The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(63)

“But the food would get cold,” I suggest.

He taps his chin. “Good point, and since we’re in the medieval times, we don’t have access to an oven to keep it warm, just a fire. I’m not proficient with fire cooking to know if the food will stay warm or burn. Hmm . . . oh, how about we eat naked in bed?”

“Naked with you?” I give him a smooth once-over—or at least I attempt a smooth one. “Eh, I think I’ll pass.”

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Excuse me? You’ve seen what I have to offer.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

A smile creeps over his lips. “You little shit.” He pulls me against his chest and I laugh as he kisses the top of my head, something I’m starting to love.

We were always tactile with each other growing up, but it was more about lighthearted jabs and taunts rather than affectionate touches and kisses. He’s changed. And I like that. Especially since Pops used to kiss my head, too, whenever we shared a story or moment together. Another thing I miss. Thank God for Grandpa Thomas, who still greets me with a hug when I see him.

Who will hug me when he’s gone?

Affection wasn’t something my mother ever doled out to me—there was never anything left for me—yet it’s clear it’s something I love. Need.

And that’s not the best revelation to grasp right now, Allen.

Crap.

The rest of the walk down the stairs is easier. Lighter somehow. We share his coffee, handing it back and forth, and when we reach the entrance of the town, I spot a bakery to the left. “Want to grab something for the road?”

“If you’re asking if I want a pastry, the answer is yes.”

“That was the right answer.”

We walk over to the bakery and Crew opens the door for me like the gentleman he is, and not only are we hit with warmth again, but also with the delicious smell of fried dough. The shop is lined with glass cases full of differently colored fried dough-like balls. Some dipped in chocolate, some white chocolate, some pink, some green, some covered in powdered sugar, some in candy. There almost seems too many to count all at once. To the right is a baker rolling out dough behind a sheet of glass. Next to him is a large fryer, where there are sticks poking out from the hot oil.

“What kind of heaven is this?” Crew asks, his hand pressing against my back as we walk up to a case.

“Schneeballen,” I say, reading a sign. I pull out my phone and look it up quickly. “Fried dough in a ball, basically, and it seems as though they’ve gone wild on the toppings and different flavors.”

Crew rubs his hands together now and says, “This is where I lose the definition in my abs.”

“If you were going to lose definition, I think it would have been with the copious amounts of Lebkuchen you’ve eaten.”

“Nah, that’s all nuts. Healthy.”

I laugh. “Okay, Crew. Pretty sure you’ll never lose definition in your abs.”

He raises a brow in my direction. “And here I thought you were unimpressed with what I have to offer.”

Damn it.

He chuckles, knowing he got me. Taking my hand, he leads me to the register and says, “Hello. We’d love six Schneeballen with accompanying mallet and board to break them open.”

“Of course. What flavors?” the clerk asks.





“Fuck, that was not fun,” Crew says, letting out a long breath as we make our way down the hall to our hotel room.

After purchasing our Schneeballen—cranberry for Christmas, an original, chocolate-covered pistachio, and a strawberry, we decided to head to our next destination.

Instead of eating the Schneeballen on the trip, I helped Crew navigate to the hotel, the both of us tense the entire time from the snow and the unknown roads. I tried to keep him as calm as possible, but I could tell he was incredibly tense and trying to be careful.

“No, but we’re here now,” I say as he opens the door to our hotel room.

Instead of walking in, he pauses at the door.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s just really small. I think it’s the smallest room we’ve had since we started our trip.” He walks in and I follow behind him. The ceiling is slanted on one side to go along with the triangle shape of the roof. There are two twin beds mashed together under the slanted ceiling. On the other side is a dresser/ desk combination and a mounted TV. There’s about four feet of space, if that, between the beds and the dresser/desk, and I’m pretty sure Crew’s legs might fall off the end of the bed.

“Those aren’t regulation-sized twin beds,” Crew says, setting his suitcase to the side and then taking mine from me. I have the Schneeballen in my other hand and set that down on the desk.

“Looks as though we’ll be nice and cozy for Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah, seems that way.” He sets his backpack down just as there’s a knock at the door.

I answer it, and it’s Anja from the front desk. “Here is the package that was sent for you.” She looks past me and into the room. “Is everything to your satisfaction?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“It’s great,” Crew says from behind me.

The hotel is quite small. It’s better known as a restaurant with some rooms on the upper floors, and the owners seem quite nice, especially to house people on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.