The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,71
her come-hither glances. When Harper flashed her tennis bracelet, he slipped his arm around my me and pressed his hand to the small of my back as if to say Steady now.
He FaceTimes me and I squeak. My hair is in a towel and I have a robe on. What was I thinking wanting to see his face? Obviously, I wasn’t.
WTF. Answer your phone, he sends when I don’t pick up.
I call him, no FaceTime, and he answers. “Anastasia, do you have a guy with you?” he snaps into the phone.
“No! I was just…”
“What?”
“Curious. About what you think, I guess, about dating…” I roll my eyes at my own lameness.
There’s a brief silence. “You want to chat about dating?” His tone is dry.
“I don’t have a lot of experience. Who have you dated? I mean, there’s Audrey, of course, but that’s not what I mean.” There’s a long silence and my fingers pluck at my comforter, feeling antsy. “I told you about Bryson. Who broke your heart, or is it made of fire and brimstone?”
He exhales and I hear rustling sounds, like fabric.
“Are you in your bed?” I ask. “It’s four in the afternoon. I can’t imagine you napping.”
“Mhmm, no. Just got out of the shower.”
“Me too,” I say.
“What are you wearing?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” His breath catches.
“That what I said. What are you wearing?”
“Nothing.”
My voice lowers. “Nothing?”
“That’s what I said.”
Jumping up, I take my robe off, make sure the bedroom door is locked, then lie back down. Not telling tales now.
“Who was she? The girl who broke your heart?” I don’t know the whole story, but I’ve heard of an incident at the house.
“Blair. Freshman year. My pledge brother screwed her. He got kicked out of the frat.”
“You loved her,” I say with wonder in my voice.
“She made an impression.”
I imagine a brokenhearted River and anger washes over me. I picture a goddess of a girl, sorority type, a tinkling laugh, a lush body. Another Audrey, only sexier. Longer legs and giant boobs. Probably has a magical vagina.
I glance down at my boobs. They’re perky. Full. I’ve had no complaints. I blow out a breath. Blair, Blair, I rack my head for a girl to put with the name, but I don’t know enough of the popular crowd, and I imagine she doesn’t come to their parties.
“Was she beautiful?” My voice is sullen. And I can’t even stop it. Ugh.
“Yes.”
“Do you still love her?”
“Came to my senses pretty quick.”
“Like you had an epiphany. A come-to-Jesus.”
“Just woke up one day and wondered what I ever saw in her. She wasn’t who I thought. Integrity and faithfulness mean something to me.”
“What helped you realize she wasn’t the one? Was it another girl?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Because I’m figuring you out, delving into those layers, seeing the man underneath.
“Just wondering how fast I can bounce back. I guess getting my revenge will bring some satisfaction.”
“You think it’ll be worth it?”
“I think it will feel good temporarily, a new pair of hands on my body, learning my secrets. Making me come. Yes.”
There’s a ragged sound to his voice. “You went there…” He makes a muffled, groaning sound, and butterflies flutter in my stomach.
“I’ve seen your face when you come. I wonder what mine looks like. Does this mean I need to have sex in front of a mirror? Could do the video thing, but that always seems to come back and bite people in the ass.” My heart beats double-time. “Have you ever wondered what my O-face looks like?” It’s official. My filter has gone kaput.
“No” is dragged from him.
“Did your eye just tick?”
“No.”
A sudden urge to see his face hits me. Explains the FaceTime impulse. “Send me a picture of you.” I pause. “Just your face. No dick, please.”
“Like I would!” he growls.
I chuckle, feeling a sense of rightness. Man, I love getting him riled up. “Guess we should limit our talk to books and sunrises. Sad.”
“I didn’t say that. We can discuss more. Hang on…” I hear him moving around, then a photo comes through. He’s propped up against his headboard, sans shirt, the rippling muscles of his upper body on display. There’s barely any hair on his chest, and his nipples are a dusky color. His hair is wet and slicked back, his face shaven, his eyes lowered as he shields his gaze. A smirk is on his lips.
“Did you use the mango body wash?”
“Are you writing a book?”
“No, but question, since you said we can discuss more things, who was your