The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(18)

Fucking ridiculous.

“I think we’ve reached a new level of our friendship.”

“Never seen a girl pee before?”

“Probably my mom when I was small, but recently, no.”

“Ah, well”—she motions to her body—“soak it all in. A real sight to behold. But I’ll tell you this, I would appreciate some privacy while I wipe. Don’t need you watching the intricacies of drying off my crevices.”

“Jesus, don’t call them that.” I turn away and head to the living area, where I lift my suitcase onto the bed and fish out a clean pair of boxer briefs. I slip them on under the towel, then whip off the towel and drape it over my head, tousling my hair. I turn toward Hazel. “Did you—"

“Uh, excuse me,” Hazel says, hand thrown across her chest as she sits on the toilet now topless and her pants still around her ankles.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“About to take a shower. What does it look like?”

“I don’t know. You’re still on the toilet. For all I know it’s some weird woman ritual where you sit on the toilet topless.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re that clueless about women,” she counters.

My back toward her, hand in hair, I say, “I’m not. I just wasn’t expecting you to be topless. I swear, and I really mean it, no lies—I didn’t see anything.”

“I know you didn’t. I heard your mammoth stomping on the way over here. You’re not a silent walker, Crew.”

“You’re not very subtle, Hazel.”

“Have I ever been?”

No. She hasn’t.

Relaxing, I ask her, “Why are you topless, though? I know you’re going to take a shower, but do you usually undress on the toilet?”

“Killing two birds with one stone, Crew. While I attempt to drip dry—”

“Never mind.” I shoot away from the bathroom and call out, “Did you order food?”

“Yes, sheesh. I’ll be quick. Don’t worry.”

The shower turns on, and I take a seat in one of the captain’s chairs. What the hell was Pops thinking? Sharing a hotel room, a bed? It almost seems as if he’s trying to work some magic from beyond the grave.

I glance up at the frosted bathroom glass and regret it immediately as I catch the silhouette of Hazel’s body. There’s no definition, just smooth curves, an outline of a woman’s curves—but what a fucking body. She’s standing next to the shower, waiting for it to warm, and she’s running her hand through her hair, her breasts sticking out, the curve of her back leading to her ass. Hell, Hazel really has grown up.

Thanks a lot, Pops. This should be a real joy for the next week.





“I can’t stop smelling my hair.” Hazel is wearing one of the hotel robes, her wet hair hangs around her face and shoulders, and I have to keep reminding her to tighten her robe because it continues to gape open too much.

I haven’t seen anything, but we’ve had a few close calls. It’s difficult to reconcile the curvy woman with my scrawny friend, Hazel. Maybe if it hadn’t been months since I’ve been with anyone, I wouldn’t find her shape so distracting. Or be tempted to allow the gaping.

There’s a knock at the door, and before I can attempt to move, Hazel pops out of her chair and goes to open the door. A gentleman in a white button-up shirt, black vest, and black tie pushes a cart into the room. “Where should I put this? In the sitting area?”

“That would be great,” Hazel says.

He hands her a black folder and says, “Could I grab your signature, Mrs. Smith?”

Instead of correcting him, Hazel goes with it this time. “Of course. Newlyweds, you know.” She nods toward me. “This old ball and chain is showing me around Germany for our honeymoon. What a guy, huh?”

“A nice man, ya?.”

Hazel quickly scribbles on the receipt, then snaps the black folder shut and hands it to the guy where he waits patiently at the door. “Have a good one,” she says, waving her hand.

He nods and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.

“Old ball and chain?” I ask, one brow raised.

“Oh yeah. You have ball and chain written all over you. Clingy and needy—you’re the definition of a ball and chain.”

“When have I ever been clingy and needy?”

She takes a seat and lifts up the food cloches, revealing . . . what looks like worms in a yellowish sauce.

“What’s that?”

“Well, remember our pact on the airplane? Trying new foods? Well, this is K?sesp?tzle. I looked it up and it’s supposed to resemble mac and cheese to us uncultured Americans. Thought it was an easy first step.”

“I thought you were going to order bratwurst.”

“You have all the time in the world to snack on wieners. I went with something a little more surprising. Now, shall we eat first and then read the letters, or read and then eat, or do it at the same time?”

“Eat first.”

She unfolds her napkin and lays it across her lap, but her eyes stay fixed on me the entire time. “You know, for someone who just lost his grandfather, I thought you’d be more interested in the trip he planned on his death bed.”