The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,53
nod. “No, no, I totally get it—that’s not what I meant. Of course not. You and I…we aren’t even friends. You’re Donovan’s friend. I meant, I should have brought my roommates. I wasn’t thinking straight. They’d know what to do. My head is jumbled.” She runs her finger down the leather of the seat. “Being alone is the worst.”
Fuck.
Taking her home is one thing. Spending time with her is another.
“Where do you want to go? Are you hungry? We can hit a drive-through—”
“No, I can’t eat. I’ll throw up. Just drive?”
“Drive?”
A faint smile flits over her face. “Yeah. Ever been to Henning Park at sunrise?”
I start. “You want to stay out all night at a park?”
“Well, from the look on your face, you hate the idea.”
“I didn’t say I hate it.”
“Your right eye twitched. You do that when you’re emotional. It’s a tell. You twitched.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did. You do it when you play poker or when one of the pledges is getting on your nerves. Once you did it in the elevator with me. Truth? I was kinda enraptured, gleeful almost, hoping it was me and I was irritating you. Was I?”
“It’s dark in here. You got X-ray vision?” I ask.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Are you a good liar, River?”
“Excellent.”
“No! You twitch when you lie. It just happened! The skin right under your eye moved.”
“If, and I say if I’m twitching, it’s because you’re a diabolical woman! You really don’t want to get out of this truck, do you?”
“Diabolical? Me? You’re the literal devil, so we’re even. Your middle name is Lucius, which is oddly close to Lucifer. Bring up one little nervous tic, and you have a meltdown—”
“I’m not melting down!”
She arches her brows. “I know. We’re bantering.”
“No, we’re arguing.”
“You twitched!”
I cover my eyes with my hands then slowly let them fall. “If I’m the twitching devil, you’re his crazy henchman.”
She smiles, a sad one. “Sure, whatever you say. I have an idea: let’s drive around and talk about The Outsiders. We’ll compare notes. It’s the only thing we have in common. I enjoy football, but honestly, it’s mostly for the warrior attitude, and the tight pants. I wish one of the players would have a crush on an opposing player. I’ve imagined them throwing off their helmets and kissing… Okay, okay, I can see by your face, you aren’t on board. I never pictured you doing that, so…yeah, I’ll shut up now.”
“You daydream about footballers getting it on?”
“Just once. Two defensive players. Big guys. Very masculine.” She shrugs. “I read MM sometimes.”
No clue what MM is and I’m afraid to ask. “I can’t stay out all night. I have girls at the party to go bang.”
Her eyes narrow. “You twitched!”
I huff out a wondering laugh.
“Alright, Anastasia. I’ll just drive.”
A victorious half-smile crosses her lips. “Just let me check on June.”
“You mentioned her today. Who is she?”
She leans forward to peer through the windshield. “My pretend grandma. She’s ornery. I can’t get her to stay in a shelter, and…just hang on, let me go say hi.” She bolts out of the truck and dashes to the alley, disappearing.
I grab my phone. I’m with Anastasia. May not be home till late, I say into my cell, and it sends to the guys.
Crew sends, Dude. Glad you got her out. Donovan is trashed. He’s always been crazy about her. WTF happened?
Harvard happened. His parents happened. I happened.
Keep your dick under control, River, all two inches of it, Hollis replies with an eggplant emoji.
I smirk. Bigger than yours.
Yeah. They know I need a reminder when it comes to her.
I’m trying, I’m trying…
She’s been gone for several minutes, and I’m about to get out when she jogs back, opens the door, and settles into her seat, some of the tension gone from her face.
“She okay? Do we need to get her anything?”
“She’s good. Half-asleep. I brought her dinner earlier, but…”
“Yeah?”
She bites her lip. “I’m terrified she’s going to disappear.”
It dawns on me. How did I miss it? Donovan mentioned she hasn’t seen her parents in a year, and they left her periodically growing up…
People leave Anastasia.
“Crank the heat up, roll down the windows, and go really fast,” she murmurs.
I give her an incredulous look.
“What? I’m depressed and irrational. My boyfriend just broke up with me. He told the whole world what a pot-smoking slut I am—”
“You are not.”
“Whatever. You know what people will say. The truth is, I’m feeling crazy. I’m talking way more than I should. You’re lucky I’m