Page 13 of The Surprise Play (Nolan U Football #3)

ELIZABETH

I’m really proud of Wily.

By the time our tutoring session wrapped up, he looked like he actually wanted to work on the essay with me. The fidget toy I gave him seemed to help, and I’m glad I’d spent some time researching strategies for supporting reluctant learners.

Fidget toys popped up a few times, and I figured it was worth a shot. I’m so relieved, because I do think it helped him focus. His hands were busy the whole session, yet his brain was engaged with me and what I was trying to draw out of him.

I’m so stoked that the answers he came up with were actually his own. He’s seriously not stupid. He just needs to be asked the right questions.

And it led to some great discussions. I ended up staying way longer than I meant to, and time disappeared as Ahab was set aside so Wily could explain the rules of football to me.

There are a lot , and I struggled to follow all of them.

It’s a complex game for someone who hasn’t grown up watching it, but he was patient, answering all my questions and obviously happy that I seemed interested.

He drew me pictures and diagrams, enthusiasm bubbling out of him.

I’m not sure he was even aware of how much brighter his tone was, how much faster his words came as he explained the game to me.

His joy.

His passion.

It was a pleasure to watch, and my brain is already ticking over with ways I can use football to make this essay as easy for him as possible.

Just before I left, we set up another tutoring session for this afternoon.

And here I am, sitting in the library feeling all proud of Wily Wilson again.

We’re tucked away in a back corner where no one can see us, and Wily is telling me in a whisper-soft voice why he thinks Captain Ahab behaved the way he did. Seriously, the guy is going way deeper than I thought he would, and I’m typing down his words, desperately trying to keep up with him.

This essay is going to need a lot of editing, and we’ll have to ditch some of this stuff, but I’m loving this brain dump. Wily has got some great ideas here, and I’ll definitely be able to help him shape them.

I have half a mind to ask Professor Pilscher if Wily can present his essay orally.

He’s so much stronger that way, but I’ve already asked the man for this big favor, and I don’t want to push it.

The professor is old-school, and although other teachers are open to creative ways of assessment, I highly doubt Pilscher will be.

“Okay.” I save the document so far and check my notes for the next question I think he should answer.

It’d be great if we could tie in that football story he told me, about how he got tripped up in his first flag football game when he was five years old.

He spent the rest of the time trying to get the kid back and ended up with two penalties and missing out on several scoring opportunities.

Afterward, his coach told him off for focusing on the wrong thing.

It kind of backs up the whole point, doesn’t it?

We can deal with slights against us in a healthy, positive way, or we can make it worse for everyone and get all pissed off and vengeful.

If Wily had just left it and gotten over himself, he could have potentially helped win the game for his team.

Instead, they lost, and that kid who tripped him got a double-win.

Sure, that seems unfair sometimes, but my parents always taught me that de-escalating conflict by shaking off the other person’s bad behavior is always the safest bet. Which is what I do.

Although, I’m not about to go into my history with this man beside me. Let’s just focus on him and the lessons he had to learn growing up.

“Okay, so, with this flag football story…” My words trail off as I skim my handwritten notes. And then my stomach lets out this totally humiliating growl.

Slapping my hand over it, I bulge my eyes and pray that Wily didn’t notice.

A soft snicker pops out of his mouth, and I curl my shoulders.

Shit! This is so embarrassing!

“I guess it is getting kind of late. Have you had dinner yet? ”

I shake my head. I’d been nervous-snacking up to about ten minutes before I was due to meet him, and since arriving at the library, time has flown.

He’s so easy to talk to that it took us about forty minutes to even start working on his essay.

All he did was ask me how my day was, and I made one little comment about my linguistics class, which led into a story about one of his freshman professors, which made me laugh.

He’s too easy to listen to, and I swear I was trying to get on with the essay the whole time, but he kept on saying things that I couldn’t not respond to, and yeah…

we started late, and now it’s late and he’s probably hungry too.

He came straight from practice, slurping on a protein shake, but now he’s looking at his phone and saying, “Let’s go get something to eat. Bring your stuff. We can work at the diner.”

“You sure?” My face scrunches with uncertainty.

“Yeah, absolutely. It’s on me. A little thank-you for helping me out.”

“You don’t have to do that. You already pay me for these sessions. I can just?—”

“Satch.” He gives me a kind smile, his blue gaze mesmerizing. “Let me buy you dinner.”

I can feel my face flushing again and give him an edgy smile.

“Come on. I know this great place.” He pops out of his seat, helping me to gather up my stuff and talking about Eat Your Faves.

I’ve heard of it but never eaten there before.

I think it’s quite popular with Nolan U students, which is why I’ve avoided it.

I force myself to shuffle after Wily, giving him a polite smile when he steps aside to let me go first down the stairs .

Clunking down to the bottom, I keep my chin tucked in and nearly bang into a table, but he snatches my arm and quickly pulls me to the left. I narrowly avoid scraping my hip on the corner and bite my bottom lip before murmuring a soft “Thank you.”

“No problem.” His voice is cheerful, but I quickly check his face to make sure he’s not laughing at me.

He’s not.

I frown, still trying to figure this jock out.

Saying hi to a few people we pass, he waves and lifts his chin as we head for the exit.

We pass through the sliding doors together and pop out into the cold night air.

It’s crisp and beautiful. I shove my hands into my pockets and move into step behind him, but he pauses and waits for me, obviously wanting to walk side by side.

Oh man, I’m so not used to this. I don’t know what to do with it!

Can’t I just follow him? Tuck in behind his building of a body and disappear into his shadow?

Stepping into the parking lot, I wonder which car is his and then am not surprised at all when we stop beside an expensive-looking truck. That’s right. He pulled up beside me that morning, and I’m only just remembering.

He said his family was loaded, and I can’t help wondering if this truck was a birthday present or something. It’s all shiny and looks pretty new. The lock beeps, and he moves to the passenger door and opens it for me.

What? He’s opening my door?

I give him an uncertain frown as I shuffle up beside him and wonder how the hell I’m supposed to get into this thing. It’s huge! The tires come up to my waist, and I’d have to go on tiptoes to look through the windows .

This is ridiculous. Why do people even need trucks this big?

“Here you go.” Wily places his hands on my hips, giving me a little boost.

My breath catches, heat coursing through me as he lifts me like it’s no big deal.

He’s acting like opening doors and helping short girls into his truck is the most natural thing in the world.

Scrambling into a sitting position and straightening out my skirt, I stare at the dashboard and dare not look at his face while he closes the door.

He must have been raised by a gentleman or had a mother who insisted that he behave like one.

My dad’s the nicest guy in the world, but he’s not a “hold the door” man. Mom likes to open her own doors.

Me… I’ve never had the chance to think about it.

I have no idea what kind of woman I am.

As Wily wanders around the front of his truck, glancing toward me with a friendly grin, I hug my bag to my chest and wonder if maybe I do know.

But he’s just your tutoring student. He’s not opening the door because he’s trying to win you over or anything. He’s just a gentleman.

I bob my head, reminding myself of that fact when he starts the engine and music blasts through the speakers. I flinch, then laugh when he starts apologizing.

“That’s okay. I love The Barenaked Ladies.”

“Me too!” He blinks. “Shit, I can’t believe you know them.”

“Oh yeah. They’re amazing.” I tap my finger to the beat, then turn to frown at him. “Why wouldn’t I know them? ”

“I don’t know, you just seem—” He pauses, shaking his head.

My insides pinch, but I find myself asking anyway. “I just seem what?”

He smiles. “I haven’t been able to figure out what kind of music you’re into.”

He’s not saying something, and now I’m wondering what I did to give him the impression that I wouldn’t enjoy a funny, interesting, alternative pop band with intelligent lyrics and entertaining beats.

What kind of music does he think I’m into?

Ugh—maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that question.

I hug my laptop a little tighter and murmur, “I’ll listen to pretty much anything. I love all music and appreciate all the different genres.”

“That’s cool.” He smiles, and I have to look away because this is awkward.

I don’t think he believes me.

And I guess, why would he?