Page 6 of The Surprise Play
Damn, I hate that it’s pretty too.
He’s a jock. Just a big, mean jock. Don’t go forgetting that.
Steeling myself, I iron out my expression when he notices me. His face lights up with an even brighter grin. Didn’t realize that was possible, but the guy obviously has way more options on his smile dial than most people do.
My lips curl at the corners, my closed-mouth smile stiff and tight.
He doesn’t seem to notice, sauntering around the table and giving the guy who glared at me a fist bump, laughing at something he said before stopping beside me and grinning down. I gaze up from my perch on the chair, craning my neck just to see his face and feeling like a hobbit. I doubt standing up will make much difference either, because this football player is one imposing figure. He must be around six-three, maybe even six-four. And he’s broad and muscular, his Nolan U Cougars hoodie straining to get around his big arms.
“Hi.” He holds out his hand. “Wily Wilson. Nice to meet ya.”
My gaze darts to his big palm and strong fingers before I give his hand a quick shake and murmur, “Hello.”
His smile grows, revealing two shallow dimples, as he drops his bag on the floor and takes a seat adjacent to me, leaning in to study my face. His eyes are so bright blue, it’s hard not to look at them. “What’s your name again?”
“Um… Elizabeth,” I mumble, my gaze dropping to the table. I tuck my hands beneath the wood and squeeze my index finger.
He tips his head. “Sorry, what was that?”
Clearing my throat, I force out, “Elizabeth.”
And his smile changes again. It goes from full-blown cheese to a soft appreciation, as if he likes the sound of my name.
But that can’t be right.
It’s Elizabeth—plain, simple, boring.
“Elizabeth,” he whispers, like it’s a song lyric that makes him feel nostalgic.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head and quickly clarify, “People always shorten it. My parents call me Bess or Bessie. My grandma calls me Libby. My Aunt Charmaine calls me Lizzy. Kids at school would call me—” I bite my lips together and force my eyes back open. “The point is… my name is Elizabeth Satchwell. And I’d appreciate you calling me that.”
“What? Elizabeth? Or Satchwell? Or both?” His eyes sparkle with humor. “Like, do you always want me to say, ‘Hello, Elizabeth Satchwell.’ ‘Thanks so much for that, Elizabeth Satchwell.’ ‘Wow, Elizabeth Satchwell, you are one amazing tutor.’” I frown at him, and he lets out a short laugh. “What? Are you not an amazing tutor?”
His eyes are glittering sapphires, like he’s having the best time in the world teasing me, and I can’t decide if I want to slap him across his cheesy face or punch him in the balls.
Neither! You will never do either of those things!
I’m horrified that I even thought that for a second. What is coming over me?
My first line of defense is always to run and hide, and now I’m imagining myself slapping a stranger? This is insane!
I give my head a little shake and scratch my stomach, then curl my arms around my waist to hide the move.
“I’m sorry.” Wily lightly chuckles, his eyes still glinting with friendly humor. “What would you like me to call you?”
I shrug and mutter, “I don’t know.”None of those things.I’ve always felt like my name never suited me. I have no idea why my parents chose it. Mom always laughs that she did it in honor of Queen Elizabeth, but we’re not even British! Ugh!
“Okay, well, Tutor Girl, it’s nice to meet you.” Wily gives me a wink and leans back in his chair, looking completely unaffected by our totally bizarre introduction while I’m sitting here squirming.
This isn’t going to work. He’s too… irritating. Or unsettling. Or just something unpleasant.
My skin’s really starting to itch now.
Dammit! I subtly scratch my stomach again.
“So, want to get started?” He reaches for his bag, unzipping it and pulling out a haphazard pile of papers.
Where’s his laptop? Why isn’t he more organized?
