Page 51 of Notorious Man on Campus

“You know Brick. You know he’s better than all that. He’s the champion for the little guys and damsels in distress, he’s the responsible team leader and the loyal friend and son and brother, he’s the boy who works hard to achieve his goal and doesn’t care that he’s the big man on campus, doesn’t take advantage—”

“Except when it comes to one-night-stands. He’s notorious for that,” Dooley says. “But even then he warns girls ahead of time and stays away from innocents.”

“And as one of his one-night-stand victims once told me he gives them a night of bliss.”

“I heard that too, but from Brick and wasn’t sure if it was true. Not one hundred percent sure at least.” I shove at his arm.

“It’s absolutely true and then some.” I blush deeply and thoroughly with the warm rush of pleasure thinking about that night even for a second brings over me.

“You naughty devil, you—go Nyla-girl.” He gives me a high-five.

But then we settle down and I realize I’m left with the same Brick problem that I need to resolve.

“So what do I do now that all my shaking up has backfired so miserably, now that I’ve hurt him so deeply?”

Dooley doesn’t say a word, but he smiles, that same Cheshire cat smile of his that I love.

At the end of the day and another awkward and tense dinner thanks to Brick’s strict avoidance policy to treat me like a piece of furniture, or as Allie would say, to go in robot mode, I know what I need to do.

Chapter 22

Brick

Halfway through the week, football practice is the only thing going well. Meals at BMOC House, which used to be anticipated with relish and fun times with the guys, have turned into tense and morose sessions of torture where I can barely eat. I don’t talk to Nyla and I can feel her hopeful eyes burning a hole in my back whenever she’s in the room. The guys know something’s not right, but Dylan has made sure no one says a word about the awkward meals that feel more like we’re eating at church than our usual raucous dining room.

Football remains my solace and I spend as much time at the fieldhouse and on the field as possible, having the team manager put the lights on for me to extend my throwing drills.

So on Wednesday when Coach calls me into his office, my insides tense like I’ve turned to petrified stone.

“Sure coach. What’s up?” My voice and everything about me is casual on the outside, but I wonder sometimes if I’m fooling coach as I follow him from the locker room into his office.

He sits down at his desk across from me and slides his phone across the desk. It’s showing a TikTok video. Fuck. I glance at it and it doesn’t take long to see Willow’s latest lament about what a fucked up shit I am.

“This was brought to my attention by Dean Lassiter. Evidently he has some intern monitoring social media for him. Now I need to answer to him with an explanation. What’s going on?”

“Looks like it’s a case of unrequited lust on her part or unrequited social climbing take your pick.” I don’t give away the tension I feel, the dread that Willow could make a lot of trouble for me, could get me sidelined or worse, affect my draft prospects. Fuck.

I need the NFL. I can’t lose football now, can’t lose my chance to create that dream legacy for my family. It’s all my dad and Jimmy talk to me about, the one safe non-taboo connection we still have.

“You’re more jaded than I am. How is that possible for a 21 year old kid?” He shakes his head. “Never mind. There was another video I found all on my own this afternoon. I got pinged.” He shrugs and slides his phone across my desk again. This time the video is Willow talking excitedly about her date to the homecoming ball. With me.

“Shit.” I watch the whole thing several times before I look up at coach.

He nods. “I thought it was odd.”

“Yes sir. It seems we’ve made up, that it was all a misunderstanding.” I use Willow’s words. She’s squeezing me into her scenario by brut force, putting me in an impossible position. If I don’t go to the Homecoming party with her, she’ll up the ante with her hate vids I have absolutely no fucking doubt. Tamping down on the outrage seething in me, I stare back at the coach.

“So you’re good with this girl? You’re going to the Homecoming ball or party or dance or whatever the fuck it is with her? Because I don’t enjoy seeing this shit, getting calls from Xavier Voland—”

“The AP sports reporter?” I’m shocked and not in a good way. I need to be on Voland’s radar, but not like this.

“The very one. I’d like to report to him and Lassiter that there was nothing to this social media shit and it’s all water under the bridge.”

“Yes sir. No big deal.”

“Make sure it doesn’t turn into one. Got it?” My heart thunders and if Willow was in the room I’d tear her a new one. I don’t feel violence against girls, but I feel rage and anger and whatever happens, she needs a serious reality check.

“Yes sir.” He nods and I spring from my chair and leave.. I don’t have any idea what I’m going to do about it, as outrage spills through me, because while I figure things out, Willow has me by the balls and it looks like I have to take her to the fucking Homecoming party.