Page 6 of The Surprise Play (Nolan U Football #3)

WILY

Monday morning rolls around, and much to my annoyance, I still haven’t finished proofing my assignment.

Proofing it? You haven’t even read it!

I print it out anyway. This professor likes to mark paper assignments, so I don’t have the chance to make any last-minute changes. Not that I would.

I have no idea what this AI essay really means. Having not read the book and finding the language too waffly for my simpleton brain, I’m basically handing in five pages of applesauce. All I can hope is that the professor skims it and goes tick, tick, tick like he usually does.

I just need a C.

One little C.

Gritting my teeth, I do my next set of reps on the leg press, my muscles straining as I push the 700-lb. weights up and hold for a second before bringing them back down again. My thighs are burning, but I keep pushing, knowing this is ultimately good for me.

I’m tired, though.

After a restless night, I’ve woken up off-kilter and in a foul mood.

But I can’t go letting that show, because I’m not a grumpy bastard.

I’m the happy guy. The one who never gets bothered by anything, and I’m not losing that reputation over some fucking assignment.

The only time I’ll ever let my anger really show is on the field…

or if some douchebag is treating a woman badly.

I’ve got a thing about it. Anyone willing to beat on a smaller, weaker person deserves to go down with a punch to the face. That’s just a fact of life.

Why anyone would want to harm a woman is beyond me. I’ve always loved them, and my parents raised me to be a gentleman… to treat people with kindness and respect.

I mean, yeah, sure, I’ve had some one-night stands, and some would argue that isn’t respecting women.

But I’d counter that it’s usually the girls instigating that shit, and I’m simply delivering on their requests.

I’m not about to turn down an offer from a pretty lady.

And okay, I’ve thrown out a few offers of my own, but casual hookups seem to be the thing here at Nolan U, and as far as I’m aware, I’m not leaving a trail of broken hearts in my wake.

In fact, last year, a night with Wily Wilson became this bucket list challenge for one sorority. Shit, that was a gooooood semester. You didn’t hear me complaining. Sex is a great way to blow off steam. Way more fun than working out at the gym. Although, I enjoy that too.

Setting the leg press back, I give myself a second to rest before pulling myself up and walking over to the free weights.

This new workout has been an easy one to memorize, and I grab the 50-lb.

dumbbells and start my bicep curls, checking myself in the mirror and remembering to breathe as I hold my stance.

“Good job today, Carson.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

I spot my roommate walking into the gym with our head coach.

He has a small smile on his face as he wipes the sweat away and goes to the mat behind me.

Warmed up after a five-mile run with Coach, he drops down and does thirty quick push-ups before rolling onto his back and starting a quick set of sit-ups.

Coach and Carson have been going out for a run most mornings in the past month, and I’ve noticed a real change in my roommate. He’s found this calm we didn’t think he was capable of.

He was working hard to get his girl back, and now that they’re reunited, I just hope he can hold it together. She seems to bring out the best in him, so here’s hoping.

Flipping back onto his stomach, he does another quick set of push-ups, then catches my eye in the mirror.

“Hey,” he puffs and turns onto his back again.

“’Sup.” I raise my chin at him, straining to finish the last of my curls before putting the weights back and grabbing my bottle of water.

Chugging back a decent amount, I continue my workout until Coach walks back in, clapping his hands to get our attention, then tapping his watch. “Shower up, boys. Don’t want you being late to class.”

We all acknowledge him with various grunts and noises, Zander trailing him out first, followed by the rest of the guys working out. I linger, wiping down my face with a towel and catching my reflection in the mirror.

Shit. I know I’m procrastinating right now.

I just really don’t want to go to class and hand in my assignment.

But it can’t be all bad, right?

If I don’t understand it, then it must be good.

Nodding at my reflection, I hold on to that thinking. It’s enough to get me showered, dressed, and out of the stadium.

I walk with Tyrell and Carson. We don’t say much because both guys are on their phones. Carson keeps snickering and grinning at the screen, which means he’s probably texting Nylah, while Tyrell is looking at his screen with this sad frown.

“You good, man?” I lightly punch his shoulder.

“Yeah.” He glances at me, shoving his phone away and forcing a smile. “All good. What’s your first class today?”

I shrug and he laughs at me, because he’s probably got his schedule memorized already.

I haven’t even looked at mine. All I know is that I have to hand in this assignment to Professor Pilscher before nine this morning. Shit, I better get moving.

Picking up my pace, I shout a goodbye over my shoulder and head to the Humanities building. I make it to Pilscher’s office with ten minutes to spare.

He’s just rising from his desk, grabbing his briefcase and looking about ready to leave. “Ah, Mr. Wilson. Thought you might not make it.”

“No, sir. I’ve got the assignment right here. ”

He glances at his watch, obviously annoyed by my interruption to his schedule, and flicks his fingers at me.

I place the work in his hands, and much to my horror, he takes the time to skim it. My eyes bulge, and I move for the door. “Well, I’ll just let you?—”

“Stay,” he murmurs softly, his eyes still scanning the first page. Then his eyebrows pucker in obvious confusion, and my stomach twists into a knot so tight it hurts.

He glances up at me, and I put on a smile. The move is most definitely not reciprocated.

“What is this?” He waves the pages in the air.

“Um… my assignment.”

“Did you even read the book?” he snaps.

“Uh… of course.” I force a grin. “I couldn’t do it without… reading the book, right?”

His jaw works to the side as he slaps the pages down. “I’m not marking this. I’m insulted that you even think I would.”

“Why?” It’s hard to keep my irritation in check. “I did the assignment like you asked me to.”

“I was looking for a human experience and something that relates directly to your life. I made that very clear in my class. You trying to be all clever and choosing Moby Dick proves that you weren’t listening.”

“What’s wrong with choosing Moby Dick? He’s the main character. The book is named after him!”

He scoffs and shakes his head with a sigh. “I can tell you used AI for this. There isn’t one direct example from your life. It’s going to be an automatic fail, Mr. Wilson.”

“Come on, sir. I’ve had a busy season, and?—”

“I already gave you an extension!” He points at his desk.

“And you managed to hand in all your other assignments without a problem. In fact, they—” His eyes narrow, and he slowly picks my essay back up again, flicking through the pages with an ominous silence that makes my chest feel like it’s being squeezed in a vise.

His keen gaze lands on me, and I put on another smile until he says, “You didn’t do the work for them, did you? ”

“Sir, I…” Holding out my hand, I silently ask for the assignment back.

I’m not sure what else to do. I can’t go admitting I never wrote one fucking essay for him.

“Look, it’s obvious this assignment isn’t up to par.

I had a busy vacation, and…” My words dribble off at the dry, very unimpressed expression on Pilscher’s face.

It steals any confidence from my voice, and I end up whispering, “Please just give me another chance.”

“Everyone else managed to get their work in on time, Mr. Wilson, and I’m not making another exception for you just because you play football.

” He grabs his briefcase and steps around his desk.

“I’m sorry you were unable to pass my class, but it really comes down to you and the fact that you weren’t willing to put in the work.

” Tipping his chin up, he silently orders me out of his office, and as much as I’d love to stand here fighting for my cause, I can tell it’ll be a waste of my breath.

As soon as I’m back outside, I stalk around the building and rest against the concrete wall.

“Shit!”

An automatic fail?

What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

One paper and it’s screwing up my chances of graduating.

Not just one paper, dude. If you can’t find someone to get you through this semester, then you’ll fail them all .

I don’t even know why I’m bothering.

Who gives a fuck about graduating anyway!

I thump my hand on the wall behind me and wince at the sting.

“Wily?” A soft voice captures my attention, and I glance to my left, noticing a pretty girl with a sweet smile walking toward me. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, hey, Callie. How are ya?”

“I’m good.” Her smile turns into a cringe. “But you don’t look very happy.”

I let out a snicker, forcing my classic smile and enjoying her response. She blushes, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and looking up at me.

Her expression is telling me exactly what she wants, and I’m inclined to follow her back to her dorm and just go with it.

We’ve slept together in the past. She’s dated other guys in between, and as she takes my hand with an impish grin, I double-check, “You’re not with anyone right now?”

“Nope. Enjoying being single for a while.” Her tongue sticks out the side of her mouth. “How about you?”

“You know me, nothing serious for this guy right here.”

“Perfect,” she purrs, and I can’t help a soft laugh. Yep, Callie’s gonna make it all better.

Screw that fucking assignment.

Screw college.

All I care about right now is getting it on with this hottie and enjoying some morning delight.

It was a delight. We ended up spending most of the day in bed together. We had a great time, and when I kissed her goodbye just before football practice, she gave me a wink and thanked me for a great start to the semester.

Shit, who knows what classes I missed to hang with her, but I didn’t fucking care.

Until I woke up the next morning and actually checked my schedule.

Scrubbing my face with a sigh, it’s only dawning on me now that I’ll have to spend the rest of my week sweet-talking the professors and coming up with decent excuses as to why I missed their first class. I’ll need to go online and find the syllabi and which assignments are due when.

Fuck! Should I even bother?

Without Pilscher’s grade, aren’t I just wasting my time?

This roiling anger bubbles in my chest. Or maybe it’s disappointment. I don’t fucking know.

I guess I do want to graduate.

I guess I don’t want the last three and a half years of my life to be meaningless. I mean, they had purpose—football. But why go through all the angst of working with tutors and scraping through my first couple of years if I’m just gonna pack it in now?

Quitting isn’t something that sits right with me.

Fuck it! Graduating is part of the plan, and now I can’t!

And that fucking sucks.

Thumping downstairs, I stalk into the kitchen, pushing up my sleeves as the smell of frying bacon and scrambled eggs hit me .

Grady is at the stove, cooking up a storm for all of us.

Usually, he’ll have music pumping and be humming along, but he’s quiet and morose this morning.

“What’s up with you?” I mumble, instantly ashamed of my grumpy tone but too pissed off to do anything about it.

“Nothing,” he grumbles right back, and we leave it there.

As much as I want to rant with the guy—Grady’s a great soundboard, always so calm and easy to talk to—I just don’t have it in me this morning, especially if he’s in a foul mood too.

I should stick around and make sure he’s okay, but I can’t.

I just want to get the fuck out of here.

I bypass breakfast, figuring I’ll eat later, and head out the door, snatching my various bags and going to the truck. I’ll beat everyone to the gym, but maybe that’s a good thing. I can get in some extra sets and really burn off this irritation inside me.

I’ll need to finish my workout early anyway, especially if I’m gonna check in with all my professors.

Why bother?

The question is still burning in the back of my brain, but for some dumb reason, it’s not enough to stop my plans. If Callie hadn’t come along to distract me yesterday, I would have gone to all those classes, even though it’s a hopeless waste of time.

“Shit!” I bang the steering wheel. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

And that’s when I see her.

Elizabeth Satchwell.

Miss High and Mighty .

She’s shuffling down the sidewalk, her shoulders hunched against the cold, carrying a take-out coffee… and all this foul, dark energy inside me seems to rise to the surface at once as I swerve up to the curve, slamming on my brakes and jumping out of the car.

“I failed!” I shout, flicking up my hands as I bark at her. “I fucking failed, and I’m so pissed off with you!”