The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1)(10)

“It’s the name,” he says.

“What? You like Russian history?”

“No.”

I blink. “You hate the name. I see.”

“No,” he repeats.

“Then explain—"

“No.” He twists the ring on his finger as he looks away from me. “Figures,” he mutters to himself. “Karma really is a bitch.”

“Ah, I get it. You have an ex with that name? I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

“No,” he says as his head swivels back to me. “Close your eyes.”

“No,” I say automatically, an instinct. He’s fascinating, and not only visually, plus the name thing reaction is pricking at me. The truth is, deep down, I kind of thought he was the one who wrote my note in the library, but he wasn’t.

We stare at each other. A hum dances over my skin.

“You gonna watch me get dressed?” he says.

Mortification washes over me. “Oh God. I-I didn’t know you wanted to get dressed. I was just being…funny. You kept saying no before, and I thought if I said it, you know, it would be hilarious and we could bond over it, maybe get past the tension from me seeing you nearly naked…”

“I get it. Close them.”

I don’t.

“Anastasia, close your eyes” is dragged from him.

“Right.” I do, sounds of clothing rustling reaching my ears.

“I’m decent.”

My eyes open and he’s put on a black tank and gray drawstring shorts. His muscled arms are crossed over his chest, his face blank. “You and Donovan? How’s it going?”

“He’s a nice guy…” and I’ve never had one.

He laughs, but it’s not a sound of amusement. “Yeah. That little note was genius.”

“It got my attention.” My fingers pluck at my skirt nervously. “I liked the quote at the beginning—”

“Whatever.”

I frown. River is kind of a dick.

He stalks toward me, his arm brushing against mine, and I gasp at the tingles that cause the hair on it to rise. His arm has goose bumps too.

He opens the door all the way with his face shuttered. “We’ve met and now it’s done and over. Word of advice: don’t walk into my room again, Anastasia.”

I huff. “Like I said, lots of doors up here. My mistake.”

“Yeah? Well, now that you know where I am, don’t make another mistake.”

“Hmmm. Is that because you have a thing about my name, or is it because you’re an ass?”

He rakes his eyes over me, from head to toe, then ends on my lips. “You figure it out.”





3





I shake off the memory of the day in his bedroom and gape at him.

He’s actually touching me—on purpose. I’m five eight but have to tip my head up to gaze at him. I stare down at his hand. “What are you doing?”

His forehead furrows. “Did Donovan do something?”

He’s eerily close to the truth. I pull out of his grasp.

He drops his hand. “I didn’t mean to touch you.”

Unsure what to say, I stare at his lavender-colored Chucks. They’re worn but clean, the shoestrings white enough to look as if they’ve been replaced. They’re shoes a guy loves. Is it strange that we’re wearing almost the same exact pair? Mine have a bit of a heel and his don’t.

“Anastasia, look at me.” He steeples his hands together as he watches me, calling attention to the letters tattooed there. Written below his knuckles, the letters form the word THREE on both hands, a letter for each finger.

“Did you break up?”

“I don’t need relationship advice from you.”

“Maybe you need a psychiatrist. You talk to yourself a lot. What was that shit in the elevator?”

“Knew it. You just can’t help being a jerk.”

“Let me educate you. Jerk is unimaginative, not quite infantilizing, but close since it insinuates emotional immaturity. You’re smart—supposedly. Can’t you come up with something, oh, I don’t know, more obnoxious?”

I can’t even. My even has just gone boom. “Tool.”

“Nope, try again.”

“You’re more disappointing than an unsalted pretzel.”

“Pathetic. I happen to like my pretzels dipped in mustard, salted or not.”

“I forgot the world revolves around you. Sorry, how silly of me.”

He narrows his gaze. “You’ve disappointed me. I need you to really let it out, baby girl.”

“You’re the human version of my cramps.”

“Gross, but lacks conviction. Haven’t you heard? Everyone adores me. I thought you had some fire underneath that purple head of yours.”

My fists clench. “It’s lavender! Fine! You’re an arrogant, bed-hopping asshole.”

He smirks. “Ouch, you went to sex—just leaving the door open for me. I guess you’re implying I get laid a lot. Oh, wait, you’ve seen me. You stood there a really long time, Anastasia. You caught the best part. Our eyes met. And held. Maybe you should have stuck around for round two—”