The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(43)

Swallowing my pride and the resurgence of feelings, I nod. “Nothing changes, Haze.”

“Still friends?”

“Always friends.”

She looks between us and asks, “Given that your shorts are all, um, gooey—”

“Jesus.”

She chuckles. “Maybe you should clean up first, yeah?”

“Probably smart.” I glance down, my dick still semi hard, a wet spot on my shorts. “Think you could look away?”

“You’re making it weird.”

“Uh, I think it would be weirder if you got a shot of what’s going on down below.”

“You’re right.” She covers her eyes. “Go ahead, walk away from me, take care of your man problems.”

Rolling my eyes, I lift off her and go to my suitcase for another pair of boxers. We’re going to have to do laundry at this rate.

When I’m in the bathroom cleaning up, I hear Hazel from the other room. “Wow, quite the spread. There are so many pastries and sausages to choose from.”

Chuckling, I say, “I am quite the gentleman, after all.” And I know Hazel likes her sausage.





“Okay, are you ready for this letter?” Hazel asks, coming up next to me, freshly showered and fed.

“I am if you are.”

When she said nothing would be weird, she meant it. Ever since our second humping, she’s been the normal one. Teasing me, playing around, singing Christmas songs while getting ready for the day, even if she has a pounding headache, as she’s announced many times. I’m the one who’s feeling weird. I’m the one who’s trying to act normal now. I’m the one who doesn’t feel right in his own skin.

My mind is foggy.

My heart is racing.

And my body is aching for more. So much more.

I can’t stop staring at her lips and wondering how they might taste.

I can’t stop checking out her ass every time she bends over.

And I can’t take my eyes off her tits in that sweater.

“Then stop staring at me and grab the letter,” Hazel says, pulling me from my haze.

“Yeah, right.”

I lift the envelope from the nightstand and start to open it, when Hazel’s hand stills mine. “Are you sure this isn’t going to be weird?”

“Why? Am I making it weird?”

“You’re acting a little weird,” she admits.

“Sorry.” I let out a slow breath. “Everything is cool. No worries.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yup.” I hold the letter up and say, “Let’s find out where we’re going.” I flip the envelope over and start to open it, but the whole time, all I can think about is Hazel’s sweet moans.

Shit, maybe the second dry hump wasn’t a good idea, because at least the first time almost felt like a dream, a distant memory. But the second time when I picked up the scent of her arousal, when I saw her eyes roll back in her head in bliss, where I heard every moan—yeah, that’s vivid as shit in my head, and I think it will be for a while.

I pull out the letter and unfold it. Clearing my throat, I read out loud. “‘Hey, kiddos. How was the Christkindlesmarkt? Did you try the fire tongs punch? I hope you did. Gloria and I had a little too much fun while drinking it.’” I pause and look at Hazel. “Looks as if everyone has fun drinking it.”

She smirks. “Wonder if there’s aftereffects the next day for others as well.”

“Probably tradition, actually.”

“So, you think it’s customary to dry hump your friend after drinking fire tongs punch?”

“I think I read somewhere that it’s a German tradition.”

“Well, you know what they say: when in Rome . . .” She shrugs, and I swear, I don’t understand how she can go from a horrified wreck, burying herself under the covers, to being so casual about what happened that it doesn’t even seem like a blip on her radar.

I’m a goddamn mess inside. Why isn’t she?

“Right.” I chuckle, even though I don’t want to, and then turn back to the letter. “’This morning—hopefully it’s morning for you—you’re off to Würzburg. The drive is only an hour and a half, so you won’t be spending too much time in the car, but Würzburg is the start of your real journey. Many, many years ago, I went there with Gloria. She fell in love with Germany, and I fell in love with her. Friends at the time, we weren’t romantically involved, but this trip changed my life forever as we travelled down the popular route called The Romantic Road.’” I swallow hard. What the hell was Pops thinking?

“Everything okay?” Hazel asks.

“Yeah, sorry. Throat is a little dry.”

“Here.” She hands me a water and I take a sip even though I’m not thirsty. No, I’m freaked out, because in a short amount of time I’ve been reconnected with my good friend—and I mean short—I’ve started to see her in a different light. I can’t seem to keep my hands to myself when around her. I’ve had to hug her, kiss her forehead, hold her hand . . . I crave her laugh and her smile, and I fucking dry humped her. And, yes, technically, she did the humping first, but we were drunk last night. I was fully alert for every grind, every pound of pleasure that passed through us this morning.