Page 8 of The Surprise Play (Nolan U Football #3)

WILY

Okay, so I’m kinda feeling bad about the way I yelled at Elizabeth Satchwell.

Shit, she looked so fucking surprised when I started shouting at her, like no one had ever spoken to her that way before.

Fuck.

It didn’t stop her from trying to argue back with me, though, did it?

She wants me to take another class, find another way to get the credits I need.

She’s out of her fucking mind if she thinks I’m going to take on even more work.

I can’t do it.

And now I don’t know if there’s any point even sticking around. Once we play our final game, should I just move back home and?—

“Hey, man.” Zander slaps me on the shoulder as he eases past me into the gym.

I blink, not even remembering my walk from the truck to this point. Bags are clutched in my fists, and I glance back down the hall, shaking my head and feeling like I’m losing my mind.

Zander turns to look at me. “Hey, you good?”

“Uh, yeah.” I paste on a smile because that’s what he needs to see.

Like I’m gonna let him in on my trials right now. He’ll be gutted if I tell him I’m quitting early. He’s got grand plans of us graduating together. Sienna’s already talking about a special party for all of us seniors… and it’s months away.

Tyrell strolls into the gym as I’m dumping my gear and gives me a sleepy, blurry-eyed grunt. The guy does not do mornings. I raise my chin, knowing better than to engage. Apparently, I’m too friendly and chipper in the mornings, but he’s not gonna have any issues with me today.

Jumping on the treadmill, I start a gentle jog, warming up my muscles as the gym fills with the regular morning crew.

We’ve been doing this so long now that we can move around each other, instinctively knowing who’s gonna be where and who needs spotting.

I keep half an eye on Tyrell, knowing he’ll be asking for my help in the next ten minutes or so.

He likes to get the bench press out of the way first, and as soon as he lies down, I stop the treadmill and wander over to him.

“Ready?” I ask, once his hands are settled on the bar.

He nods and I hover behind him, making sure the bar doesn’t land on his chest or neck. The guy likes to push it. We all do. That’s part of the challenge, right?

After his first set, he stands up, breathing in through his nose and indicating for me to take my turn .

I pump out eight strong reps before my arms start to collapse. Shaking them out, I stand and notice Carson strolling into the gym.

“’Sup, dickheads.” He raises his chin and grins around the room, getting back a plethora of friendly insults.

Zander’s “Good morning, fuck nugget” is my favorite.

Carson grins at him, shedding his hoodie and wandering over to the chest press. “Hey, Wiles.”

I narrow my eyes at him, wondering why he’s saying a second hello to me.

“Hey.” I nod, unnerved by the way he’s looking at me. “You good?”

“Yeah. I’m… great. Are you okay?”

I frown, my eyes darting to Tyrell before landing back on my scruffy roommate. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Carson nods, obviously not believing me. My eyebrows dip, and he gives me a tight smile before getting on with his reps.

Tyrell and I share a confused frown, but then I shrug, not wanting to dive into it.

Thankfully, Grady shuffles into the gym after doing an obvious run to get here. He’s puffing and sweaty, like he pushed it way too hard, and Zander wanders over to check on him.

“Something’s up with that guy,” Carson murmurs quietly.

I give him a side-eye, still trying to adjust to this new version of Carson. He was the one we always had to keep an eye on. He was the one who something was always up with. But he’s found this new calm, and it’s bringing out another side of him. Like he’s noticing shit he didn’t used to.

I don’t know if I like it.

I definitely didn’t like the way he was trying to see right through me before.

“Are things okay with him and Teah?” Carson turns to glance at me and Tyrell.

We both shrug.

“I wonder if they broke up. Something is definitely riling him, and the fact that he skipped the winter dance…” Carson makes a clicking noise out the side of his mouth. “Nylah mentioned that she saw them arguing at a party a while back.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell us?” Tyrell’s morning voice is deep and croaky.

“Maybe he’s hurting too much to talk about it.” Carson gives us a thoughtful frown, and I share a weirded-out look with Tyrell.

Yep, this new Carson is going to take some getting used to.

Although, five minutes later, Fleischer struts into the gym, and we get flashes of the old Carson again.

His grumpy, sarcastic quips put Fleischer in his place and rile him up pretty badly, but when he starts to ignite a fight, Carson manages to back away, breathing through his nose like it’s some kind of managing technique and slipping out of the gym before Fleischer sends him over the edge.

I catch him in the locker room after his shower, and he’s back to calm and unaffected.

Well, shit. He really has come a long way.

Staring at his phone, Carson’s lips twitch while he finishes his text, and I know he’s messaging Nylah. I’m happy for him.

Walking into the showers, I flick on the water and soap myself down, thinking about all the girls I’ve been with in college. I remember them all—a stream of pretty faces wafting through my mind. I’m just thinking about my previous day with Callie when Elizabeth Satchwell suddenly pops into my mind.

I frown, lifting my arm and soaping my left pit.

I so don’t want to be thinking about her right now, but I can’t help it.

Shit, I do feel bad for the way I yelled at her. She didn’t even see me coming, and I just pounced like an angry bear.

What a fucking way to start her day. Did I completely ruin it for her?

Fuck, I hope not.

I hope she’s one of those chicks who can just brush off an argument and get on with her day. I didn’t mean to lose my shit with her. I’m not that kind of guy. I’m Mr. Smiles, always happy. Nothing fazes me.

But this whole “I’m a big, dumb fuck” is really riling me today.

Which is why I force myself to get out of the shower, dry off, and head to class like she fucking told me to.

I have no idea why I do it.

This whole fucking semester is pointless.

But I sit through the introductory lecture on Finances and Accounting, wondering why I chose to take it. Michelle helped me find a bunch of easy classes to finish out my final year, and she assured me I could handle this one .

Yeah, right.

Gazing at my laptop screen, I try to keep up with the professor and follow about half of what she’s saying. Shit, I need to find a tutor. There’s no way I’ll survive the semester without one.

But Michelle is going to be so pissed if I contact her with yet another fail. She was already annoyed with me that none of the other tutors worked out.

Shit, I should try asking for Elizabeth Satchwell’s help again. If I haven’t permanently put her off me. She’s probably going to avoid me at all costs now, the stupid dude who yelled at her in the middle of the street.

Fuck!

Class wraps up and I sit there, still staring at my screen until someone bumps into my arm.

“Oh, sorry.” A soft giggle hits me, and I turn to take in the pretty brunette who is smiling down at me.

Damn, she’s gorgeous.

Her eyes are big and beautiful, her skin a silky bronze. She’s a skinny thing with barely there tits and a slender waist. My eyes skim down her body before popping back up to her face.

She smiles at me, like she appreciates the fact that I’m noticing her.

It’s easy to grin back, and I close my laptop, standing tall and dragging my bag with me. I stuff my computer away as we’re walking down the stairs, my confidence rebuilding itself as fast as it does on a football field.

This chick is into me.

I know exactly what to do with a girl like this.

“So, finance, huh? You an accounting major or something?” she asks, tucking her long, shiny hair behind her ear.

“Shit, no.” I laugh. “I’m just trying to get the credits I need to graduate. This course seems like an easy one to pass.”

“I know, right?” She laughs. “That’s why I took it too. Figured I’d make my first year at Nolan U a simple one.”

“Ah, so you’re just a little freshman, then.” I grin, my tone playful.

She beams up at me. “And I’m guessing you’re a junior?”

“Senior,” I correct, kind of hating that I’m taking the same classes as a freshman. Shit, I really am stupid.

“I’m Jade, by the way.” She sticks out her hand, and I shake those long fingers, admiring the shape of her face. It’s oval—long and pretty, obviously well looked after. She’s wearing makeup, and it’s clear she likes to take care of herself.

I certainly appreciate it. She’s a knockout.

Damn, it’d be nice to have her be my tutor, but we’d probably get nothing done. She’s too hot, and I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her… if she was keen.

Which she clearly is.

I drink in her hungry gaze for a second, and my smile grows.

“Wily Wilson,” I introduce myself, noticing we’re still shaking hands. I rub my thumb over her soft skin before dropping her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jade.”

“You too.” She winks and brushes her teeth over her bottom lip—the ultimate seductress move—before turning and walking away, her hips swaying as she leaves me wanting more .

Yep, that chick sure knows what she’s doing.

I stay where I am, appreciating the view, until she’s around the corner and I’m forced to get back to reality.

Fucking reality.

It’s weird for me to feel so dark. I’m not used to these internal rain clouds, but I’m still kind of pissed off that my last semester is going to be total shit.

Once football is over, all I’ve got left is studying and prepping for the Scouting Combine at the end of February.

I’m pretty pumped about attending. It’s a chance for me to show off my skills to NFL coaches and scouts.

I’ll get noticed, because… well, they’re already noticing me…

and then it’ll be whoever can win me first, I guess.

I want to be fought over. I want to play so well that teams will be busting their guts to get me.

And then I can finally start the life I’ve been working toward since I was a kid.

Spinning around, I head down the concrete steps and spot a familiar figure walking thirty yards ahead of me.

She has a stack of books clutched against her side, and her short legs are moving with purpose.

I can tell it’s Tutor Girl immediately—that pleated skirt and cardigan?

Yeah, no one else her age would be seen wearing that in this place.

She’s obviously lost in thought and hasn’t noticed me staring at her.

I should call out, grab her attention… apologize for being such a douchebag this morning.

Shit. I actually yelled at her.

I never yell at people, especially not girls.

With a resigned sigh, I pick up my pace and am about to call her name when I’m stopped by two friendly faces .

“Wily Wilson,” Ethan greets me like he always does. I give him my usual half hug, then bump Liam’s fist with my own.

“How are you guys?” I smile.

“Yeah, good. Season’s going well. Missing some of the senior players, you know how it is.”

“Baxter, man.” Liam shakes his head. “I didn’t realize how good he was. Now that he’s not playing, we’re noticing big-time.”

I nod, totally understanding that feeling.

Ethan lightly slaps my arm. “You’ll be missed at the end of this year. Shit, man, semifinal playoffs. That’s fucking epic.”

Grinning, I nod some more and agree with everything they’re saying, my eyes darting past them and noticing that Elizabeth Satchwell has disappeared around the corner the same way that Jade chick did.

Looks like I won’t be apologizing just yet.

You have her number. Call it.

The phone in my back pocket feels like it’s burning, and I start losing focus as Ethan and Liam keep chatting.

Do I actually want to apologize to Tutor Girl?

Maybe I should just leave it. She probably never wants to speak to me again anyway.

“So, what time’s your bus leaving?”

I blink, pulled back into focus by the question. “This afternoon. We’ll get there a day early. It’ll give us a chance to really prep for the game.”

“Well, good luck, man.” Liam holds out his hand, and I give it a quick shake before slapping Ethan’s palm and waving goodbye.

The hockey players saunter off, and I pull out my phone, tapping my screen with my thumbs and impulsively sending a short text.

Tutor Girl: Sorry for yelling at you.

She doesn’t respond. I even stand there waiting, but I get nothing back.

Who knows if she’s read the text or not.

She obviously doesn’t own an iPhone, so I can’t even tell.

Waiting another beat, I stare at my screen, then give up with a huff and head to my next class.

Thank God it’s the last one of the day; then I can go back home and prep for the one thing I’ve been put on this planet to do…

Play football.