The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,15

my mouth—

“Let it go, Anastasia,” River whispers.

Five seconds pass as Dr. Whitman watches me, daring me, then walks away.

“Holy shit. That was an epic stare-down. You and River should work together,” whispers Benji.

“No thanks,” River says as he bounces his leg. Every brush of his jeans touches my thigh. I ease away.

“Ah, that’s right,” Benji muses. “You two aren’t friends. So weird when you think about it…” His voice trails off. “Makes me wonder…”

River inhales a breath then turns to him. “If you have something to say, say it.”

He holds his hands up in a placating manner, but there’s a glint of glee in his eyes. “Nothing. Well, okay—since you asked. I think you two have a lot in common. Ana is beloved by the frat. So are you. She’s…”—he looks at me and grins—“different, and you, big brother, don’t be offended, are kind of a woo-woo dude.”

“Woo-woo?” River grinds out as his cheekbones flush. “Seriously?”

I dart my eyes between them, fascinated. Benji clearly knows a side of River I do not. Woo-woo implies believing in unconventional spiritual ideas, and I’ve never gotten that vibe from River. Although, hmmm. All the guys do go to him for advice…

Benji laughs under his breath and taps his chin as if he’s thinking. His lips purse. “All I’m saying is, you’re different from the normal frat guy, although you don’t let everyone see it—”

“And you’re done talking,” River snaps.

Benji grins. “Yes, Mr. President.”

“River doesn’t think I’m good enough for the frat,” I say. Yeah, my tightrope walker is back, teetering. “He ignores me, snubs me, and basically pretends I don’t exist.”

River’s eyes fly to me. “I never said you weren’t good enough—”

Professor Whitman juts in loudly, “If you three are done chatting, we’d like to hear from the rest of the class.”

Caught. Again.

River and I turn back around. He exhales and stares down at his novel, his hands twirling it on top of the desk. His index finger presses hard into the paperback as if he wants to drill a hole in it.

I stare down at mine, thumbing through it, my head tumbling with what Benji said about River and me having things in common. He called me different. I guess talking to myself qualifies. My parents are non-traditional. I don’t have many friends. And my hair is unique. It’s long and straight and thick, the lavender ends brushing my mid-back. Lila says it’s my best asset, even though she wants me to jazz it up with some multi-colored stripes. My dad says my eyes are his favorite: bright green with dark lashes. I don’t put much stock into looks. (Although I admit to weak moments around River. It’s the artist side of me.) I prefer to look at a person’s insides, to the depths of who they are. I want the layers within, unfolding and unpacking someone’s true nature. I’ve learned that beauty on the outside doesn’t matter if the inside is rotten.

My first taste of masculine beauty was at seventeen. He was thirty and—

I stop that train of thought when Whitman slaps River’s character analysis from last week down on his desk. River tucks it inside his notebook, but not before I see his F.

River’s jaw tightens, and I see fury on the granite planes of his face. Then, as the moments tick by, resigned acceptance. Oh. My breath catches. It’s a defeated expression I’ve never seen him wear.

Whitman hands me my A, and a few minutes later, the bell chimes for class to be dismissed.

River stays in his seat as students file past us, and I guess he’s waiting to talk to Whitman. My body is hyperaware of his proximity, and my hands hurry to get out of his space. The strap of my backpack gets tangled on my chair, and when I yank on it, several items spill out while my phone flies under his desk. I bend down and snatch it up, brushing against his thigh. Inwardly, I groan.

Must. Stop. Touching. Him.

Maybe it was a good idea he didn’t sit next to me that first day.

My cell lights up with several texts, and I scan them. All from Donovan. More info about Harvard. Nothing about my birthday.

Loneliness claws, catching me unexpectedly. Time is running out for law school applications to be accepted. It’s not my dream to be a corporate lawyer, tax attorney, or work in the entertainment field like many in my cohort; no, I want to work with people with legal issues who can’t pay the