Page 32 of The Surprise Play (Nolan U Football #3)

ELIZABETH

Aw, crap. Why did I do that?

I am such a loser!

Humiliation burns me as I watch the ball dribble across the grass.

Wily’s laughter is a soft chuckle as he jogs past me to collect it. Scooping the ball into his large hand, he rests it against his side and smiles at me. “It’s not gonna bite you, Satch.”

“Sorry.” I wince, glancing behind me at the gorgeous picnic setup. My gosh, he’s gone to so much effort for this, and I really don’t want to ruin his plans, but… “I’m not good at PE or anything to do with balls.”

He snickers and dips his chin.

And I register what I just said.

My eyes bulge in horror.

Oh shit! Could I be any more embarrassing?

The urge to bolt overwhelms me and I turn, spying the tunnel we came in through and wondering if I can find my way back to the parking lot.

My phone’s in my coat pocket—I could order an Uber and head back to my room, where I can bury myself under the covers and pray for a swift end to my humiliation.

But before I can take a step, Wily jumps in front of me, holding up the football. “You can catch this, you know.”

I shake my head.

He snorts. “Just like I’m not capable of writing an essay, right?”

She tips her head and gives me a pained frown. “You are capable of writing an essay.”

“And you’re capable of catching this ball. You just need to not be afraid of it.” Taking my hands, he cups them around the ball. “Like this.” He adjusts my fingers and then pushes the ball against my chest. “So, it’s gonna come at you, and you grab it and pull it in like that. Try it.”

He pulls my hands and the ball away from my body and then pushes them back, and I kind of hug it to my chest.

“That’s it.” He grins. “Okay, now fire it my way.”

He’s standing like a foot away from me, so I just hold the ball out for him to take.

His laughter is that soft chuckle again as he takes it and shuffles back a few more paces. “Ready?”

“No.” I hold my hands up, and he gives me a look that makes me change my answer. “Yes?”

“That’s my girl. Okay, here we go.”

His girl. The words flush through me like a warm breeze, my lips twitching as the tingles inside me swirl from my belly to my chest .

“Eye on the ball.” He waggles it in the air, and I do as I’m told. “You’re not afraid of it, okay?”

I nod.

“Say it.”

I whine in my throat, but he repeats himself until I’m forced to mutter, “I’m not afraid of the ball.”

“Now shout it!”

“I’m not afraid of the ball!” I bellow, flinching when the sound echoes back to me, before letting out a surprised laugh.

“Good girl.” He grins before gently passing it my way.

I watch the football, tensing, then pluck it out of the air and pull it to my chest.

“Nice.” He applauds.

And I go still, glancing down at the ball in my hands before suddenly bursting out with a loud laugh. “I caught it!”

“You did.” He gives me two thumbs-up.

“But I… I got it!” I hold the ball up, completely shocked by this miracle… until I fumble the ball in my hand and it lands with a small bounce by my feet.

Quickly scooping it back up, I remind myself to never over-celebrate.

“Okay, now pass it back.” He flicks his fingers at me.

“Um. O…kay.” Biting my lip, I throw it up and cringe as the ball goes wildly out of reach.

Wily stumbles after it and only just manages to get his fingers to it.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for keeping me on my toes, baby.” He winks at me, and now the word baby is buzzing through my system like a sweet kiss .

I’ve never been called that before. I read it all the time in books and see it in movies, and I’ve always thought I wouldn’t like such a childish nickname.

But the way it came out of his mouth just now…

I think I’ve found my new favorite word.

“You ready?” He holds the ball up like a star quarterback, and I raise my hands, preparing for his easy pass.

It sails through the air, not too fast, and I manage to get my hands to it, only to fumble it to the ground.

But he won’t let me give up. “That’s all right. Try again. We’ll get this.”

And so I keep going.

I drop it ten more times… but I also manage to catch it eight.

Eight times!

And not once does he make me feel bad for any fumbles or missed throws.

A couple of times, I managed to aim and pass the ball right to him, and the praise pouring out of his mouth made me feel like I’d just completed a game-winning touchdown.

Seriously.

I have never met a jock like Wily Wilson before.

And it’s taking maximum effort to convince myself that this isn’t just a dream.