The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football #1)(48)

My voice is husky. “You stay gold, Anastasia, breathe every breath, read all the books, get into law school, fuck the haters, and stay beautiful. Six things for you because you deserve them all.”

She smiles tremulously, a mist appearing in her eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“River…your words.” She bites her bottom lip.

“Yeah? Tell me.”

“No. I shouldn’t say it. I…” She swallows thickly and looks at the ground.

I can’t resist tipping her chin up. “What?”

Her eyes cling to mine. “I need someone to tell me that every day of my life. Just like this. In person. Looking into my eyes.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Anastasia.

Drawn inexplicably, I take a step toward her and almost wrap my arms around her. Almost.

But I can’t do it.

Shouldn’t.

Mustn’t.





14





“Order up, Ana!” comes the cook’s voice as he sets a burger and fries up on the kitchen window.

Lila elbows me out of the way and takes it. “You stick to the bar. The prick and Harper are in the back. I’ll take this out to Carl.”

I tuck my hands in my green apron. I can’t keep on avoiding him. It’s been two days, and at some point, we’re going to come face to face. “I’m surprised he had the nerve to show up here tonight,” I mutter.

The Kappas always come in on Sunday evenings. There’s a twenty-top near the back, and it’s an unwritten rule that it belongs to them. They came in an hour ago, filing past me, most of them giving me uneasy glances when they waved.

“No,” I say and take the plate out of her hands. “This is for Carl. I’m fine.”

“Are you?” she asks. “You didn’t look fine yesterday.”

I’m doing okay, considering.

But my rage, it’s simmering under the surface. For the past two mornings, I’ve awoken to a sharp sense of shame over his words, his accusations that I was a Lolita type, and I hate it—which feeds my anger, stoking it higher and higher.

Lila takes the plate back. “I’m doing it—”

“Somebody needs to take it while it’s still hot,” Derek, our cook, grouses. “The fries will get cold.”

Marilyn gives me an eyebrow arch as she pours draft beer in a pitcher. “Ana, it’s your table and Carl adores you. Go.”

“On it.” I flip around and head past the bar, just as Parker, one of the pledges, meets me at the corner. “Hey, Ana.”

“Hey, Lila or Marilyn will take your order. I don’t have your table—”

“No, um…” He sighs. “Geeze. Uh, how do I say this? Um, Donovan wants his pin back.” He grimaces. “That’s all I came to say. Had to, you know. They make us do shit, I mean, I love the frat, and you’re like the sweetest person ever, so yeah, I didn’t want to come up here and say that. I’m sorry.”

My voice is incredulous. “He sent you?”

He nods and winces.

“What a fucking coward,” I mutter vehemently.

Parker’s eyes flare. “Right, right. I delivered the message. Just don’t hurt the messenger.” He looks down at his shoes. “He said you can drop it off in an envelope in the Kappa mailbox. As soon as possible,” he whispers.

Hurt crawls up my throat.

“How convenient—for him. Tell him he’ll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands when I’m eighty.” A fake, wry smile flashes. “Kidding. I burned the pin along with the books and shirts he left at my place. It melted in the flames. It was so pretty. Okay, kidding again, chill. You look pale. I’ll take care of it, Parker. Bye.”

He shuffles away.

Lila has heard and follows me as I head to Carl’s table. He’s a regular, our unofficial bar mascot.

Her voice is low. “Ana, you can’t keep ignoring that he’s ruined your rep, he’s here flaunting that girl, and now he’s sending a poor pledge to do his dirty work. What are you going to do about it? You haven’t called him, texted him, or said anything. You’re just taking it. Make some drama, girl.”

I ignore her and stop at Carl’s table. He’s in his late sixties with frizzy gray hair and a paunch. He’s an outsider, like me. If June is the grandma I never had, Carl’s my grandfather.

A bubble of laughter comes out of me. “I’m losing it,” I muse to myself as I set his food down.

“No, darling. We’re all a little wacko.” He squints up at me. “You don’t look right. Tell ol’ Crazy Carl what’s happening.”

Lila plops down in the booth seat across from him and steals a fry off his plate. “Frat boy broke her heart.”

Carl’s eyes swivel to me as he takes a sip from his beer mug. He’s only had the one, but if he overdrinks, I’ll drive him home and he’ll catch a ride back the next day to get his truck.

“Donovan?” he asks.

“He’s here—with another girl,” Lila says, twisting her lips. “He dumped her at the toga party! And he did it in front of everyone!” She proceeds to lay out exactly what happened on Friday.

“Let me at him,” he mutters when she’s done, making as if he’s going to stand, but I ease him back down with a hand on his shoulder.