The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,28
lacking, but if I had a girl like Anastasia, I’d want to protect it.
He reads my face and groans. “You’re right. I haven’t been upfront. It’s going to hurt her.”
My throat tightens as I remember Anastasia’s face outside class. She was devastated because he didn’t mention her birthday, and if she also knew he got into Harvard and she didn’t…double whammy.
If he tells her about Harper, damn…
I heave out a breath. “Look, your parents will always be on your side. They care about you. You’re wondering if Anastasia will fit in with them? She won’t.” I hold a finger up. “She’s not a debutante.” Second finger. “She’s a real girl with a messy upbringing.” Third finger. “If you love her, why the fuck does it matter?”
He shuts his eyes briefly. “You make it sound so easy. You don’t know how persuasive my family can be. They hinted they may not pay for Harvard.” His throat bobs as he looks away from me.
“Get a loan.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Is she worth it?”
“Of course! When I…” He stops, a soft, dreamy look flashing on his face. “When I kiss her, man, the whole world disappears.”
My body tenses, and I do my best to hide it, to pretend I don’t care, but, shit…
He loves her. I mean, that expression on his face…
A long exhalation comes from my chest as I realize this is my reminder that I shouldn’t be fucking with her like I did in class today.
And right now, I’m managing to stay fair, but underneath, the manipulative side of me is itching to pull strings and orchestrate their—
No.
I stand.
An alarm on his phone goes off and he checks it. “I have to get to the library. I’ve got a paper due tomorrow.”
He rushes to gather up his laptop and backpack.
“Have you seen her today?” I say as he takes off for the stairs.
He stops, a furrow on his brow. “No. Maybe she’ll pop by, but she’s working tonight. I’ll catch her tomorrow for dinner probably. Toga party for sure. Oh, wait—you saw her in class.”
“Yeah.”
He fiddles with his book bag, worry on his face. “Did she seem off?”
It’s her birthday.
“Um, we don’t talk much.”
He pauses, lingering on the steps, then turns back to me. “River? Why do you call her Anastasia?”
Tingles ghost over my skin and into my scalp. Wait for Anastasia.
“No reason.”
He chews on his lip. “Huh.”
I stick my hands into my pockets as my uneasiness rises. At least next fall, if I come back, neither of them will be at Braxton. I’ll be here. Alone.
“Thanks for letting me vent. And Harper… Nothing has ever happened between us. I want you to know that. She’s offered, yeah, plenty of times, but I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“So you say” slips out.
He narrows his eyes, his lids lowering. “Ana is the one I love, River. She’s the one for me. I’ll figure out my parents.”
I keep my face completely blank.
She. Does. Not. Exist.
I force a smile. “Right.”
7
“You smell like grease and French fries,” I say to myself as I climb out of my white Honda Civic. “With a dash of beer.”
Grabbing the bags off of the passenger seat, I walk to the alley between my building and the next one, a rambling old factory where they make shoes. My apartment complex is old, built in the fifties, but well-maintained with a clean manicured lawn. The area isn’t the best, but it’s near campus. And it’s cheap.
Steam rises and floats in the air from the exhaust vent in the basement. Thank goodness for that old furnace. An old striped blanket is pitched over the vent between two milk crates, making a tent of sorts. Two legs stick out.
A small brown dog, a mutt, sits near the feet and glances up at me as I approach. His tail wags. He’s old, bits of gray in his fur. Sweet little Oscar.
“Hey, handsome.” I break off half of a hamburger patty, toss it down, and he sniffs then pounces on it. “I brought dog food, but you need a treat.”
“Who’s there?” June peeks out of her tent. “Oh. You.” She folds the top over so she can see me better. Her eyes glint from the streetlights. “You’re like a roach. Can’t get rid of you.”
“Were you expecting anyone else?”
“Holding out hope for Bruce Willis.”
“Hmmm. Have you seen The Sixth Sense? Very tense. A psychological thriller. ‘I see dead people,’” I quote in a breathy voice like the kid in the movie.