain way, their orders barked in condescending tones that makes my blood run cold.

  I glance at the watch on my left wrist and let out a sigh of relief. Ten more minutes. That’s how long I have until I can slip out from behind the counter and make my escape. Except, I’m not free. Not when I have to go straight to my next job.

  The crowd ebbs and flows, and in with the new comes someone from the past. Someone I still hate with a passion. A rich asshole I want to punch in the face every time I see him on campus. Tucker Kane. The douchiest douchebag I’ve ever met. And the sad thing—he doesn’t even remember me. Or at least he never appears as if he does. Why would he?

  For the longest time I wasn’t sure if he was Tucker or Trent. He’s identical to his twin in every way. But I learned over time that Tucker always wears his hair spiky, whereas Trent’s falls over his forehead.

  Tucker had me fooled my freshman year. I was blind to his charms, thought he was the most incredible man I’d ever met. Until he told me our night together didn’t matter.

  When a man like Tucker shows you attention, you feel as though you’re the most important woman in the world. He promises dreams and then sells you nightmares. Because when he disappears, it’s lonely and cold, his light now eclipsed by the moon, leaving you in complete darkness. You mean nothing. You’re just another girl in his path to the next one, left behind to pick up the pieces.

  Tucker never comes into Broad Street Beans. And now, he’s here. He glances around the store, his eyes traveling over every girl in the place. Checking out his next victim, I assume.

  Slinging a backpack over his right shoulder, he flexes his thick muscles. A small part of me aches when I’m reminded of our last time together. And that part of me wants to wrap my fingers around his biceps, slide my hands over his chiseled chest—he takes my breath away—that part hasn’t changed.

  I can’t peel my eyes from him as he waves to a group of girls by the window on his way toward the back of the café. He sits at the only open table right in front of the restrooms. It’s the worst seat in the house. No windows. Smells like a toilet. The round table only enough room for two, if that.

  Glancing over at Tucker, memories of my first time with him force their way into my mind.

  I sucked in a deep breath, trying to psych myself up to play strip poker. But I couldn’t do it. No matter how many times I tried to get comfortable enough to sit at the table, there was no amount of liquid courage that could prepare me to take my clothes off in front of strangers.

  We were in the backyard of the Delta Sig fraternity house with ten people seated at the felt-lined table in front of me. Stacks of colored chips were at the center, a pile of black, red, and green overflowing onto the river cards. When Tucker asked me if I could play poker, I lied. I grew up with a drunk for a father, a man who lost every paycheck playing cards on his lunch breaks and on the weekends in Atlantic City. Because of that, I loathed anything to do with gambling.

  Tucker pulled two lawn chairs beneath the maple tree and told me to sit. I did as he instructed without giving it another thought. He was gorgeous, well over six feet tall with a surfer tan and short, blond hair gelled into tiny spikes. I’d seen him around campus a few times. I’d even attended the parties at his house. But he never noticed me, not even once. Now, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

  He slid his arm behind my neck, resting it on the back of the chair. His fingers gently brushed against my skin, his delicate touch producing tiny bumps along my shoulder. It was October and still somewhat warm, but the chill running through me was from Tucker. My body was all too aware of how it responded around him, which made me even more self-conscious.

  Tucker leaned over to speak against the shell of my ear, his breath sending a brush of heat to my cheeks. “We get the next round.”

  “I’m not sure if I want to play.”

  “Oh?” He cocked his head to look me in the eyes. “Getting cold feet?”

  “I’d rather dance. Poker kinda triggers bad memories.”

  He took a sip from his cup and squeezed my shoulder with his big hand. “Let’s dance then. Fair warning, it’s not my thing. I might do more drinking than dancing.”

  “You sure you don’t mind leaving the game?”

  “Nope. I don’t need to play a game to get you out of this sheet.” He winked, staring down at my toga.

  Instead of irritation, which would have been the normal reaction considering he was a pig, I was excited. I’d thought of Tucker every time he passed me on my way to class, every time we were at the same parties.

  His cocky smirk and pale blue eyes produced a yearning inside me. I pushed my thighs together, my core clenching with a need for him. Of course, he noticed my sudden movement, one that turned up the corners of his mouth even wider. Tucker was the cream of the crop of Strickland University’s elite. He was the son of a famous hockey player, rich enough to buy the school, and ruggedly handsome.

&nb
sp; He was the typical jock, all smiles and charm and never without a girl on his arm.

  “Shit,” Eden yelled, throwing her losing hand on the table. “But I don’t have anything on under this sheet.”

  I shook my head, laughing. She never should have played poker with guys who knew how to fake their way to a win. I could tell the frat boy sitting next to her was bluffing when he called her bet. She folded, allowing him to win the game with a pair of fours.

  When Eden began to undo the knot at her shoulder to release the sheet we cut in half to wear like a toga, I turned my head. I couldn’t bear witness to her public shame. If I were going to get naked, it wouldn’t be in front of a group of drunken frat boys.

  I wanted to save her from the stupid bet, but she was thickheaded and would never listen to me. Once she committed to something, she was all in.

  “How come I’ve never seen you at a party before?” Tucker asked.

  “This isn’t my first time in the house.”

  “Really? You have the kind of face I would remember.”

  “That’s because you usually have your tongue down some girl’s throat.”

  He laughed. “Sounds about right.” Then, he brought his hand to my cheek and rubbed his thumb along my jaw. “But you’re the only girl I see tonight.”

  “Smooth,” I shot back, somewhat amused.

  Tucker flashed an adorable smirk that creased his tanned cheek. His eyes found mine, and my chest tightened.

  “Let’s go inside.” He took the cup from my hand and helped me up from the chair.

  I pressed my hands to his chest when I lost my balance, the four beers I’d drank kicking in at once.

  We grabbed a fresh beer from the keg in the kitchen, and then Tucker led me by the hand into the living room. The furniture was moved up against the walls to make room for the makeshift dance floor. There were so many people surrounding us, the air was hot and thick from all the bodies rubbing up against each other. The DJ in the corner of the room spun records, mixing a popular rap song with a techno beat.