The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football, #1)(66)

Afterward, we order pizza. Turns out we like the same kind: pepperoni and cheese only. Honestly, the food tastes like cardboard, but neither of us comment on it. We can’t stop talking. She puts in a to-go order for June that she’s going to pick up on our way out.

She pushes her plate to the side and sets a small rectangular box on the table.

“What’s this?” I ask.

Pink rises up her face. “Nothing much. I mean, I saw it in the bookstore today and thought you’d like it.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not like, a diamond tennis bracelet or anything.”

I laugh.

She inches it toward me. “Go on. It won’t bite.”

I take the box, my fingers lingering over the notebook paper she wrapped it in. For River is printed in large letters. I untie the little ribbon, open the box, then glance up at her animated expression.

“Tada! It’s a pencil!” she exclaims, as if it’s a million dollars.

“Thank you.”

She cocks her head. “It’s not just a pencil. It has a unicorn head as an eraser—with sparkles in its mane. I looked for a pen, but all they had were just the regular kind…”

Oh, I get it. It makes my heart skip.

She looks down. “Is it silly that I remember you dropping your pen that night?”

“No.” I take it out of the box and gaze down at it. “A little piece of magic, which I actually really need right now. Thank you.”

She clears her throat. “Ah, yeah. We both need it, right? Neither of us have a clue what’s next. ‘We still have time to be what we want to be,’ remember?”

“The Outsiders.”

“I want to fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. You want to wow people with football. And you will.” She smiles, then fidgets. “You’re staring.”

Because you believe in me.

Because you’re beautiful.

She’s the center of a hurricane, a calm that lulls you, then makes your world fucking amazing.

“I have to tell you something,” I say.

She leans in. “Yeah?”

I tap my fingers on the table. “About the ski thing… I’m only staying one night. You wanted me to help with your”—I wince—“revenge, but it looks like I won’t be able to do much.”

“Your mom?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Um, my sister… I called her today. She’s engaged to Jagger, this really great guy. They had a big wedding planned for this spring, but, ah, after we talked, she thinks they should move it up and have it on the 23rd at our house. They’re leaving for their honeymoon soon after…” I stare down at the table. “Mom got bad news today, and my sister is worried that by the time May gets here, she may not be around…” I stop and take a breath. “Anyway, and all of this is happening kind of fast, like Rae is literally planning it right now, and I need to be around. Get a tux or flowers or call people or whatever my sister wants. She says she’s got it under control, but I know she needs me…” I look up. “I really want to be there and help out. I promised my dad I’d be good to her, you know? My mom will flip if I don’t ski at least once, so I will, but then…” I need to see her.

Her hand takes mine, her eyes soft. “Of course, River. Be with your family. Nothing else matters. Forget about our thing. It’s so unimportant.”

It’s that easy with her. So damn easy.

The band takes a break, and someone starts up the jukebox. A wistful expression crosses her face.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s your song, ‘Iris.’”

My lashes shield my gaze as I watch her hum the opening lines about a man who’d give up forever to touch his girl, how she’s the closest thing to heaven he’ll ever feel— She’s standing and takes my hand.

“What are we doing?” I ask, following her, my eyes drinking in the sway of her hips, the swish of her hair.

“You owe me a dance. You laughed at me in my apartment when I went low, low, low, refused to participate—”

“You know why,” I say as we stop in the center of a small dance area. We’re the only ones out here.

Her arms curl around my neck, her tits against my chest. “And you called me Rainbow—cute. Why?”

“You’re color.” I am so fucking lame.

“Color?”

“And beginnings.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

My legs go weak as I pull her against me, my arms wrapping around her waist. My hands linger at her sides, then go behind her back and settle there. She’s pressed against me, and it’s more than the friendly hug in my room. My hands drift and graze her ass. She melts against me and my heart pounds.

This. Her. The song.

Can’t touch her ass. Can’t.

My hands shift back to that slice of skin at her waist, my thumbs digging into her sides as my breathing escalates. Her skin is like silk. I dip my head and breathe in the smell of her hair.

She rests her head on my chest, right over my heart.

We’re too close. Too close for study buddies.

Fuck it.

Just.

Fuck it.

One song bleeds into another, then another, some faster, not slow songs, but we don’t let go.