The Revenge Pact (Kings of Football, #1)(9)

“It wasn’t!”

He gives me an incredulous look. “Why are you yelling? I didn’t invite you to watch.”

“I don’t know! I am having a bad day. Why is this elevator so slow?” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

He looks at my cell, then me. His voice lowers. “What’s wrong?”

I swallow thickly. “Nothing.”

“No, it’s something. Your face is red and you’re clenching your phone. Something has you fired up. It’s not me—I’ve done nothing but be myself.”

Precisely.

“You pretend I don’t exist. Don’t deny it.”

“I’m not,” he says quietly.

I suck in a breath, feeling a stab right to my chest. I blink rapidly. I mean, I knew this, but today it really stings.

What have I done to him? Why does he hate me?

“Anastasia—”

“It’s Ana.” I grind my teeth. “You’re the only person who calls me Anastasia besides my parents.”

“Would you prefer baby girl?”

“It’s pointless to talk to you.”

The door slides open for the sixth floor, and all I can think about is escaping his proximity. I dash out and he follows me, closer than I anticipated.

He smells like citrus and man and…sex. Not like actual sex, but in a pheromone-induced I’m the alpha male your body is craving kind of way. Gah, that makes no sense. I focus on Donovan. He smells like cinnamon. Good, honest, clean.

Donovan was the most attentive boyfriend echoes in my head.

Yeah? If so, then where’s my damn gift?

Don’t get me wrong—it’s not about the gift. I’ve never needed pretty, expensive things. They aren’t part of my life goals. I just yearn to be happy, to have a home and love.

Is it too much to ask for a simple Happy Birthday, Ana from Donovan?

“Anastasia,” he says, then mutters under his breath, “Jesus, I said I wasn’t going to do this.”

“Do what?” I don’t know what he’s talking about.

I’m almost to the door to the lecture hall when he takes my elbow, his hand wrapping around me as his thumb presses into my inner arm. “Wait,” he says huskily, and I flinch.

Wait?

The past tugs at me. I remember the last time he said that word…



* * *



The bedroom door is half open and I push it the rest of the way, halting in the center—just as Perfect Guy comes out of the bathroom. He’s wearing a towel around his waist and rubs another one over his damp hair. I see part of a snake tattoo that’s wrapped around his right thigh, the golden and black pattern of the skin coiling around the thick muscles then disappearing on his backside. His chest is a work of art, his abs cut like diamonds, deep Vs on his hips.

He’s humming a song with his head down.

Be stealthy. Back away slowly.

He’ll never know.

I’m almost out when I glance back up at him. How can I resist one last peek?

He’s raised his head and stares at me, eyes draping over me, lingering on my mini skirt, before coming back to my face.

“Wait,” comes from him, a purr.

My body buzzes, and I can’t even explain the sensation except that he’s quite possibility the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

I cough. “Sorry. I was, um, looking for Donovan’s room. There are so many doors up here, and I didn’t mean to catch you after a shower.” I wave my hands at him. “I’ll go.”

“No. Wait.”

I turn back.

He stares at me, frowning as if he’s deciphering a puzzle. My hand clings to his doorknob as I feel my face turning pink. Ten seconds go by. Why isn’t he saying anything? “Um, we haven’t met officially. I mean, I saw you at the library a few days ago—”

“When you met Donovan,” he finishes, his gaze hardening. “Yeah. I had to take off.” He turns his back to me and stalks over to a dresser. My mouth gapes at the head of the python on his mid-back, its mouth open to strike, fangs dripping venom. It’s a massive tattoo and I wonder how long it took to get—and what it signifies. You don’t commit to artwork like that unless there’s a reason.

He pulls out a pair of black underwear. It’s the silky kind, the sort that will cling to his hips and show the outline of his crotch. My mind wanders, picturing it, and when he turns back around, I start and laugh nervously, keeping my gaze firmly on his face. “Sorry. Again. Wrong room. Good to see you again.”

“I’m River.”

“Donovan mentioned you.” Briefly. We’ve only had one date since the library. Tonight is our second.

“Did he?” he says, his top teeth digging into his bottom lip. “He mentioned you. You’re Ana.”

“Short for Anastasia actually. A-N-A not A-N-N-A.”

His eyes flare.

“Something wrong?”

His chest rises, an incredulous look growing on his face. “Anastasia, you say? Are you sure?”

I tense, uncertainty rising at his reaction. “Yes, I’m sure that’s the name my parents gave me.”

“Fuck me.”

Okayyyy. “Um, it’s Greek, actually, and means resurrection. It’s most popular in Russia. My mom spent a summer in Moscow and really got into the story about their famous Anastasia, the daughter of the last czar. People thought the princess escaped the murders, but well, we know now that she didn’t…” I stop. His face is super weird right now.