The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1)(24)

“Are you sure?”

I need to know, Donovan.

“Yes,” he says. “We enjoy the same things. We both want to work with needy people. With my money, we can open our own firm someday. We have fun.”

Vague. I need concrete shit, like, I dig how she doesn’t care what people think, the way she arches her dark eyebrows when she’s surprised, the way she yells Boo-yah! when she wins at poker, or the way she gasps for air when Benji twirls her around in the kitchen.

I stare down at my hands.

Oh, I heard their fun from his room last year. After several nights of hearing him call her name out during sex or whatever, I asked for a different floor and found someone who’d switch rooms with me. Then, I quit sleeping here altogether after seeing them together at the house, the soft look on her face when she gazed at him.

“She’s going to be a lawyer and that’s a huge thing to have in common,” I say. “She’s smart and beautiful.”

“So is Harper.” He darts his eyes at me.

I blink. Say what?

“Real talk here, Donovan: are you using your parents as an excuse to fuck with Harper?”

He takes a step back, a wild look on his face. “No! You know how she is. She’s never gotten over me. She came over here uninvited—”

“Do you still have feelings for her?”

He pauses and licks his lips. “We’re friends. We have coffee periodically—off campus. We text.”

I laugh, a little bitterly. “Dude, you can’t be friends with your ex. First rule of having a girlfriend. She trumps the ex.”

He groans. “It’s just…our families are friends. We see each other at gatherings and holidays. She’s always there, you know. It’s hard to let go of a childhood friend.”

“Harper doesn’t want to be your friend. She wants a ring. She hates Anastasia and now you’re… Does Anastasia know you still talk to her?”

He scrubs his hair. “No.”

“So, you’re lying to your girl?”

“No!” He rushes over and sits down. “I haven’t told her, but I don’t think she’d care.”

Dude…

“I can’t think,” he mutters as he hangs his head. “My parents think she’s low class. She came to stay this past summer, and it was uncomfortable. They hate how she dresses, her hair. My grandmother called her a floozy behind her back.”

“She isn’t that,” I say curtly.

“I know.” His gaze pleads with me to understand. “Do I need to tell Ana what happened with Harper?”

I give him a look that says yes. I’d be calling my girl right now and laying out that Harper came to the house and got handsy. I’d cop to the coffee meetups. In real life, I never would have done the coffee dates. Sure, I haven’t been in a committed relationship in a while and my experience is lacking, but if I had a girl like Anastasia, I’d want to protect it.

He reads my face and groans. “You’re right. I haven’t been upfront. It’s going to hurt her.”

My throat tightens as I remember Anastasia’s face outside class. She was devastated because he didn’t mention her birthday, and if she also knew he got into Harvard and she didn’t…double whammy.

If he tells her about Harper, damn…

I heave out a breath. “Look, your parents will always be on your side. They care about you. You’re wondering if Anastasia will fit in with them? She won’t.” I hold a finger up. “She’s not a debutante.” Second finger. “She’s a real girl with a messy upbringing.” Third finger. “If you love her, why the fuck does it matter?”

He shuts his eyes briefly. “You make it sound so easy. You don’t know how persuasive my family can be. They hinted they may not pay for Harvard.” His throat bobs as he looks away from me.

“Get a loan.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Is she worth it?”

“Of course! When I…” He stops, a soft, dreamy look flashing on his face. “When I kiss her, man, the whole world disappears.”

My body tenses, and I do my best to hide it, to pretend I don’t care, but, shit…

He loves her. I mean, that expression on his face…

A long exhalation comes from my chest as I realize this is my reminder that I shouldn’t be fucking with her like I did in class today.

And right now, I’m managing to stay fair, but underneath, the manipulative side of me is itching to pull strings and orchestrate their—

No.

I stand.

An alarm on his phone goes off and he checks it. “I have to get to the library. I’ve got a paper due tomorrow.”

He rushes to gather up his laptop and backpack.

“Have you seen her today?” I say as he takes off for the stairs.

He stops, a furrow on his brow. “No. Maybe she’ll pop by, but she’s working tonight. I’ll catch her tomorrow for dinner probably. Toga party for sure. Oh, wait—you saw her in class.”

“Yeah.”

He fiddles with his book bag, worry on his face. “Did she seem off?”

It’s her birthday.

“Um, we don’t talk much.”

He pauses, lingering on the steps, then turns back to me. “River? Why do you call her Anastasia?”