The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(81)

She gasps and then a sly smile spreads across her gorgeous and playful face. “Oh, so you want to dig into the past? Fine. You’re the one who made the first move because you tried to cop a feel when we were younger.”

Shit.

I clear my throat. “You know, actually, I’m just talking about this trip.”

Her head tilts back as she laughs. “You’re so full of shit.” Pushing off me, she walks toward the tower. I chase after her and pick her up in my arms. I spin her around and she laughs, but then I trip over a crack in the walkway and we both tumble into a snowbank.

We laugh, and I can’t think of a moment where I’ve felt more carefree, looser, happier. I don’t think I’ve felt this way in a long time.

Years.

Probably since I last saw her.

And this feeling I have with her? I can’t lose it. I can’t lose Hazel. With the combine, the farm’s future in question, how the heck do I do that, though? And more to the point, does she want it, too?





“This was fancy, Crew,” Hazel whispers over the secluded table we have by a warm fireplace.

“And you look beautiful.”

We decided to step out for dinner rather than eating in the hotel. The concierge was kind enough to book us a table at one of the finest restaurants in town and then we both dressed up in clothes we brought for such an occasion. She’s wearing a beautiful, deep-green dress with long sleeves and a deep V in the neckline that is making it hard for me to keep my eyes attached to hers. I opted for a pair of slate-gray chinos and a navy-blue button-up shirt. My mom told me to pack one nice outfit, just in case. I’m glad I did.

“Thank you,” Hazel says, her cheeks blushing under the candlelight. “You’re very handsome yourself. I had no idea a button-up shirt could cling to arms like that.”

I chuckle. “It’s hard to find shirts that make room for the muscles, and I don’t mean that in a douchebag way. It’s just true.”

“I believe it. I’ve seen professional athletes on Instagram, walking into the stadium, their suits skintight to their bodies. It’s hot.”

I raise an eyebrow. “It’s hot?”

“It is.” She smirks.

Since we’ve already eaten our food and paid, we’re simply enjoying the fire and finishing our wine.

“And what would you think if you saw me in one of those Instagram pictures, heading into the stadium?”

Her smile falters for a second before she picks up her glass of wine and she says, “I would think . . . meh.”

“Why do you find it necessary to constantly lie to me?”

“Keeping you grounded, Hollywood.” She sets her wine down, and I sense a change as she plays with her fork on the table, moving it up and down, her eyes downcast. “So, yesterday, on the phone with your mom, what do you think she meant when she said: ‘We’ll see where things go from there’?”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“When she was talking about visiting. She was like ‘We’ll visit the farm, talk about the trip, see where things go from there.’ What do you think she meant?”

“Uh, probably just, you know, keeping it casual. See where things go, maybe we order pizza, maybe we don’t. Who knows? Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Are you going to drop it?”

“No.”

She sighs and leans back in her chair. “Figured.” She pushes her hair behind her ear. “I’m just nervous about the farm. I feel like we’re going to find out what happens to it when we get back home.”

“Why?”

“I just have a feeling, is all. Mia texted me this morning that there were some investors coming up this week from New York City. They’re staying at the inn, and Brenda, the inn owner, asked her for some fresh winter arrangements to replace the Christmas one before they arrived.”

“Pops would never sell the farm,” I tell her reassuringly.

“You don’t know that. He could. It might be easier for everyone to sell. Everyone involved.”

“You can’t worry about that,” I say, picking up my wine and taking a sip.

Her eyes widen. “I can’t worry about that? Are you kidding? This is my livelihood, Crew. This is my life. That farm is my life. I don’t have a fancy college degree or a future playing a professional sport. I have the farm, and that’s it. Of course I’m worried about what’s going to happen. When we get back, you’re going back to school, you’ll get drafted, and I’m going back to the farm, wondering if I’ll ever have to sink to the level of my mom to put food on the table.”

“Hey,” I say, feeling my brows crease. “You have me.”

“What does that even mean? I have you? That sure went well the last time.”

“That’s not fair. I said I’d never do that to you again, and this time things are different.”

“How are things different, Crew?”

Is she really asking that? Confused, I say, “Because we’re together.”

As if I slapped her, she rears back in her seat. “We-we’re what?”

“Together,” I answer, wondering if I’m missing something here. “You’re my girl.”