The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(66)

With every minute that passes, the attraction just grows heavier and heavier.

I swear it’s these pajamas. What was Pops thinking?

Hell, he was probably hoping something like this would happen, that the sexual tension would be so thick it’s almost stifling.

“My head is all muddled right now,” I say honestly.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Nah.” I take a sip from my water and ask, “What were your traditions at your grandparents’ house? Did you do anything special?”

“Well, nothing like you, but we did have this one stupid tradition that we did every year.”

“Why is it stupid?”

“Because it’s not, you know, all warm and cozy like baking cookies and wearing matching pajamas.”

“But it reminds you of Christmas, right? Of good times?”

A small smile passes over her face as she rotates so her stomach is flat against the bed and her legs are propped up behind her. “Yeah, it never felt like Christmas until we did this.”

“See, it’s not stupid. What is it?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise,” I say, full of sincerity. She’s made this a safe place for me to open up, and I want to do the same for her.

“So, you know how TBS plays A Christmas Story on loop?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we play it Christmas Eve, watch it late into the night, and then when we were opening presents, we’d have it on in the background. We tried to count how many times we’d see Ralphie stroke his hand up the soft glow of electric sex—the leg lamp.”

I burst out in laughter—not because of her tradition, but her description. “Oh, hell, he does say that, doesn’t he? The soft glow of electric sex?”

She nods. “Oddly, my favorite part of the movie.”

“Don’t blame you. Fra-gee-lay has got to be one of the best parts, as well.”

“Yes.” She chuckles. “I think every person who has a love for A Christmas Story pronounced fragile like that at some point in their life.”

“Hell yeah, I know we did. Hey, want me to grab my iPad and we can watch it?”

“You have it?” she asks, perking up.

“I’m sure I can find it on one of the subscription services I have. How about we clean up, get ready for bed, and then watch it?”

“That would be perfect. You don’t mind?”

I shake my head. “Hell no, it’ll be fun—bringing our traditions together.”

She smiles. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

We take care of the food and set the tray outside our door like we were told to do. We’re saving the Schneeballen for tomorrow and ate the cookies tonight in honor of Pops. We both take turns going to the bathroom and brushing our teeth. While she’s finishing up, I grab my iPad and start searching for A Christmas Story. Thankfully, it was easy to find and I cue it up.

Hazel emerges from the bathroom and turns off the overhead light, leaving only the nightstand light to illuminate the room. I try not to stare, but I can’t take my eyes off her as she lotions her hands and walks toward me, her small but curvy frame perfectly accentuated in her nightgown.

Hell.

“Did you find it?” she asks.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I did.”

“Perfect.” She slips under the covers with me and squeezes into my side, immediately resting her head on my chest, so I drape my arm around her and pull her in tight. “Are you going to judge me if my laughter is obnoxious?”

“No. It’ll probably make me laugh harder.” I press play, and she snuggles in even closer, tangling her top leg with mine.

The smell of her lotion lulls me with a sense of comfort, but the feel of her warm body against mine sends me into a tailspin of lust.

Instead of focusing on her, because that’s going to get me nowhere, I turn my attention to the movie and try to get lost in the comedy.

But with every inhalation of her lotion and rub of her leg against mine, my mind drifts to something else, and I can’t focus on what Ralphie’s saying. All I see is him moving about the little screen, but the words? They’re drowned out by the beat of my own heart.

“God, I love the dad,” Hazel says, her hand falling to my stomach, where her fingers slowly glide across my skin.

Fucking hell.

“Yeah, he’s . . . funny,” I say on a swallow as awareness shoots straight to my cock.

Does she realize what she’s doing to me? Does she realize the slightest touch has my skin burning for more? Does she know that ever since I saw her on the airplane, I’ve wanted to bury my hand in her hair and bring her mouth close to mine, making up for my missed opportunity?

Does she know how fucking turned on I was when she was on top of me, riding my cock, seeking her own pleasure? And the morning after—does she know how much I wanted to stay in our hotel and repeat what we did over and over again, but this time, let our lips meet?

Does she know that when she wakes up in the morning, she’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, and when she walks into the room, I can’t help but smile?

Does she know she’s my person?

“Do you like meatloaf?” she asks, her fingers trailing up my chest.

“Huh?”