The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(8)

I shake my head. Typical Pops.

But until you can piece the puzzle together, I’ll say this. I love you both and I wish I could physically be there with you while you travel the beautiful countryside of Germany. Just know, I’m up above, laughing my rear end off at you two nitwits as you try to figure out how to drive the German roads and understand their signs.

Hazel chuckles next to me and so do I.

Attached is an itinerary. When you reach your first destination and check into your hotel, the staff has been given another itinerary to hand to you. There’s no straying from the itinerary. I’m spending my final days putting this together, so you better not go rogue on me.

All I ask is that you sit back, breathe in the moment, and truly enjoy yourselves.

I love you both. Stay tuned for more.

Forever Your Pops,

Bernie

Fuck.

I suck in a sharp breath and lean my head back against the airplane headrest, a bout of emotions traveling through me like a wave of despair. I hold back the tears that start to well in my eyes and attempt to turn toward the window, but Hazel catches me before I can hide myself.

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Just as long as you’re not snotty and crying the entire trip.”

That makes me laugh. I turn toward her and she reaches out and wipes away a tear from under my eye. “I’m glad you’re here, Haze.”

“Me too.” She gives me a soft smile.

“Can I get you something to drink before we take off?” a flight attendant asks.

“I would love a Sprite with a touch of cranberry juice, please,” Hazel answers. “And just a regular Sprite for the big guy over here.”

“Sure thing,” she answers before weaving expertly through the boarding passengers.

“What if I don’t want a Sprite?”

“Who are you kidding?”

Sighing, I lean back in my chair. “Yeah, you’re right.”





Once we’re up in the air and the fasten seatbelt sign is off, Hazel unlatches herself and turns toward me. “So, tell me everything.” She props her elbows on the console between us and rests her chin on her hands, her eyes batting at me, waiting for an answer.

One thing I know about Hazel is that she’s the master of avoidance. If she doesn’t want to talk about something, she will divert, she will change the subject, or she will shift the focus. And that’s what I feel she’s doing right now.

You don’t go nearly four years without talking to each other and act as if nothing happened, unless you’re Hazel Allen.

“Everything?”

She nods. “Start with the good stuff.”

“Uh, and what would be the good stuff?”

“You know.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I want to know all about the women in your life.”

Why the hell would she want to know that? Not what I was expecting when it came to conversation, but then again, Hazel has always been slightly off the wall. She used to ask me the strangest questions when we were cleaning out the barn or feeding the animals, just to pass the time. Questions that always came out of nowhere. Her approach might be abrasive to others, but at this point, it’s comforting because I’ve missed this girl so damn much.

I laugh. “Yeah, no women in my life.”

“Liar.” She pokes me now. “You’re telling me, big man on campus, Crew Smith, doesn’t have girls knocking on his door every night?”

“You fail to remember just how bad my season was this year.”

“Oh, I remember. It was painful looking at the number of interceptions you threw, but you’re still a handsome mother effer. Pretty sure girls aren’t looking at your stats.”

I shake my head. “No girls.”

“Ugh.” She pushes back. “You’re no fun. I was hoping that would fill at least a good portion of our trip.”

“What kind of sex life did you think I have?” I ask.

“A vibrant one. Clearly I was wrong.”

Very wrong.

“What about you?” I challenge her with a nod her way.

“Oh, you know how it is living the farm life. Once you wipe the stink off, you’re exhausted and barely have enough energy to go to the local bar and flaunt your goods.”

“You paint quite the picture.”

She chuckles. “I was dating this guy, but he turned out to have a foot fetish. It was fun at first, but then it just got creepy when all he wanted was my feet touching him. I passed.”

“He wanted you to touch him with your feet?”

She nods slowly. “Oh yeah. He’d pay for me to get pedicures and then I’d rub my feet up and down his chest. Fascinating to see how hard he’d get.”

I study her. Truly study her as I try to process what she’s saying. “I don’t believe you,” I finally say, knowing Hazel well enough to understand when she’s trying to pull my leg.

“Okay, fine, he didn’t have a foot fetish.” She rolls her eyes. “But he was kind of weird and I did touch his penis with my foot once and it leapt in excitement, which was cause for concern.”

“You’d be surprised what can get a penis going,” I say, keeping my voice down.

“Do you have a list of things that makes you hard?”