The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,41

accentuating the harried look on his face. He takes the steps and knocks. Audrey answers and widens the door for him, but he shakes his head. She leaves and he paces the porch, then Harper appears at the door and rushes out to him. She encircles him in a hug, but he disentangles her and picks back up pacing.

His arms move excitedly as he talks, and when I catch a flash of his face, he’s frowning. Okay, okay, this is good. He’s cutting her off, doing the whole No more coffee dates and Leave me alone so I can focus on my girlfriend thing.

Right?

I heard him loud and clear in the basement. The world disappears when I kiss her.

Harper walks toward him, her face beseeching. She puts her arms around his shoulders. He pushes her away and scrubs his face.

Harper pounces at him and presses her lips to his—and my stomach rolls. His arms flail around, unsure what to do. She grabs his ass, and he leans into her, his arms going around her as they kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

Fuck, no, Donovan. Don’t do it, don’t do it. Don’t hurt Anastasia.

DO IT. DO IT.

Hurt your Ana, break her heart, let go of the best girl you’ve ever held, let her slip right through your fingers—

Donovan jerks away, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He says loud words I can’t hear, then flips around and fast-walks to his car, gets inside. He looks pissed. I sit there, watching Harper, the defiant set of her shoulders, the determined expression on her face.

I know that look. It says, I’ll do whatever it takes to get him.

Why did he come here?

What the hell is he trying to prove?

Why isn’t he with Anastasia?

Another thought sneaks in. What am I willing to do to get what I want?

“You can’t,” I snarl into the night. “Let. Her. Go.”

Yeah? Yeah? the dark side of me whispers.

Aren’t you sick of waiting?

On Wednesday, I follow her to the elevator. We don’t speak. She walks into class ahead of me and takes her regular seat. I take my seat behind her and watch like I always do. I stare hard, wondering if she feels it. When she talks in class, I hang on every word. When she plays with her hair, twisting the strands, my fingers twitch. As soon as class is over, without a glance over her shoulder at me or Benji, she dashes out of the lecture hall.

Thank fuck. I don’t want to be near her.

I hate how she makes me feel.

By the time Friday rolls around, my resolve has stalled and rolled off a cliff. I dreamed about her. Nothing sexual (thank you for small mercies), but a replay of our conversation in her kitchen, her hands touching my lips, her goofy questions, the way she rambled about her childhood.

I wait in the lobby for her to arrive then trail her to the elevator.

There’s nothing wrong with it. Just don’t touch.

She gets on and I follow, my eyes on my phone.

Pretending.

I’m cool.

I’m cool.

She’s wearing a tight green dress that hugs her curves and hits a few inches below her ass. Black tights are on her legs. Heeled thigh-high boots on her feet. Her lavender hair is down, long and straight as it brushes her back.

My throat dries.

I shift around in the small space, easing the thickness in my jeans.

Her lips are a deep red, a hint that she’s in a ‘mood.’ I recall one of her moods. She and Donovan had a tiff at the house once because she brought Lila and Colette to a party. I happened to overhear it when I walked past his room. I watched her storm out, slam his door, then jerk out her lipstick and roll it on her full lips. Then, she stomped away. Lipstick is her armor when things are going to hell.

She huffs and slaps the button for our floor then sends me a long look, or I think she does, based on the reflection in the mirrored walls. She picks up her phone. “Hey, you.” She laughs low and husky, the sound skating down my spine. “You did? Oh, stop it, you’re making me blush. Oh? A big one? You’re teasing me.” Her voice lowers. “You should get dressed. I know, I know, it’s hard. Okay, I have to go. Class. Bye, baby boy.”

A silence settles in the elevator as she hums “Apple Bottom Jeans.”

My eyes narrow. “Who was that?”

“Hmmm? Sorry. Are you talking to me?” She checks her