I laugh and so does Trent, though he doesn’t look all that thrilled with me.
“Just do it,” he growls.
He’s right. I avoid responsibility whenever possible. Call it a character flaw, I guess.
Spinning around in the chair, I click on the posting and type in the message box below to open a new chat window.
PuckMe_69: Hey, I need a tutor. You still available?
Two minutes later, a small bubble pops up below my message.
Heir_of_Slytherin: Yes. What subject?
PuckMe_69: Business Law
Heir_of_Slytherin: How many days/hours do you need?
PuckMe_69: I don’t know. I’m failing. Can I start this week?
Heir_of_Slytherin: I’m booked on Wednesday. How about Friday at 4?
Friday is our game against Notre Dame, and I’m not allowed to dress for it. Fuck, this blows. Thinking about everything Trent and I have to give up only makes me want to work harder, be better. If not for me then I have to get my shit together for Trent. He would do the same for me. I feel so damn guilty about roping him into my mess. My brother shouldn’t have to pay the price for my mistakes.
PuckMe_69: Friday works for me. What’s your name?
Heir_of_Slytherin: Sam. And yours?
PuckMe_69: Tuck
Heir_of_Slytherin: Where do you want to meet?
PuckMe_69: My house?
Heir_of_Slytherin: No. Somewhere public.
I roll my eyes at the computer screen, my fingers still hovered over the keyboard. Is this guy afraid I’m a serial killer? I don’t have a good feeling about this one. Not. At. All.
PuckMe_69: I don’t want anyone to know I’m failing this class. How about off-campus?
Heir_of_Slytherin: I’ll meet you at Broad Street Beans.
PuckMe_69: That’s technically on-campus.
Heir_of_Slytherin: Take it or leave it.
Somewhat hesitant, I pause for a few seconds wondering if I should ask my dad to hire someone who won’t open their mouth. But I reject the idea immediately. The more my father is involved, the more he will ride my ass. And he’s already doing enough of that as it is.
PuckMe_69: See you then.
Heir_of_Slytherin: I’ll be the girl in the corner wearing a green t-shirt.
Girl? This is unexpected. I was so sure Sam was a guy. Now, my interest is piqued. Which is why I can’t help myself as I type my next response.
PuckMe_69: Something sexy, I hope. :)
Heir_of_Slytherin: I can’t do this. Sorry…
Oh, shit. What did I just do?
PuckMe_69: C’mon, Sam. I was joking.
Heir_of_Slytherin: I have better things to do with my time than tutor jerks.
PuckMe_69: Meet me on Friday. Please. I’ll pay double your hourly rate.
Three minutes pass before she starts typing again, and the bubble appears on the screen. I suck in a deep breath hoping she will change her mind. I need this especially after reading that stupid article about me.
Heir_of_Slytherin: One hour. $50. Don’t be late.
Heir_of_Slytherin is offline appears on the screen a second later. She didn’t even give me the chance to respond.
This should be interesting…
Chapter Two
Sam
Men are pigs. I’m sick of tutoring the entitled, arrogant, and obnoxious jerks on campus.
So fucking sick of this shit.
None of them have a clue what it’s like to work for a living. What it’s like to have bills you can’t pay and more jobs than you can count to pay those bills.
Irritated, I slam my laptop closed and shove it across my comforter. “What an asshole.”
“What’s wrong?” My roommate, Eden, strolls into my bedroom, now hovering over me with a worried look on her face. “You look pissed, chica.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I glance up at her. “It’s nothing. Just another asshole I have to tutor.”
Eden pushes her hands to her hips. “You can say no.”
Like me, Eden Caulfield is average but curvy, cute but not hot. Guys on campus aren’t stopping to whistle at us yet I still get assholes like PuckMe_69 who have the nerve to hit on me before we even meet. Eden has been my best friend and roommate since freshman orientation. We even bonded over our love of writing and now work at the school newspaper together. The Strickland Gazette is one of my many jobs, though it doesn’t pay me shit. It’s purely experience for my future career.
“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.