Teaching Tucker (Face-Off Legacy Book 3) Read online

  Teaching Tucker

  Face-Off Legacy #3

  Jillian Quinn

  Contents

  Also by Jillian Quinn

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Jocking Jameson

  Are you on the team?

  Dear Reader

  Also by Jillian Quinn

  About the Author

  Also by Jillian Quinn

  FACE-OFF LEGACY SERIES

  Pucking Parker

  Keeping Kane

  Teaching Tucker

  Jocking Jameson

  Defending Donovan

  FACE-OFF SERIES

  Parker

  Kane

  Donovan

  Jameson

  MORE THAN SERIES

  More Than Friends

  More Than Roommates

  LOVE IN THE END ZONE SERIES

  Out of Bounds

  In the Zone

  STRICK U SERIES

  More than a Enemy

  More than a Player

  For more information, visit JillianQuinnBooks.com.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jillian Quinn

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at JillianQuinnBooks.com

  Editing: Kaylene Osborn, Swish Design & Editing

  Proofreading: Niki Kuzn, Swish Design & Editing

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, both living or deceased, establishments, businesses, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  Dethroned

  October Edition

  I wonder what the NCAA would say about hot shot hockey stud, Tucker Kane, pounding beers and eating mystery brownies at the Delta Sig house on Saturday. Are those pot brownies, Tucker? Only a drug test will tell…

  You, Tucker Kane, have been dethroned.

  XO,

  The Queen

  Tucker

  My twin brother, Trent, pushes his chair out from the desk in the bedroom we share together. “Dude, you’re fucked if you don’t find out who’s writing this gossip column.” His pale blue eyes that mirror mine stare back at me in disappointment.

  Uncrossing my arms, I let out a deep breath. This is not happening. Not now. Not after Trent and I were suspended for two games for swapping places in class.

  “Who would do this?” I look at Trent in horror, still in shock and also terrified that this stupid article will get back to the athletic commission. “Is there a way to find out who’s writing this shit?”

  I’ve never failed a drug test, but I got a little too drunk this weekend and didn’t realize what I’d eaten until the next morning. The guys at the Delta Sigma Phi fraternity house always have pot brownies, though I always pass, or at least I did. And now, because of some bitch with a vendetta against me, I might be in even hotter water than I already am with the school. Missing two games at the beginning of the season is hard enough but an entire season is another story. I can kiss my professional hockey career goodbye if that happens.

  Preston, Drake, and Jamie stand next to me, glaring at Dethroned, a new gossip blog that apparently has been created by some evil girl who calls herself The Queen. Based on the posts on the site, it appears this girl has her sights set on our team. There are short articles and video clips of us doing stupid shit at fraternity parties and random pictures of us with girls.

  Preston cups my shoulder, shaking his head at the computer screen. “We can find out who owns the domain. But think of this as your wake-up call, Tuck. All of your screwing around is catching up with you. Time to get your shit together. Stop drinking. Hire a tutor. Spend less time at the Delta Sig house. We need you on your A game this season if we’re going to win another championship.”

  “Yeah, I got it, Prez. For the hundredth time, I got it.” Shaking off Preston’s heavy hand, I step away from my brother and friends in desperate need of space. This conversation has been on repeat lately, and I’m getting sick of having it. “I’ll figure it out. Okay?”

  Preston nods and then shoves his hands into the pockets of his track pants.

  No one knows me better than the guys in this room. They’re family more than friends. I grew up with all of them. We went to school together, play Division I hockey together, and now live together in a house on campus. There’s nothing we don’t share, nothing we don’t know about each other.

  I can see the concern on each of their faces. Even Drake looks worried. Like his dad, he’s a giant, several inches taller than the rest of us and built like a wall of solid muscle. Apart from my brother, I’m the closest to Drake, and because of that the concern furrowing his brows hits me more than Preston’s. I realize Preston’s giving me a brotherly pep talk to snap me out of self-destruct mode—hell, I know I need it—but that doesn’t mean I want to hear it.

  Running my hands through my spiky hair, I tug at the ends in frustration and lean back against the chest of drawers behind me. “We need to stop whoever’s doing this.”

  “I’ll call my dad,” Preston says. “Maybe he can hire someone.”

  “Nah.” I wave him off. “We’re not involving our parents. Our team is being targeted for a reason. You could be next. Any of us could be next. And who knows what this bitch is gonna say next. We need to take her down before it ruins our careers.”

  “She’s got to be a student at Strick U,” Trent adds, stating the obvious.

  “How do you expect us to track her down?” Drake asks.

  I hold out my hand giving him a look that says ‘Are you kidding me?’ and point at Jamie, who’s a computer genius. “Jamie can find out.” I zero in on Jamie. “Right? Tell me you can hack into something and shut this website down.”

  Jamie laughs. “I’m good but not that good.”

  “Let Jamie sit there,” I tell Trent, who vacates his seat in front of the computer.

  Jamie pushes the chair into the desk and begins clicking buttons and typing, all while my heart is pounding. The last few weeks have been a nonstop rollercoaster of drama and bullshit, hence the reason I’ve been partying more than usual. And now I’ve given this girl ammunition to use against me.

  “The domain is private,” Jamie says.

  I grunt in irritation, the hope I had a minute ago sl
owly draining away. “So, we can’t find out who owns it?”

  He shakes head, spinning around in the chair. “No, but there might be another way. I can try tracking their IP address. But I’ll need more time.”

  “Until then…” Preston interjects, in an authoritative tone, “… all of you need to stay out of trouble.” There’s a reason why he’s the captain of our team. Preston has a way of getting our asses in check when we start slipping. “Don’t do anything stupid. Stay the hell away from the Delta Sig guys.” His eyes shift to me when he says this.

  “I’m not avoiding my friends because of one article,” I shoot back.

  “Whatever.” Preston frowns. “But no more parties or pot brownies.”

  “You sound like my dad right now.”

  He narrows his eyes at me and opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but instead, he remains silent. We’re both sick of having this talk. College is about girls, parties, and hockey—my three favorite things. Preston acts like he’s not all about those things too. Until he met Bex Bryant, our coach’s daughter, he was partying it up with the rest of us on Greek Row every weekend.

  The doorbell rings, cutting through the awkward silence in the room.

  “That’s probably Shannon,” Jamie says getting up from his chair.

  Preston follows Jamie into the hallway without speaking another word. The angry scowl on his lips says everything I need to know. He’s holding his tongue while I’m trying to hold mine.

  Drake plops his big ass on my bed, and the mattress dips from his weight. “You can find a tutor on Strick Net,” he offers. “There’s a bulletin board where people post jobs.”

  “Isn’t there a tutoring center in the library?”

  “Yeah, but private tutors will meet you anywhere. No one will know you’re failing if you hire someone.”

  “You’re smarter than you look,” I say with a wink.

  Drake smirks. “I have my moments.”

  “You don’t want Coach Bryant to find out,” Trent says as he passes by me to sit on his bed. He props himself against the headboard, his arms crossed behind his head, staring over at me. “He’s such a hardass. He’ll bench you if he knows you’re failing.”

  Every semester I find some way to pass my classes. If I couldn’t find a way to sweet talk a professor, Trent would do me a favor and take the test for me. But helping me is no longer an option, not after we got caught cheating by Professor Cox. We’re so used to everyone not being able to tell us apart, we didn’t think anything of it. Trent even spiked his hair like mine, but the sorority chick who sits next to me in class figured it out and told on us. So, now I need a plan B.

  I sit in front of the computer and log into Strick Net, the Strickland University interface where students can talk to each other as well as the professors. Students are required to submit most of their assignments online. It’s also where our grades are posted. There’s even an instant message feature I have yet to use. School’s never really been a priority for me, I’m here to play hockey and draw enough attention to go pro after graduation.

  Scrolling through each page, I look for someone who will tutor me. I’m ready to give up my search when I spot a post from a student who uses the screen name Heir_of_Slytherin. The job was posted fifteen minutes ago. He sounds like a weirdo. What the hell does Heir of Slytherin even mean?

  Part-time Tutor

  Student tutor available Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Proficient in the following subjects: English, Math, Law, and Communications. $25 per hour. Rate non-negotiable. Serious inquiries only.

  He sounds like an ass. Serious inquiries only, I mock in my head. But what choice do I have? I need help passing this class. At some point, I suppose I should start giving a shit about school. Today is definitely not the day, but at least this is a start.

  “I found someone,” I say to Drake. “He sounds like a dickwad.”

  He’s playing on his cell phone, typing out a text. “Cool,” he mutters, his eyes pointed at the screen, uninterested. I’m sure he’s talking to one of the many women he’s sent a dick pic to this week.

  “How do you know?” Trent asks. “Did you talk to him already?”

  “No, but his post gives me weird vibes.”

  “Stop procrastinating, Tuck.” Trent presses his hands to the mattress and leans forward glaring at me. “You’ll find any excuse to avoid dealing with your shit. Send the dude a message already and stop acting like a pussy.”

  “The only pussy I see in this room is you,” I shoot back, even though it’s totally uncalled for.

  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.