Page 49 of The Surprise Play (Nolan U Football #3)

WILY

I have no idea why Satch was so worried. Her family is fucking awesome!

The second I walked through their front door, they were pulling me into hugs and telling me how amazing it was that I was there to celebrate with everyone.

They are seriously stoked that Satch has a boyfriend. It’s like this epic news, and everyone is super curious about me, like they can’t believe she scored a star football player.

But they’ve got it all wrong.

I’ve scored her .

That’s the epic thing about all this. She’s way too smart for me, but she puts up with my dumb ass anyway.

She even laughs at my lame jokes and doesn’t mind when I go on too much about football.

She plays my favorite video game with me whenever she comes over and doesn’t seem to mind my obsession with her sweet tits either.

I hide my smile behind my hand as I listen to her aunt telling me all about her pottery exploits and how she’s started making mugs and bowls to sell at the local market on Saturday mornings.

“Lizzy used to come and help me sell things when she was in middle school. She’s got a real head for numbers, that one.”

“Yeah, I know.” I smile, glancing across the room at my girl while she plays with her young second-cousin. The little girl is teaching her a clapping game, and Satch is listening intently, making her feel like the only person in the room.

She’s so fucking amazing.

“But then, of course, they made her feel bad about it, and ooooo, I could have slapped those girls that day.”

“What?” I spin, trying to catch up on the conversation I zoned out of.

I’ve been doing that a lot tonight. There’s so much chatter going on around me, it’s hard to know which conversation to follow.

At dinner they were all talking over one another, laughing and changing topics with a speed that was hard to keep up with.

Satch sat beside me, quietly smiling at the frenzy of voices.

It’s funny, at school she seems like the last person who’d want to be at a loud, chaotic dinner party, but she’s comfortable here.

This home is her safe place, and I love seeing her smile appear so easily. Everybody in this room adores her, and I think she knows it, which is why she can relax and laugh and throw a few jokes across the table.

“What girls?” My stomach twists at the thought of anyone trying to make my woman feel bad. That viper still riles me whenever I stop to remember that day and her scathing taunts. Has this been happening to Satch for a while now?

The thought slays me.

I can’t fucking deal with the idea of her spending middle school hiding away in the back corners of the library to avoid the bitchy girls.

Judging by the pictures on the top of the piano, Satch has been a cutie from the day she was born.

And her middle school photo is no exception, her round face all cute and pink, her camera smile forced yet adorable.

The thought of her getting teased at that age sits ugly in my chest.

Shit. Is that what happened?

Clenching my jaw, I grit out as softly as I can, “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Her aunt looks flustered when I shake my head, glancing across the room at her niece before patting down her hair. “Well, maybe it’s not my place to say.”

“Please.” I touch the woman’s arm. “What girls?”

She sighs and tuts, watching Satch carefully while she rushes out a whispered explanation.

“She had a bit of a hard time in middle school.” Her expression crumples.

“Even worse in high school. Became the target of a few bullies who were determined to verbally torture her. Some of their pranks were just… awful.”

“What?” I practically growl.

The woman pats my hand. “Don’t you worry. High school is over now.”

Yeah, but she’s facing the same thing in college. What the fuck gives?

If anyone tries to prank her, I’ll ? —

“She got through.” Her aunt keeps talking, unaware of the internal thunderstorm raging in my belly. “It really kicked her confidence, though, which is why we’re all so pleased she has a handsome, strong man like yourself to look after her now.” She beams at me. “She deserves you, you know?”

I let out a soft snicker and gaze across the room, desperately trying to hide my angst and focus on the fact that right here, right now, she’s completely safe. Secure. No one’s gonna say shit to her in this place.

Satch laughs, pulling the little girl in for a hug and glancing my way. Her expression softens with affection, and she winks at me before kissing the top of her second-cousin’s head and saying something that makes the girl smile.

“I’m the lucky one,” I murmur to her aunt, then turn and look her right in the eye. “And I’ll never let anyone hurt her.”

“I know.” She smiles, patting my hand again.

“Right, present time!” Tommy walks into the living room with a carefully wrapped box, and my insides skitter as I jump up and reach into my bag for the two presents I had to scramble to find.

If Satch had given me warning, I would have done a better job, but knowing my girlfriend, I could be handing her a potato and she’d still be grateful for it.

This family doesn’t have much compared to mine.

Their three-bedroom, retro-style home with its one living area and single bathroom could probably fit into our rec room and garage.

Maybe even just the garage. It’s poky at best and looks to be at least seventy or eighty years old.

Seriously, walking through the door was like stepping back in time. And it definitely explains a lot .

Her parents are obviously obsessed with the ’50s and ’60s, because their house is like a movie set from those old musicals Satch loves so much.

Even the carpet has a swirling pattern that screams midcentury.

I have no idea if it’s ever been changed, and although they keep the place clean and tidy, you can tell it’s tired.

My mother would not cope walking in here.

It’s cluttered, every surface covered in trinkets, knickknacks, and photographs that probably all have a story to go with them.

It’s a dusting nightmare, which is why I can spot layers of dust from the top of the old piano to the vinyl collection stacked on the floor.

The old bookshelf under the window is crammed in a haphazard way—the exact opposite to Satch’s immaculate collection that she’s been curating as if it were a priceless art collection.

My lips twitch as I find a place beside her, resting my gifts on my lap while Satch grins at her family and opens the first one.

“Oh, I love it.” She holds up the homemade pottery bowl, beaming at her aunt and going on about how talented the woman is.

I smile at her. Seriously. She’s sweeter than that caramel fudge, my gramma used to make.

She has the same reaction to the homemade card her cousin’s daughters give her and the box of brownies they baked from scratch.

“I hope you like them.”

“I’m going to love them.”

The older girl’s chest pops out with pride. “I helped decorate your birthday cake too.”

“Oh, she did,” Satch’s mom pipes up. “This girl is a whizz in the kitchen. ”

“Unlike her mother.” Satch’s cousin grins, giving his wife an affectionate smile.

She bats his arm for teasing her, but they end up sharing a kiss. I watch in fascination at this motley bunch, so unlike the sophisticated crew I’m used to being around. The only time a family function gets as boisterous as this is when a football game is on.

Football Frat is different, of course, but it’s fun seeing the way Satch’s family interacts with one another.

“And this is from us.” Her grandfather, who must surely be in his nineties, holds out a shaky hand while his wife sits beside him in her wheelchair, blinking at what look to be tears.

I wonder if she’s all right, until I realize it’s just emotion at the joy of seeing their granddaughter open the card.

“Fifty dollars?” Satch gapes as if she’s just won the lottery. “Wow, you guys! That’s so generous.”

I have to bite my lips together.

Fifty bucks?

That’s lunch money.

Getting up from her seat, Satch rushes over to them, gently kissing their cheeks and specially thanking them.

“You deserve it, sweet girl. We’re proud of you, honey.” Her grandma’s comment is met with a room full of agreement, and I’m pretty sure I’ve never been in such a warm, loving space in my entire life.

This is a trip.

“Okay, Wily, you go next, sweetie. I want to save my gift for last.” Darla bobs on her toes as she points to the box waiting at Satch’s feet .

“Sure.” I pass over my wrapped presents, and everyone leans in.

Shit. I hope they’re okay. Are two presents that probably cost more than half the things in this room going to be able to compete with the meaningful, handmade stuff she’s been getting all night?

“Oh, wow.” Satch loses her breath the second she unwraps my first gift, then sucks in a gasp as she flips over the two books I bought, skimming the backs and then swooning over the covers.

“This is amazing!” With a squeal, she throws her arms around me.

“I’ve been wanting to complete this series! How did you know?”

I rub her back, stoked by her excitement. “I had a look at your bookshelf.”

“Oh my gosh!” She plunks back into her seat, still giddy as she brushes her hand over the foiled covers. “These hardbacks are so expensive. I can’t believe you bought me both! I’ve been saving up for these.” She holds up the books and shows them to everyone in the room.

“Very pretty,” her grandma muses while her mother nods, then winks at me.

Her thumbs-up means everything.

“And this one.” I catch the smaller box that just slipped off her knee and hold it out for her.

For some reason, I’m even more nervous about this one, and I can’t seem to breathe as she takes forever to carefully unwrap the paper, not wanting to rip it.

Her dad reaches forward, collecting the other wrapping and folding it, obviously set on reusing it.

“Thanks, Dad.” Satch smiles at him before handing over the last of the wrapping, then opening the box with trembling fingers .

“You good?” I check, reaching forward to help her.

“Thanks,” she squeaks, and then her lips part again, her eyes bulging at me. “It’s a… You bought me a… It’s…”

“A necklace. It’s called a necklace.” I wink at her, grinning at the way her cheeks splash pink. Leaning in, I softly whisper, “It’s a coyote.”

Her giggle is adorable, and I will forever remember her face as she gazes down at the silver emblem around the chain and whispers, “I love it.”

“Phew,” I joke, pulling it out of the box and asking if I can fasten it around her neck.

It takes me a minute because the clasp is so freaking small… and the entire time, her family is going on about how sweet and wonderful I am.

Seriously. They don’t get that doing this shit for her is the easiest thing in the world.

“Coyote’s my pet name for him,” Satch admits with a shy giggle.

“That’s so sweet.”

“Now I’ll always be with you.” I brush my finger down the chain, and we share a look that makes the rest of the room disappear for a second.

There’s so much implication in my soft statement, and we both know it.

I’m asking her to stick with me no matter what happens on drafting day.

I’m asking a lot, and her eyes are telling me she’s here for it.

Holy shit.

This is happening.

“Thank you,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to my lips while the room lets out oooohs and cheers .

We end up laughing against each other, and I’m forced to pull back and take on the teasing comments and blushing smiles from the females in the room.

Eyebrow wiggling continues until Satch reaches for the box at her feet, and the room seems to still with anticipation.

I have no idea what it could be, but Satch’s hands don’t shake as she lifts the lid, and then she loses her breath all over again.

“Mom, really?” She starts to blink at tears, pulling out a black-and-pink outfit that looks straight from the ’50s.

I think it’s a top with a scoop neck, and then there’s this puffy pink?—

“A poodle skirt!” Satch jumps to her feet, holding it against her body and swishing it back and forth. “This is amazing.”

“It took her forever, but she was determined to make you the prettiest one she could.” Tommy gives his wife a proud smile, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her cheek.

I eye the outfit, imagining my girl in a high ponytail with bobby socks and a little scarf around her neck, just like those chicks in that old movie Grease .

Shit, Satch would look adorable.

“I love it so much!” She bounces over to her parents, hugging them close, and I wonder when she’s ever gonna get a chance to wear an outfit like that.

Will she walk around school like that?

Maybe.

She seems to like homemade clothes.

Man, I hope that viper bitch doesn’t see her when she’s wearing something like that. I’m gonna have to make sure I’ve got eyes on Satch when I can’t be around to protect her. I’ll rally the team, make sure they’ve got their ears to the ground.

Her aunt’s comments from before are still eating at me.

The idea of anyone taunting her or hurting her makes me see red.

She deserves to walk with her head held high. She should be able to wear whatever the fuck she wants, go wherever she wants without worrying about being traumatized.

Sitting back, I watch her in the safety of her home and realize how much more alive and bubbly she is here.

She doesn’t have to worry about any kind of criticism, and that’s what I want for her in Nolan.

“Time for cake and karaoke!” the youngest member of the group yells, raising her hands with a whoop as she runs into the kitchen.

And that’s how our night goes.

The cake is delicious, and I never knew “Happy Birthday” could be a beautifully harmonized choir piece.

This family is fucking amazing.

And they do not know how to do slightly drunken, off-key karaoke either. These guys can sing , and Satch is no exception.

As she stands by the screen, crooning out some old tune from… it’s gotta be the ’50s or something… she sounds like an angel. Her voice is rich and pure and?—

“Beautiful, sweetheart. You sound just like Ella,” her mother calls, then leans down to whisper in my ear. “Ella Fitzgerald is one of her favorite singers. ”

“Okay.” I nod, having no idea who that woman is but guessing she’s long gone.

Everything about this place seems to have a long-gone vibe. It’s like stepping back in history—the artwork, the furniture, the patterned carpet.

This family is stuck in a past they didn’t even grow up in. If my math is right, her parents were born in the ’60s. Well, I guess that’s not too far off, although, based on pictures I’ve seen on history websites, I’d say I was sitting firmly in the ’50s.

And that’s only confirmed when it’s finally time for bed and I’m taken into a guest room with a light pink bedspread… and no Satch.