The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,79

an arm around me casually. His chest shakes, and I think he murmurs Eyeballs? Really?

Her face reddens as she glares at me then flips a strand of hair over her shoulder. “You’re really rude. I was just making conversation—”

“Bye,” I say.

She glances at River.

“Anastasia has spoken,” he says very seriously.

She flounces off while he chuckles, the sound low and husky.

“That felt good,” I murmur.

“Hmmm. I like you throwing pens at random girls in the library. Epic.”

We laugh.

A while later, we’ve gone over his notes, picked out quotes to support his theme, and organized his paragraphs. Articulating his ideas is where he shines; it’s the writing that slows him down. We talk about how to wrap up his conclusion. He’s almost there.

“We’ve been going at this for two hours. I can’t believe I sat still that long,” he says later as he jiggles his leg under the table.

He whips off his hoodie, the smell of mangoes drifting around us as he tosses it on the table. His muscles flex as he moves his arms back behind his neck and stretches. My eyes drape over him, the perfect body, the bulky arms, his taut forearms, dang how can you have muscles there. Even the dark hair on his arms is attractive. I wish I could go back to that night in the library. If I had a do-over—

I rip my eyes away from the perfection of River.

He’s a guy with principles and a deep sense of loyalty. He said integrity means something to him.

Another thought sneaks in: he read The Outsiders because of me, and normally that wouldn’t be a big deal—I recommend books to people all the time—but for him, it means he spent a lot of time reading it. I influenced him—

My train of thought gets interrupted when my eyes roam the library and snag on a table that’s filled up with guys. I straighten my shoulders. “Whiskey, tango, foxtrot, alpha alert in the green zone, repeat, target is in the basket—or the periodicals. Engage, engage.” I ease out of my seat while rummaging through my purse, snatching my lipstick and sliding on fresh color.

River watches me, not moving.

“What’s the holdup, private?”

His gaze goes behind me, seeing the group, and his eyes narrow. He glances back at me.

“What? Operation Rebound is on.”

He lets out a long-suffering groan and stands. “Stop with the military speak in front of them. That’s just for me.”

“Like it?”

“A little.” He grins.

“It’s new. You bring it out of me.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. It’s like… I’ve known you forever.”

“Yeah,” he says softly as he twists his ring, looks down at the table, then back up at me. “Anastasia?”

The word ripples over my skin like a caress. I swallow. “What?”

“I…” He stops. Several moments tick by.

“I?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to make a mistake…”

We stare at each other, my body hyperaware of the intensity of his gaze. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of papers shuffling, the low hum of students, but all I see is him.

No, I’m not sure.

I clear my throat. “Worth a shot. It’s a good hair day. I had my teeth cleaned recently. I haven’t had many carbs today. Lila gave me fancy gold earrings. I showered. Put me in, coach.”

His fingers brush my neck, straightening my sweater. He takes a piece of hair and lays it over my shoulder, his hands lingering near my throat as he steps away. “There. Perfect.”

All. These. Touches.

Us dancing last night.

I’m going to snap.

I give him a jerky nod.

“Green Zone it is,” he murmurs, then takes off for the periodicals.

He walks like a predator, slow and stealthy, looking for his next kill. Kian.

I follow behind him as he stops a few feet away from the table.

“What’s the plan?” I whisper as I slide up next to him.

“We need a meet cute.”

I glance at him in surprise, roaming over his chiseled cheekbones, the proud line of his forehead, the Roman nose, his broad shoulders—

Another memory resurfaces, clawing to the top. “You like meet cutes?”

“No. I’m a dude. But we want to make an impression. Make him remember you, maybe something funny.”

“Huh. My meet cute with Donovan was different. Did you have anything to do with it?”

“No.”

“Your eye twitched,” I whisper. “Did you have a hand in writing my note?”

He starts, his eyes searching mine. Five seconds tick by as our gazes cling.

“I didn’t.”

I make a hmmm noise and think back to the letter, currently tucked in my bedside drawer along with cards Donovan sent me. I haven’t