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The girl’s shoulders slump, her red face fading to a pretty pink. She looks upset and—oh my gosh, she’s crying.
Shaking her head, she swipes a tear off her cheek and clutches the books she’s carrying against her chest. Holding them like a teddy bear, like they’re giving her comfort, she turns toward Buckley Hall and starts walking straight toward us.
I stiffen, hoping she won’t notice that we’ve just been gawking at her.
But she keeps her eyes on the ground, walking right past us and swiping her key card.
Oh wow. I didn’t even know she lived in my building.
Carson watches her disappear inside, then turns to me. “Think you can find out who she is?”
“What?” I frown. “I’m not playing spy for you?”
“You’re not doing it for me, you’re doing it for Wily.”
I give him a skeptical frown and poke him lightly in the chest. “Don’t meddle. Whatever it is we just saw, we have to forget it. Wily will come to you guys for help if he needs it.”
Carson lets out a frustrated little grunt.
“I know. I’m curious, too, but we’ll find out eventually, I’m sure. Isn’t Wily a bit of an open book?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “You’re right. I’m sure he’ll be bitching and moaning at the lunch table about this chick who pissed him off.”
“See.” I rise onto my toes and peck Carson on the lips. “And then you can tell me all about it.”
He smirks, wrapping me back in his arms and lifting me off my feet. “Now, about this shower.”
I laugh against his shoulder and swing my legs around. “Carry my tired ass up the stairs like a princess.”
He catches me, hitching me in his arms and walking through the door. His lips twitch as he reaches the stairs, then gives me a little side-eye before murmuring, “You’re my queen, kitten. And I’ll carry you anywhere.”
I smile and kiss his chin. “And I’ll let you.”
CHAPTER67
WILY
Two weeks earlier…
Getting home for Christmas isn’t that hard. My parents live a forty-minute car ride from campus. We have exactly five days off to celebrate the holiday season, and I’ve already spent the first two putting on a smile and being the good boy my parents expect me to be. I bought the Christmas presents they wanted, I laughed and smiled at the gifts I got, too, then snuck away any chance I could get to secretly stress about my failing grades and the fact that my tutor has bailed on me… and my academic adviser is getting pissy with me for not liking any of the other ones she’s sent my way.
My tutor had his reasons for quitting, and they’re all valid. Now that he’s a senior, his workload has amplified by more than he was expecting, and he can’t fit me in anymore. He’s actually been removed from the list of tutors altogether, so it’s nothing personal against me, but that doesn’t take away the stress I’ve been feeling over this whole shit show.
We had a good system going, and now I’m not sure what the fuck to do.
Coach expects good grades no matter how easy or hard school comes for us. And he’s not the only one. The athletics director demands a lot from his athletes, and he’s anal about any kind of bad press against the school. Failing grades is apparently bad press, and the pressure is on all of us to perform on the fieldandin the classroom. I can’t come across like a dumbass in interviews, and news outlets and social media will jump on anything to create a juicy story.
Zander’s always so fucking good in front of the camera, and so is Grady. People say I come across pretty damn well, but that’s only because I hide everything behind throwaway comments and a friendly smile. Does anyone know how much my pulse is racing as I will them not to ask me anything I can’t answer?
Besides all that, my parents raised us to excel, and although they’re more intent on me shining in football, they wouldn’t be very happy if they knew I was flunking out. It doesn’t help that my sister is the most studious academic in the country.
Blake was valedictorian of her high school, for fuck’s sake, and she’s killing it in Chicago this year. I sat through Christmas dinner, watching her elated face as she talked about her various classes and how great everything is going. She’s acing all her coursework and flying through.
I forced a smile and nodded, mumbled that I was proud of her. She gave me her sweet smile, and now I feel like shit for being the dumbest person in this family.
I have to find a new tutor ASAP, and my academic adviser is trying to help me. In my desperation, I asked her what my absolutely lowest grade would be to pass and graduate.
“You shouldn’t be aiming for the lowest, Wily. You should be trying for the best you can. I agree with Coach Jones on this.” She crossed her arms and gazed across the desk at me, obviously worried when I thumped the wood and started muttering to myself. “Look, I know you’re nearly done and that football is in the cards for you, but nothing’s a guarantee in this life. It’s really important that you still graduate. We’re not being hard on you because we don’t like you. We’re doing it because we care about you, and not just how you perform on the field.”