The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(55)

“That one. I was jumping around, just doing stupid kid things when Pops came up to me with a glass of lemonade and a plate of cookies. He asked me to sit with him and take a break. Cookies of course got my attention. But what he told me stole the attention away.”

“What did he tell you?”

“We were staring out at the cornfields and he told me that his grandson was going to visit during the summer and that he expected us to be best friends.”

“He said that?”

She nods against my shoulder. “Yup. He said that his grandson from California was my age, and that I needed to teach him what it meant to grow up on a farm. To show him how to ride a horse. To do chores, to appreciate the little things like a gust of wind bristling through the leaves of an oak tree. And in return, he said I would gain one of the best friendships of my life. I had no idea what he was talking about at the time, but I knew when you showed up, I would do exactly what Pops said because I was grateful to him. That was the first summer I got away from my mom and spent time on the farm with Pops and Grandpa Thomas. That summer changed my life and that’s the memory I’m the most grateful for. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was right. I was about to meet a lifelong friend and I’m so glad I did.”

I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “I’m glad you did too.” Little does she know, I’m so grateful she took me in that summer. Grateful she decided to be my friend, because not only was it life-changing for her, it was life-changing for me.

“You don’t have to share your memory with me. I just thought you’d want to know.”

“It was a humid day,” I say, and she chuckles. “I just flew in from California, where there’s dry heat, and I remember thinking, why is it so wet outside even when it’s not raining?”

She laughs some more.

“That night, Pops told me about this girl and how she was going to be my buddy all summer. I remember thinking a girl . . . no thanks.”

She chuckles some more.

“And then he introduced me to you and, God, I was enamored.”

“Stop. You weren’t old enough to even know what that means.”

“I wasn’t. I am now, though. I followed you around like a sad puppy, begging for attention. Whatever you did, I wanted to do. And I wanted to do it better.”

“Of course you did.” I can practically hear the eye roll.

“But that was the moment I thought about from the past, one that I know changed me for the better. Every summer, you grounded me, brought me back to reality, and I think I’m a better person for it. Hell, I know I’m a better person for it.”

“Damn right you are,” she teases and lifts up, placing a kiss on my jaw.

It isn’t an intimate or sexual kiss, it’s supposed to be a comforting kiss—I know that’s how she intended it—but having her that close to my mouth, feeling her lips on my skin, ignites my entire body with a wave of heated awareness.

I can feel the imprint of her lips on my jaw, the soft, plumpness of them confirming everything I’ve been feeling since I’ve been with Hazel again.

I like this girl.

I’ve missed this girl.

I could see having so much more with this girl.

But how does one even cross over the line of friendship to something more? We tested the waters yesterday and we all know how that went over. She’s skittish, and I can’t seem to read her mind. Does she want this? Does she not? Either way, I don’t think it matters because, like I said, we’re here to enjoy ourselves and figure out what we’re doing next. I need to stay focused, and make sure Hazel has a wonderful time, putting aside any thoughts of whether or not we’ve a romantic future.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask her, quietly.

“Yeah, I am.”

Together, we stand, and I guide her from the pew into the center aisle. As we walk down the aisle together, her hand in mine, I have this weird thought cross my mind.

Me in a tux.

Her in a white gown.

Family cheering for us as we make our way down the aisle as mister and missus.

The image is so clear in my head, so perfectly visible, that it gives me pause.

I stop in the middle of the aisle, my heart racing, and just as quickly as the vivid image popped into my head, it floats away.

“You okay?”

I look at Hazel, noting her worried expression.

What the fuck was that? I glance back at the candles, the future candle seeming to glow brighter than the others. Tall, more prominent.

My heart’s racing, my mind’s swirling.

I swallow hard and look into Hazel’s gorgeous eyes.

“Yeah, everything is fine.”





“Do you think you are ready to spar?” J?rg, our instructor, asks.

“Oh, I’m so ready.” Hazel lifts her mask and shakes her head, pushing some stray hair out of her face.

I bet she’s ready. Ever since she was handed her foil, she’s been itching to hit the mats and have a “whack” at me. J?rg has had to remind her a couple times that you don’t whack in fencing, but rather, you lunge.

She continues to say whack, and frankly, it’s concerning.

During practice, I was impressed with how quick she was. I thought I’d be lighter on my feet, but for some reason, I’m dragging today. I don’t know if it’s because my head isn’t in it again or what, but I am not having an easy time.