The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football, #1)(6)

The author of the note noticed that I didn’t smile. As a transfer student, I was down that night, worried about credit card debt and making friends, all while trying to adjust to a big university from online classes.

Was the note cheesy, ridiculous, and over the top? Oh yeah.

But…

It was the Gone with the Wind quote that sealed the deal.

A guy who’s read one of my favorite books? Hello, handsome.

Plus, it was funny in a charming way that made me laugh, as if he had word vomit and wrote out random thoughts.

My eyes flitted to them. These three guys were hot in different ways, each with hard bodies like they worked out twenty-four seven, their black and gold Kappa shirts tight on their chests.

I’d heard they were the most popular frat on campus, all the rich guys and superstar athletes. But why would one of them be interested in me? That night, my pale face was devoid of makeup and my hair was in disastrous topknot shaped like a tornado. I wore my big white glasses, a pair of gray tie-dyed leggings, and a pink Nirvana hoodie. In other words, a hot mess without the hot.

I studied them as covertly as possible with my head bent, my eyes scanning over them. There was the sandy hair and glasses guy (Donovan), another male with the most devastatingly perfect face I’d ever seen, and a blond-haired fellow who was half-asleep.

I narrowed it down to either Glasses or Perfect Guy. Both of them openly stared as I clutched the note.

My body liked Perfect Guy—he had tattoos and his lips were to die for—but he made my stomach jumpy. Earlier in the night, I’d watched a stream of sorority girls fawn over him when he dropped his pen. He was out of my league. Too hot. Too popular.

In the end, I waited until the bell pinged that the library was closing. The guys stood up and left. Anxious yet excited about which one of them it was, I gave them five minutes.

When I walked out of the library—pepper spray in hand because a girl has to be careful—Glasses (Donovan) was the one sitting at the fountain in the courtyard with a huge smile on his face. He rushed up to me and grabbed my hands. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

It was so not true, but I laughed anyway, and we’ve been together ever since. We became friends first, then lovers.

Funny. I wish he’d leave more notes like that.

“But he doesn’t,” I mutter loudly. A passing student starts and gives me side-eye.

“Yes, I talk to myself,” I say to her back. “It was a lonely childhood.”

Warm air hits me as I walk into the lobby and dash for the elevator. I’m late. I groan knowing I’ll have to walk into Dr. Whitman’s lecture while he’s talking. The man is vicious.

I push the button for the elevator then the air changes behind me, crackling. My shoulders stiffen. There’s only one person in the world who makes the hair on my nape rise. Him. And by him, I mean that egotistical bad boy who thinks he’s God’s gift. River Tate—AKA Perfect Guy from the night I met Donovan.

Ah! He was the guy who bumped into me on the steps. Should have known. It’s happened before, a slight bump here, a brush there. I never see it coming, but oh yeah, I always feel the effects.

Neither of us speaks as the doors slide open, but I can feel the disdain in his gaze right between my shoulder blades. I step in and slowly turn around. Yep! There he is, all six feet four inches of broad-shouldered hot college boy wearing a purple Braxton Badgers shirt that’s sculpted to his chest, clinging to his muscled arms. Unfortunately, the color also makes his eyes pop and complements his skin tone. And the hair? Ugh. It’s thick and dark and perfectly messy as if he just came from a blowout at the salon. The color is a deep mahogany with pops of gold from the sun, and it frames his face, accentuating high cheekbones and a square chin. His body is built and massive, a gladiator with legs for miles.

He. Is. Devastating.

Yes, I’ve noticed.

I can look.

A person can appreciate art from the heavens.

Sunshine is pretty too. It also burns your eyes.

“Well played, God, well played,” I murmur under my breath, barely audible. “He has a fan club devoted entirely to his lips, but you could have made him kind to go along with it. Hey, maybe you have a plan for him, I don’t know. Whatever. I’m not judging. I leave that to you.”

He’s talking on his phone, his lips quirked up as his deep voice rumbles. “Yeah. I’ll bring you something special, baby girl.”

Gag.

Without acknowledging me, he laughs at the reply on the other end, the sound husky and deep. “Mhmm, I got your little gift. I smile every time I look at it.”

Probably a mirror.

He smiles into the phone, a dimple popping on the side of his jaw.

It doesn’t affect me at all.

Nothing about him makes me swoon.

He tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. “You want a big one?” He chuckles. “Why am I not surprised? I always deliver what you want, don’t I?”

Get a room!

I clear my throat and send him a glare—which he doesn’t notice because he isn’t looking at me.

His voice lowers. “I’ve got class. I’ll see you soon, baby girl.” He makes a kissy noise into the phone, taps end, and tucks it in his jeans.

His eyes flit to me then slide away as he stares at the ground. He whistles to himself, seeming lost in thought and annoyingly happy.