The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(65)

“Hey.” I tilt his head up toward mine and catch the tears in his eyes. “Want me to read the rest of the letter?” He nods. I pick it up and find where he left off. “‘One of the greatest treasures of spending the holidays with you was passing down the traditions I shared with your mom and uncle Paul to you. I can only hope you’ll do the same. But for this last Christmas, let me . . .’” My voice trails off as I suck in the tears as well. “‘Let me read to you one last time.’”

Crew covers his eyes, and I quickly hug him as tears fall down my cheeks. He grips me tightly, his body shaking. He presses his face against my shoulder, and I can feel the tears as they soak through my top. Together, we hold each other, not saying a thing, just letting the moment hang over us.

After a few minutes, Crew pulls away and takes a deep breath. “Should we get changed?”

I nod. “Yeah.” I take the nightgown into the bathroom and quickly change into it, realizing just how skintight it is, and it’s shorter than I thought, hitting me mid-thigh. It’s comfortable but revealing. I contemplate changing, but knowing Pops planned for us to wear matching PJs, I suck it up and step into the room, where Crew’s wearing his low-slung pajama pants and his chest is bare.

Jesus.

I know he always goes to bed shirtless, but for some reason, seeing the waistband of his boxer briefs peek past his pants has my nipples hardening, which doesn’t bode well for me since I’m braless and this shirt clings to me like skin.

Crew spin towards me, taking me in, and I watch as his eyes travel up my body, pausing at my breasts. His hand goes to the back of his head and he looks away.

“Uh, want to listen to the book?” he says, still looking away.

“You want to do that now?”

He nods. “I’d rather get all my crying out before dinner and then enjoy the rest of the night.”

I chuckle. “Okay.” I move to the bed, and Crew joins me. We lean against the headboard with the book and the recorder. The nightgown barely covers my legs as I take a seat, and I can feel Crew’s eyes on me.

“That nightgown is something else.” He laughs.

“Yeah, pretty sure he got the size wrong. Or forgot the pants.”

“You can change if you’re uncomfortable.”

I shake my head. “No, these are our Christmas PJs and I will wear them.”

“Fair enough.” He opens the book and says, “Okay, press play.”

Taking a deep breath, I press play, and it takes a few seconds, but Pops’s deep, burly voice sounds through the recorder. “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas . . .”

And let the tears begin.





Chapter Twelve





CREW





“These cookies are really good,” Hazel says. She’s lounging across the bed and eating a cookie. Her face free of all makeup, hair cascading around her shoulders, wearing that goddamn nightgown as if it’s not showing off every curve of her body, she’s stunning. Her nipples have been hard for the past two hours, and I know this because I can’t stop myself from looking.

Shameful, man.

But, hell, look at her. She’s fucking gorgeous, and I don’t even think she knows it. She has no clue the effect she has on me. She has no idea what it meant to me that she allowed me cry into her shoulder freely. I felt no judgment. Sharing in the moment of listening to Pops read to us was the best thing Pops could have given me. And she has no idea what it means to me to have her here, holding me, letting me hold her, reminiscing about Pops and sharing this Christmas together.

I’m itching to hold her again, to touch her, to . . . fuck, I want to kiss her. I’ve wanted to kiss her all goddamn day, especially when she was making fun of me for how cold I was. I loved the smile on her face, how she couldn’t believe this strong, muscular man could be such a wuss in the cold weather. I loved everything about it.

And now that we’re in this tiny hotel room, the snow falling outside, covering every rooftop and window in a blanket of Christmas, my restraint is starting to dissolve.

“They are good,” I say, peeling my eyes away from her tits once again.

“The almond thing is my favorite.” She examines the cookie, completely clueless of my leering.

I’m emotionally exhausted. I don’t think I could take one more surprise from Pops at this point. I’m mentally drained as I attempt to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life, on top of navigating these strong, unforeseen feelings I have for Hazel . . . while trying not to scare them away. And I’m physically tapped. There’s only so much I can do to keep myself from not touching her, but I still end up touching her anyway. I love the feel of her soft hand in mine. I love having her lined up against my side as she holds me around the waist. And I love that she understands. She’s living through the pain with me.

“Yeah,” I say mindlessly.

Her foot nudges my leg. “You’re not being all Christmas-y.”

“I know. Sorry.” I blow out a hard breath and push my hand through my hair. I catch her eyes rake over my chest. That’s not the first time that’s happened. No, while I’ve been catching glimpses here and there of her, she’s been doing the same thing, but after every glimpse she takes, her tongue peeks out and wets her luscious lips.