3. Blair

" T hank you. I really needed this," I praise Lumi.

With a proud smile, he hands over the delicious liquid energy from Cogsworth Coffee. "You are welcome, my love."

I'm exhausted this morning. I picked up a shift last night at the club for my coworker Grace, who called out sick. I should have been out of there by one a.m., but didn't leave until about two thirty. Don't get me wrong; I made a lot of extra tips from how busy it was, but I'm dead right now.

Sipping on my hot mocha latte, we walk into our eight a.m. English class and up the stairs to our seats near the top of the bowl. It's the best seat in any class. Far enough from the professor that you can people-watch when classmates are entertaining and the teacher is boring, but not too far back that the teacher thinks you're screwing off. It's the perfect middle ground. But I don't think it would matter where I sat. Dr. Schrute knows that I take every class very seriously.

I can't afford to fuck around because I can't bear to lose my partial scholarship. That being said, I also don't need to pay attention to every word Dr. Schrute says because I've already studied and read at least the upcoming five chapters. I'm always ahead. It helps to know the information before digging deeper into it because I grasp it even more the second time and am better off.

We're early, as usual. I don't love the idea of having everyone's eyes on me, so if I'm the first to arrive and the last to leave, I can avoid walking in front of everyone.

It's also why I took college Speech while still in high school. Instead of getting up in front of a few hundred people to give a speech, I had to give it in front of forty. I would have hated to have to take it any other way. Attention is the last thing I crave, and I avoid the spotlight at all costs.

I might be a nerd and proud, but I'm not the raise-my-hand-and-answer-every-question kind of nerd. I would rather quietly be the smartest person in the room, harnessing my brain like a secret weapon.

Dr. Schrute spends the next hour talking about Jennette McCurdy's autobiography I'm Glad My Mom's Dead and how we could find inspiration for our final project. I've already read it. It was incredible and heartbreaking at the same time. I can't imagine being raised by a mom who doesn't truly love or care for you.

My mom tragically passed away when I was only three years old. I have almost no memory of her, but when I was growing up, my dad told me stories. He loved her so deeply and always reminded me of her. I wish we'd had more time together. I wish I remembered more of her, but I never suffered in her absence. My dad ensured that, filling my childhood with laughter and love.

Our final project for the year is to write a twenty-page autobiography about our past, present, and future. I've already started it, practically finished, even though I still have nearly four months to turn it in.

Dr. Schrute leaves the last ten minutes for us to discuss the book with our seatmates, which, of course, almost no one does, each little group falling into a conversation of their own. Lumi bumps my arm and pulls my head out of the book I'm buried in.

"What?" I ask, not tearing my gaze from the movie playing out in the pages before me.

"Did you hear what he just said?" Lumi aggressively whispers at me, looking down at a group of guys a few rows down from us.

"No. And why would I care what a few jocks are talking about?" I scoff and ignore him, trying to get back into my book.

Lumi's voice is the opposite of a whisper as he rises to his feet and announces to the entire goddamn class, "Blair could tutor you."

My hand lashes out and slaps his arm hard, leaving my fingers tingling. I hiss, "What the hell are you doing?"

Panic blooms in my chest and snakes around my throat.

"Shh. I'm helping you live out here in the real world with the rest of us," he murmurs as the entire room faces us, including the row Lumi was eavesdropping on.

God really dumped an entire bottle of sexy into our university's hockey team. That whole goddamn group is too hot for their own good. I recognize them from the posters plastered all over campus. The HEAU Hockey Legends .

The one with black hair and almost-purple eyes checks me out, and I consider throwing my book at him, but I wouldn't want to do that to the poor book.

The guy next to him turns and glances up at us. His hazel eyes lock on mine, and I swear I can see fucking sunshine shimmering in them. His overgrown brown hair flows off his head with such ease, perfectly messy. My chest clenches, and I try to ignore my innate attraction to the giant before me.

Why am I so bothered by how hot he is? Because I know his type. I hate that I'm captivated by him, and I've heard enough about him to have an opinion. Rich. Vain. Quick-tempered. An asshole. He is the type of guy who uses his charm and appeal to get whatever he wants in life.

The purple-eyed guy and the brunette guy rise from their seats. Turning to us, they give us their unwanted, undivided attention. The black-haired one seems amused, and the other one, who I recognize, looks rather annoyed. Griffin Hawthorne, the legend of all Legends.

I have had no choice but to overhear from squealing girls on campus that he's hot, which, to be fair, is true. He's rich as hell. He's undoubtedly going to go pro after college, and he's already being looked at by multiple pro teams. He lives in a mansion near campus that no one besides a few select teammates have stepped foot in. And he is completely unattainable, which means every girl wants him. No offense to him, but I'm not one of them. I don't have time for distractions when I barely have time to sleep.

Griffin's thick eyebrows pinch together as he opens his mouth; a deep, gruff voice that tingles my spine asks, "You're a tutor?"

"Nope," I answer before looking away and quickly throwing my stuff into my backpack.

Lumi grabs my arm as I try to walk by him, and he says loud enough for the entire room to hear, "She might not tutor officially, but I bet that she has the highest percentage in this class."

Curiosity forces Griffin's gaze to stay on me. "What's your grade?" he asks me as I sling my backpack over my shoulder.

Remaining silent, I debate on bolting straight out of the room and pretending this conversation isn't happening. Or to toot my own horn for once.

Lumi answers before I can make a decision, "One hundred percent."

Griffin's face distorts with doubt, and he squints, studying me skeptically. "Bullshit. No fucking way."

Shrugging, I slip past Lumi and step into the aisle to descend the stairs. But Griffin rushes out of his row and blocks my path.

"Jesus …" I scoff, a bit startled at how the hell he got here so fast.

Standing my ground, I look straight up at him and relax my face, attempting to hide that my heart is trying to break through my ribs right now from all the onlookers.

"You have a perfect grade?" he questions, looking down at me with an intense stare. It's intimidating, but I've never been one to fold under pressure.

Swallowing my fear, I lower my shoulders. At this point, we are the center of attention. I imagine I'm at work, where I fake confidence.

"Yes, I do. Now, if you will excuse me," I say, meeting his stare. "I have somewhere to be."

He ignores me completely, and I roll my eyes at his unwavering stance.

"Dr. Schrute, is she serious? Is that even possible?" Griffin turns and asks our professor, who has a big grin and is apparently enjoying our conversation.

Proudly, he says, "It is very possible, and I won't disclose a student's grades without their consent."

Griffin faces me again, and from the challenge in his eyes, I can tell he's not just going to let this go, and I don't feel like being in this standoff all day long.

Grinning, I look around Griffin and monotonically say, "Please just tell him so we can get this over with and I can leave."

Dr. Schrute nods with my consent and confesses, "Yes, she has a perfect grade in my class. Blair, I know you haven't done it before, but I fully believe you would make an excellent tutor."

What is this? A prank show? Even Dr. Schrute is in on it.

Griffin turns back to me with hope in his hazel eyes. Unfortunately for him, I am going to squash it. This whole situation is draining, and I still have a long day ahead of me. I have another class and a mountain of homework, and I work tonight on top of it all.

"That is kind of you, Dr. Schrute. But I don't have time to tutor anyone."

My gaze flicks up to Griffin, and the look in his eyes sends shivers through me. He's looking at me like I'm a puzzle he needs to solve.

"Excuse me," I say, descending a few more steps until only one remains between us, and he suddenly seems even bigger than before.

He is taller than I realized, towering over me, even with the extra inches I'm getting from the step.

Griffin smirks and doesn't budge an inch. "Come on. You have to be a tutor. It's unfair to your classmates to not help those less brain fortunate than you."

"Like I said"—my grip tightens on my backpack strap as my confidence wavers—"I'm not a tutor. You'll have to find someone else. I'm sorry."

Stepping forward, I place my hand on his side, feeling his muscles tighten and ripple beneath my fingers, and push my way through, knowing that I only get past him because he's letting me.

Moving down the stairs quickly, I exit the classroom and hear Lumi behind me, hot on my heels.

"You are crazy for not taking that offer," he grumbles while catching up to me.

Rolling my eyes, I feel someone brush against my other side, and I sigh. How naive of me to think that conversation was over .

"I'll pay you," Griffin blurts out, slowing down to match my stride.

Fuck .

There are a million reasons I shouldn't take this job. I really don't have time to be a tutor right now. I've never done it before; I wouldn't even know where to start. But that one green reason is almost enough to convince me it's a good idea. It's unbelievable what you might consider reasonable when you are as desperate for cash as I am.

"I don't need one hundred percent in this class; I just need to maintain above a C," he says, trying to make it seem better—and I hate to admit that he's succeeding.

My pride gets the better of me even though the extra money does sound great. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

He strides ahead and spins around, stepping in front of me with his hands up, blocking my way.

Why won't he drop this?

"I'm not interested," I say, filling the silence between us.

"Look, I've already had to fire a tutor for being a flirt and just wanting to get in my pants, refusing to focus on the work. If you think this is a game to get you in my bed, it's not. I need to get my grades up, and my future depends on them. Name your price, and I'll pay you. I just need someone to help me out, and as you said"—he looks at Lumi and then back at me—"you're the best in the class. Which means I need you."

Lumi obnoxiously clears his throat next to me, and it takes everything in me not to slap him silly.

I wasn't even considering him trying to make a move on me because I have zero intention of pursuing that. Clearly, he's not attempting to get into my pants, or he wouldn't have fired his last tutor for trying that exact thing.

No strings. No flirting. Just business. I can do that. But my time is worth the money.

I throw out a crazy number, hoping we can negotiate for at least a fifth of the amount. "Five hundred dollars a session."

He doesn't blink before saying, "Done."

"Fine," I huff, flushed because he actually just agreed to that price.

This money will help out a lot. It should keep us afloat so we can stop drowning in bills—at least for a while. Hopefully, he's a slow learner, so I can stretch this extra income out a bit longer and rake in the money all semester long.

He holds his hand out between us with his empty palm up. Staring at it briefly, I slide my hand in his and shake it gently.

He busts out laughing and says, "Your phone. Give me your phone."

Oh.

My face burns, and I pull my cell out of my pocket and unlock it, opening up a new text while trying to ignore the growing lump in my throat from the embarrassment.

Handing it to him, I glance up. "Here."

He takes it from me, still grinning as he types into it. A second later, his phone chimes.

"I'll be out of town the rest of this week for games, but I'll let you know when I'm back, and we can meet up for our first session. Does that work?" he asks before looking over my head and nodding at someone behind me.

Turning, I see three other hockey players waiting for him. When I spin back around, he hands me my phone, and I take it, saving his contact information under Griffin.

"Sounds good, yeah," I mumble, still in a bit of shock that I agreed to this at all.

"Thank you. Seriously, I owe you," he says before walking away.

Did he forget that he's paying me for this? He won't owe me anything as long as he holds up his end of our deal.

The club is packed tonight as I walk into the building. I still have to change and slap a little makeup on before my shift starts, and I only have about five minutes. Somehow, Griffin holding me up after class earlier made every single part of my day run later than planned.

Entering the back room, I throw my backpack in my locker and pull out my outfit for tonight—a super-short skirt that shows the bottom of my butt cheeks and a strappy black top that tucks into my skirt. If it wasn't for it being so low-cut, I wouldn't have worn it, but the more skin you show, the more money you make. It's simple.

The strappy, long-sleeved top hugs my arms and chest as I put it on, followed by the metallic black skirt and stockings that stop at my upper thighs, held up by tiny suspenders connected to my shirt beneath the skirt.

Throwing on some blush, mascara, smoky eye shadow, and red lipstick, I give myself a pep talk in the mirror before I have to face the vultures.

"You've got this, babe! Look at you! You're hot! Go get those tips!" I whisper-shout at myself.

As much as I usually don't love social interaction at all, it's different when it comes to this. It's like I get to play a character that doesn't shy away from the spotlight and attention. I have to be flirty and sweet, even when I don't want to because that's how you get the cash these guys are happy to hand out.

Shutting my locker, I slide on a pair of black heels and step out of the quietness and into the chaos that awaits me.

The music is constantly blaring, and somehow, after a minute or so, I manage to tune it out. But I think that comes with the territory of working in this environment all the time. As I approach the bar, a hand wraps around my waist, and I cringe inside, trying not to show it.

"Hey, baby, how much for a lap dance from your pretty little self?" The middle-aged guy slurs his words.

Smiling sweetly, I fully slip into character. I giggle and say, "Oh, honey, you got the wrong girl. I just make the drinks here. But that girl right there? That's Daisy. I'm sure she would love to give you a dance."

Standing only a few feet away, Daisy hears me and sashays over, wearing only a bikini bottom and colored pasties. "I'm Daisy. How can I be of service? "

"Oh, oh, oh," he whistles. "Damn, you are fine, Ms. Daisy."

His hand drifts off my waist and onto hers as she leads him toward an empty seat.

Stepping behind the bar, I finally take a breath and exhale after that guy's sleazy hand is gone from my body.

"Hey, B!" Erica calls out as she makes a round of shots.

Erica has been here forever. She's the one who trained me, and she also manages the bar side of the club. She's tall, blonde, and gorgeous. She taught me all the tips and tricks on how to milk every dollar from the suckers who walk in here. She's also like the mom of the bartenders, always making sure that the customers aren't too handsy and that we are always taken care of.

"Hey, Tia!" I answer back, using her fake name at work, as someone approaches the bar top.

"Hey, can I get two tall Bud Lights, please?" the scruffy younger guy asks me as I meet his eyes.

"You got it!" I smile and grab two glasses, pouring perfect beers before sliding them across the counter to him. "Sixteen dollars."

He slides a twenty and a five to me and winks. "Keep the change."

Pretending every tip is the best and biggest one I've ever gotten, I smile and praise his generosity. "Oh my gosh, thank you so much!"

He nods proudly, grabs his glasses, and walks away.

I repeat variations of that exact interaction with guys all night until exhaustion weighs on my eyes and my shift ends. Six hours of work, and I made two hundred ninety- eight dollars. It's not my best earnings for a night, but it's still nearly three hundred dollars, which I didn't have when I walked in here.

It takes all of two minutes for me to pass out when I get home, ready to do the same thing all over again tomorrow.