Page 22 of Notorious Man on Campus

“How tragic,” Dooley says.

“Story for another day. So this boy was still trying to change my mind and backed me up against my locker and I’m sure he thought he was charming me, but he was so big and I can’t say I wasn’t intimidated. I pushed back, telling him to leave me alone. That made him mad and he banged the locker and accused me of being a tease.”

“No,” Allie says. “What a bully.”

I nod.

“That’s when I got full-blown scared. And that’s when Brick came to my rescue. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and flung him aside. It was like one minute he was on top of me and the next he was on the other side of the hall, banging against the wall and sliding down. Brick didn’t say much, only told the boy to back off.”

I remember the words, and the heady feeling of being protected and valued comes back as if it happened five minutes ago. “A crowd gathered and as he was picking the boy up off the floor he said, ‘Don’t ever talk to her again, don’t go near her, don’t even look at her again or I’ll need to teach you about what happens when you disrespect a girl.’” I smile, my whole body smiles.

Allie claps her hands and Dooley laughs.

“You’re shitting me. Our Brick has a flair for the dramatic, going all Clint Eastwood on the sorry, misbehaved boy.”

“You would know something about drama if anyone does, Dools,” Allie says.

“You guys are the best.” The words burst from me and I reach out and hug them both to me as we all laugh. “Now let’s get out there and help our hero Brick celebrate his victory.”

We open the door and, arm-in-arm, we step out into the party, which is now in full swing.

“There’s Willow.” Dooley leans in close to be heard, then drags me by the hand in her direction. Allie sees Dylan and says she’ll see us later as she goes to him. I can’t blame Allie, but the fracture in our trio brings down my sense of elation from the cocoon of friendship. Dooley has wild-ass social aspirations for me and I hate to disappoint him after all the trouble he went to make me look like a sophisticated person, even if I’m not. So I go along, hoping my first impression of Willow was all wrong. I’m willing to give her a second chance. After all, we have something in common. We’ve both been ditched by Brick. And we both still have a thing for him.

Chapter 9

Brick

The kitchen is my favorite place to hang during a party, right after I make the rounds saying hello and taking the congratulations from everyone here. Teammates, friends, fans, and girls. Lots of girls who stuff panties and other unmentionables into my pockets and ask me to autograph their faces, arms, and boobs. I give them a smirk and a quip and down a couple of beers along the way then head for the kitchen, trying to keep it real. It takes me a while to get there, and I can’t help scanning the crowd for Nyla.

Majik warned me earlier to make sure Nyla feels comfortable with the quote-unquote uppity shits from the sorority down the street. I laughed because that was the same sorority she threatened to go work for if I didn’t let Nyla stay here. I didn’t have the balls to call her bluff about leaving, because I have a weak spot when it comes to Majik. Now I find myself checking Nyla’s bedroom door for light under the threshold to see if she’s hiding away, all in the name of pleasing Majik.

Lecturing myself to distance myself because Majik’s just the cook doesn’t work. From across the room I see Nyla’s bedroom door open and I freeze in place. She emerges with Dooley and Allie, but I don’t get a good look at her through the crowd. Before I can push through in her direction a girl jumps in front of me like a linebacker on a blitz.

“Willow. That’s a serious move. You ever think of blocking professionally?”

“Your one-track football mind is so ridiculous, Brick, but I suppose coming from you that’s supposed to be a compliment.”

“Take it however you want.” I have other tracks and it’s stuck on the Nyla train right now as I try and move around Willow, but she puts her two hands on my chest and pushes me back against the wall. She means business. Fuck. I hate girl-drama and look around for my wingmen, who I count on to help me out with this shit. The last thing I need to do is be pushing girls out of my way, which is my first instinct in self-preservation. I’ve already gotten into trouble on social media for supposedly being mean and harsh to girls. How the hell am I supposed to turn them down when they don’t take no for an answer? Being cold works but it’s bad PR. Last semester after that TikTok video with the crying girl, Dylan, Roman and I decided wingmen to the rescue was the best way to handle it.

“What do you want, Willow?” I keep my voice cold as ice, which isn’t hard as I look at her fake smile and calculating eyes. She’s pretty in an ice princess way, the exact opposite of Nyla’s golden warmth. Fuck. What am I doing comparing girls to Nyla?

“I want you, Brick. You’re the football star, hunky QB1 and biggest of the big men on campus, aren’t you?”

“If you say so.” She laughs and it sounds real for a change.

“Don’t pretend to be humble now. You know where you stand. King of campus. And you know I’m the queen. It’s only right that we go to the homecoming dance together as king and queen of the campus. Just think what a hot couple we’ll make when we get our crowns.” The ambitious fever in her eyes almost warms her, but I shake my head because the idea of going to the homecoming dance with any girl, let alone a social-climbing sorority princess—I won’t give her queen—curls my insides like I’ve just smelled an army of skunks.

“Not happening, Willow. Sorry.” Not sorry. I don’t have to add those two words because my steely voice gets the message across. Her eyes narrow and she gets pouty, like that’ll change my mind.

“You can pout and bat your eyelashes and try all your girly tricks, princess, but I’m not bringing a date to the homecoming dance. Never have and never will.” She pokes my chest.

“Watch out, Mr. Ice King. You should never say never because you may have to eat those words.” I don’t hold in my scoff. She punches her hands to her hips and glares. Though she looks comical, I know whatever she has going on in her head is probably not funny, so I throw her a bone.

“Don’t worry, Princess Willow, I’m sure you’ll capture yourself a prince who’ll be happy to have you on his arm.” She leans in then, dangerously close, reverting to her flirtatious self as if my encouraging words signal a softening of my position rather than a goodbye. Shit. She pushes her boobs against my chest and wriggles her hips against mine, snaking her arm around my neck before I can pull away from her in the crowd with nowhere to go.

I dart my eyes around to search for either of my wingmen. They’re nowhere in sight, but I spot Nyla and she’s headed right for me in the corner where Willow has me trapped. Nyla swoops in and parks herself at my side like a guardian angel and I finally get a look at Dooley’s handiwork. Holy fucking shit.

She looks like a dream, a fucking hot and sweet dream. She has all the sizzle of a sex pot wrapped around the sweetest candy covered sunshine I ever saw. I have to fist my hand to stop myself from touching the soft white sweater or run my hands through the full mane of curls, but there’s no way to prevent inhaling her intoxicating scent, and no way to stop myself from being blinded by her brilliant warm smile.