The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(80)

Today, you’re on your way to Augsburg. Augsburg is the third-largest city in Bavaria, with a housing complex referred to as Fuggerei. It was built by the wealthy Fugger family and houses 147 small apartments, and the rent is—get ready for this—one dollar a year. Yes, you read that right—one dollar. But the stipulation is, you must be poor or homeless to live there, and three times a day, you must stop what you’re doing and say a prayer for the Fugger family. For one dollar a year, I think I’d say a prayer every hour, on the hour.

Since this is your second-to-last place, I didn’t plan anything for you to do, in case you just want to walk around and enjoy the long rows of historic facades, see ornate buildings—some of which have been standing for nearly one thousand years—or visit Schaezlerpalais for the lavish art collections. I know it’ll be cold, but try to people-watch, to feel a part of the city. But I do ask that you visit one place for me: the Volgetor. It’s a four-story tower that was built in the Middle Ages. The man who built it got into an argument with the city coffers, who were running low on funds. They claimed the tower wasn’t built straight, so they refused to pay. Legend has it, the builder was so furious that he decided to prove them wrong. He went up the four flights of stairs, pulled down his trousers, stuck his rear end out the top window, and defecated. His feces never once hit the side of the building, proving how straight the tower was.

I know what you’re thinking—“What on earth?” I thought the same thing when I read about the Volgetor. I didn’t get to visit the tower, and it would fulfill a dream of mine if you would please go to the tower, go up the four floors, stick your bum out the window, and defecate. Who knows what kind of wind or other natural variables might have gotten in the way of the original defecation . . .

I’m just kidding. Please don’t poop out the window of a tower in Germany, it’ll ruin this wonderful trip. But at least go stand next to the tower and make up your own mind about whether it’s straight or not.

Have fun. Love you both,

Pops





“I can’t stop laughing,” I say as we walk toward the tower. I dab under my eyes, trying to get ahold of myself. “I just can’t imagine using my own bowel movements as a way to prove something is straight. That would never even cross my mind.”

Hazel laughs next to me. “Now you will though, right?”

“It most likely will cross my mind.”

The tower is built of gray stone and set off by a burnt-red roof. It’s square in shape, taller than I expected it to be, with an arch at the base for people to walk through. My eyes immediately go to the windows, and I try to picture a Bavarian man knocking down his lederhosen and dropping a deuce.

I chuckle some more.

“This might be my favorite landmark.”

“Because of the poop?” Hazel asks, a cute scrunch to her nose.

“No, because it’s a symbol of insolence. ‘You’re not going to pay me? Well, I’m going to shit out a window and prove you wrong.’ I’d never have the balls to do something like that. I’m the person who thinks of doing something extreme, but never pulls the trigger.”

“Me, too,” Hazel says. “I wish I could say what’s on my mind most of the time, but I’m not that person. I’m a people pleaser.”

“Bullshit,” I challenge. “You’re always telling me what’s on your mind, especially when it busts my balls.”

“That’s different. That’s just joking around. I’m talking about confrontation. Think about it, if I really spoke my mind when it came to confrontation, you’d have heard from me a lot sooner during our time of no speaking, because I would have found your phone number and given you a piece of my mind.”

I pause and think about it. “Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because you clearly didn’t want to talk to me. I wasn’t about to go all psycho on you.”

“Did you want to go all psycho on me?”

“Very much.”

I pull her against me, lift her chin, and press a kiss to her lips, knowing I’ll never get used to doing that. “Well, I’m glad you stuck your hand down my pants and made the first move.”

Her lips still and her hand falls to my chest. “I did not make the first move.”

“Yes, you did.”

She takes a step back now. “No, I didn’t.”

“Uh, care to explain why you don’t think you made the first move?”

“Easy. You wrapped your arm around me.”

“What?” I laugh. “Hazel, I’ve wrapped my arm around you on several occasions. That never led you to stuffing your hand down my pants.”

She holds up her finger while smirking. “Firstly, I didn’t stuff my hand down your pants. I didn’t even make contact with anything. And secondly, you were shirtless, in bed. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Uh, what you did every other night we were together—not stick your hand down my pants.” She shakes her head and I laugh, pulling her into my chest. “Just admit you made the first move.”

“I didn’t.”

“Technically, if you want to dig deep here, you really did make the first move because you were the one who first kissed me years ago.”