The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(102)

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to say that when I came here.” She picks up her coffee mug and brings it to her lips. “So, does this mean I’m losing my best friend?”

I sadly smile at her. “I’ll come back and visit.”

“Are you going to want to come back and visit, knowing what’s happening to the farm?”

“I’ll just avoid coming this way.” I chuckle but it sounds hollow. I’m not sure I’d ever be able to come back here, knowing that everything will be knocked down. All the hard work, all the long days out in the sun, all of the memories . . .

It would hurt too much.

“You’re really going to give all of this up?” Mia asks. There’s no judgment in her voice, just concern.

“He loves me, Mia.”

“And do you love him?”

I look out the dining room window toward the barn. “Yes, I love him. More than this farm, and he’s something that I can’t lose. I need to learn to love in the gray, like Pops said. Crew is in the gray. I can bear to lose this farm, but I can’t bear to lose Crew. Not having him in my life has hurt more than anything.”

“Well.” She smiles brightly. “I think we need to celebrate.” She lifts her Danish. “To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” I say, tapping my pastry with hers.

We each take a bite and then she nods at my shirt. “So, go Braxton, huh?”

“Oh. I almost forgot.” I get up from the dining room table and pick up the remote to the TV, flipping it on and to the correct channel. I motion for Mia to join me. “Come watch the combine with me.”

“They televise that?” she asks.

“They televise everything when it comes to college football and the draft. Grown men actually throw viewing parties for such events.”

“That’s insane to me, but then again, I’ve been known to watch florists make all sorts of centerpieces for hours on YouTube. To each their own, right?”

“Right.” I turn up the volume and take a seat. Mia brings over my coffee and Danish for me, and together we watch. “One year, a man ran so fast, his penis fell out of his spandex shorts,” I say.

Mia pauses, Danish halfway to her mouth. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Yeah, his spandex shorts couldn’t contain the jostle of his junk, and it fell out the bottom. I watched the video a few times. Impressive is all I have to say.”

She hunkers down on the couch. “Well, why didn’t you tell me this was the X-rated version of Magic Mike? Let’s go, combine! Show us the penis. Man, I wish I had some ones to throw at the TV.”

“It happened one time.” I chuckle, feeling lighter already.

“One time means it can happen.” She motions to her eyes. “I’ll be glued to this TV until I see some jiggling man bits.”

“You have issues.”

The announcers come back on the TV, and one with a beard holds his ear and says, “We’re getting news from the field that one of the top picks of the season hasn’t shown up.” A graphic of Crew and his stats comes up on the screen, and everything in my body goes numb. “Crew Smith, All-American from Braxton College, is not in attendance.”

“What?” I say, setting my coffee mug down. “Where . . . where is he?”

“Uh, was he supposed to report today?” Mia asks, just as confused as me.

“Yes, he was. Where’s my phone?” I scramble for it and realize it’s on the dining room table. I turn toward it just in time to see Crew walk through the door. Half-eaten Danish in hand, I stutter to a stop and grip my chest with my free hand. “Crew,” I say breathlessly. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Hey, Hazel,” he says gently.

“Crew is here?” Mia turns on the couch and gasps. “Holy shit, he’s hotter in person.”

Crew smirks, and his gaze immediately falls to the shirt I’m wearing. His eyes soften as he shuts the door behind him. Unable to move, I stand there, shocked, confused, excited.

Why is he here right now?

Why does he have that smirk on his lips?

Why is he walking toward me when I’ve done nothing but push him away?

Not breaking stride, he closes the space between us, his hand reaching for me. I hold my breath, thinking he’s about to pull me into a hug. Instead, he takes my Danish and shoves the rest of it in his mouth.

Uhh . . .

“I was eating that,” I exclaim lamely.

He chews and swallows. “Too slow, Twigs.”

“Crew, I . . . I don’t understand wh—”

“Oh God, his voice is sigh-worthy,” Mia gushes next to me.

I love Mia, but I don’t need an audience, not when I can barely formulate sentences.

“Mia, could we have some privacy?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m good here. Thanks, though.”

“I like her,” Crew says with a laugh.

Irritated with my friend, I push Crew toward the kitchen to gain a modicum of privacy from prying ears.

Once out of sight from Mia, I cross my arms over my chest and quietly ask, “What are you doing here?”

He leans against the butcher block countertop, his broad shoulders pulling at the fabric of his long-sleeved T-shirt. His body language reads casual, a stark contrast to the nervous, fidgety appearance I’m giving.