The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(17)

“I don’t know. Want to look at the let—” My words fall short when I catch a glimpse of the bed. “Uh, are we supposed to share a bed?”

Hazel turns around and she spots the single queen-sized bed in the center of the far wall. It’s covered with a white comforter, fluffy white pillows, and a yellow throw blanket. It’s calling my name, beckoning for me to take a nap, but my mind is buzzing with the idea that I very well might have to share a bed with Hazel.

“Huh, I think so.” She shrugs and goes to the open bathroom where she picks up a mini shampoo bottle and takes a sniff. “These smell amazing.”

“Uh, aren’t you concerned about having to share a bed?”

“No. Are you?” she asks, her brow crinkled.

“I mean . . . maybe?”

“Why?” she asks as if I’m crazy. “It’s just a bed. We’re grown-ups. We know the no-touch zones.”

“I guess so.”

She sets the shampoo down and walks over to the bed to run her fingers along the mustard-yellow throw. She playfully looks up at me and asks, “Are you afraid you might fall in love with me if we share a bed, Crew?”

“No.”

“Afraid you might wake up horny?”

I clear my throat. “No.”

She laughs, her head tilting back. “Liar. You’re nervous about a little morning wood.” She waves her hand at me. “Don’t worry, I won’t judge. I’ll let you have the shower first so you can whack off.” She flashes a smile, and I truly wonder how the hell I went three years without this Hazel. A lot changes when you don’t talk to your friend for a while.

“Thank you?” I say in a question.

She pats my chest. “You’re welcome, Hollywood. Just keep the moaning to a minimum.”

I flop down on the bed. “You’ve changed, you know that?”

“That’s what happens when you grow up. You change. You’d have known that if you wrote back to me.”

“How many times am I going to have to apologize for that?” I ask, lying back on the bed and removing my hat. Just let me shut my eyes for a few seconds.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Hazel jumps on the bed next to me and shakes my shoulder. “No sleeping. We have things to do, letters to read, envelopes to open.”

“Come on, let me just get like twenty minutes in.” I roll to the side and rest my head on her lap. She leisurely strokes my hair, and fuck, does that feel good. All it does is make me want to fall into a deep . . . dark . . . slumber . . .

“Crew, look alive,” Hazel shouts, causing my eyes to spring open.

“Hell,” I groan, pressing my hand to my forehead. “You’re relentless.”

She taps my cheek. “Go take a shower, a cold one. I’ll order us some food and coffee to wake us up, and then we can open the envelope together. How does that sound?

“Fine,” I grumble, lifting up from the bed.

She slaps my back. “Attaboy.”

I walk over to the bathroom, and that’s when I realize there’s no wall to the bathroom, just a piece of glass that exposes everything.

“Uh, there’s no privacy in here.”

“You afraid I’m going to sneak a peek?”

“Yeah,” I say.

She chuckles and then walks into the bathroom, moving me to the side. She presses a button and the glass wall tints with a frost, granting privacy.

“Now I won’t see your little man bits.” She walks to the sitting area and sits in one of the two upholstered captain’s chairs. She picks up a folder from the coffee table in front of the chairs and says, “Ooo, bratwurst.”

“They’re not little.”

“The bratwurst? I didn’t think they were.”

“No, my . . . uh, man bits. They’re not little.”

In an exasperated tone, she says, “You’re such a man, always needing to defend the size of your penis.”

“You were defending your boob size,” I point out.

“Uh, because you said I didn’t have any. It’s not as if I offered my condolences to you for not having a dick.”

“I’m too tired to defend myself right now, and you’re too witty. I’m taking a shower.”

She kicks her feet up on the coffee table. “Smells like a good idea.”





I take a deep breath, feeling refreshed, and emerge from the shower. Hazel pushes me into the wall and runs to the toilet, shamelessly pushing down her pants.

I turn away just in time.

“Jesus, take a long enough shower? I really had to pee.”

Slightly stunned, I grip the towel that’s wrapped around my waist and say, “You could have gone to the bathroom before I took a shower.”

“I didn’t have to go then, and thanks to your supreme modesty, I didn’t want to barge in on your man time.” She sighs in relief. “God, I would have been humiliated if the first thing I did in Germany was pee my pants.” She gives me a smooth once-over and says, “Nice muscles.”

I glance down at my bare torso and then back at her. “Uh . . . nice thigh.”

She smooths her hand over her exposed thigh and says, “You like that? I have two of them.” She wiggles her eyebrows.