The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,64

too fast for me to keep up. Computer screens? A hassle. Elevator buttons? Hate them. Algebra? The numbers dance on the page, getting jumbled, and I can’t focus enough to make them stop. Road signs? I use GPS. Hospitals and big buildings here at school? I want to scream until, finally, I can make them stick in my head. I memorize football plays. I make these big flashcards and know them by heart. I just…fuck! These banned books are a goddamn nightmare—”

She’s moved closer and takes my hands.

I freeze, realizing my voice had risen toward the end.

Then, I’m acutely aware of the feel of her skin against mine. Sparks zing along my nerve endings.

I stare down at our intertwined hands, my big ones and her small, delicate ones. My frustration crashes and dies, snuffed out by her touch.

“It’s okay to vent. Anger builds inside of us, especially with things we can’t control. Breathe. Tell me your three things.”

A small laugh escapes me. Oh, oh, she thinks I froze because I’m upset about my issues. Rainbow, that may have been it at first, but now…

She’s a River-whisperer runs through my head as I lean into her. She feels so good. Hesitant and unsure, her arms wrap around my waist and her forehead presses to my chest. She exhales, her face moving as her cheek rests against me.

Can she hear the fast beat of my heart?

I exhale a deep breath as I rest my chin on the top of her head and hold her against me.

It’s not a sexual touch; it’s accepting and real, and fucking alright. I’m not making any moves on her. This is legit friendship stuff. A hug. A comforting hold. One I wanted to do at the sunrise but resisted.

I’m totally okay, totally fine.

I’m not doing a damn thing wrong.

You are!

A bolt of pain shoots through my skull. “Dammit,” I groan.

“What’s wrong?” She looks up at me.

With reluctance, I shake my head and ease away from her to drop down to sitting on the bed.

“Headache. Tension. I reached my limit. At the worst possible time when I need to get this paper done. I get them on and off. This whole week is catching up with me…” My voice trails off and I grimace.

“What helps your head?”

I huff out a laugh as I rub my temples. “Ha. Not going there.”

She sits down next to me on the bed, her leg against mine. “Huh?”

“Sex helps, Anastasia. And it’s been a long time.”

She blinks rapidly. “Can I get you an Aleve?”

“I’m kidding.” Not. “It’s just… I need to relax to make it disappear. I go and go and go and then my body is like, Stop thinking so much.”

“Ah.” Her arm brushes against mine, and the blood rushes to my groin. Trying to be discreet, I shift my jeans around. That hug wasn’t just a friendly one… Jesus! What am I doing with her?

“I get it. You need your own restorative sex. Funny. One of the best quotes in Lady Chatterley’s Lover is from Oliver, ‘We fucked a flame into being.’ You think we can fuck your headache away?” She throws me a look.

“What?”

“Kidding. Seems to be the theme of the day. Look, I can leave, and you can call a girl—”

“No,” I mutter.

“Okay.”

I lie back and sprawl out on the bed.

She lies down next to me, and my breath stutters in my chest. She’s pushing me, pushing me…

We both stare at the ceiling of my room, which is pretty damn unremarkable. But it is clean.

And I’m not looking at her.

Because it’s dangerous.

Winning.

She props her arms behind her head. “Since you brought up sex—”

“Hello, it’s the topic of our paper—”

“—have you thought about us?” She pauses. “It’s just…that day in the kitchen was intense, right? Did I dream that?”

Damn. She went there.

“Never thought of us together,” I lie to the ceiling.

There’s a pause. “Oh. Well. That’s good. We’re total opposites.”

Are we?

I have my doubts. We’re both a little rudderless, both of us on the cusp of an uncertain future. She’s random as hell. So am I. She looks at people like she needs them, like she cares, and I hope I do too.

I turn my head and gaze at her. There’s a foot between us, but it feels like less. She’s gazing at me, a glint in her eye, and I wonder how long that’s been going on.

“You put on fresh lipstick,” I say softly. My eyes linger on her mouth, that full bottom lip, the little V in the