“Are you ready to go?” I ask her, quietly.
“Yeah, I am.”
Together, we stand, and I guide her from the pew into the center aisle. As we walk down the aisle together, her hand in mine, I have this weird thought cross my mind.
Me in a tux.
Her in a white gown.
Family cheering for us as we make our way down the aisle as mister and missus.
The image is so clear in my head, so perfectly visible, that it gives me pause.
I stop in the middle of the aisle, my heart racing, and just as quickly as the vivid image popped into my head, it floats away.
“You okay?”
I look at Hazel, noting her worried expression.
What the fuck was that? I glance back at the candles, the future candle seeming to glow brighter than the others. Tall, more prominent.
My heart’s racing, my mind’s swirling.
I swallow hard and look into Hazel’s gorgeous eyes.
“Yeah, everything is fine.”
* * *
“Do you think you are ready to spar?” Jörg, our instructor, asks.
“Oh, I’m so ready.” Hazel lifts her mask and shakes her head, pushing some stray hair out of her face.
I bet she’s ready. Ever since she was handed her foil, she’s been itching to hit the mats and have a “whack” at me. Jörg has had to remind her a couple times that you don’t whack in fencing, but rather, you lunge.
She continues to say whack, and frankly, it’s concerning.
During practice, I was impressed with how quick she was. I thought I’d be lighter on my feet, but for some reason, I’m dragging today. I don’t know if it’s because my head isn’t in it again or what, but I am not having an easy time.
“Yeah, we can give it a go,” I say, hearing trepidation in my voice.
“Are you scared, Crew?”
Yes.
“Pfft, no. Remember what I said in the hotel? I’m going to destroy you.”
“We do not destroy in fencing,” poor Jörg says.
“Yes, we lunge to death,” Hazel says, fixing her mask back on her head, giving herself a good pat on the top of her head.
I’m pretty sure Jörg is ready for this lesson to be over, so instead of correcting Hazel, he steps between us, and lacking luster, he says, “En garde.”
Hazel and I both raise our foils into position. I can’t see her eyes through the mesh of the mask, but I know if these were clear windows, I’d see utter determination. Hazel has always been tenacious— in everything we’ve done together—especially if she felt as though I had the upper hand. Little does she know, I don’t feel confident in my skills as a fencer at all.
Not when I keep getting flashes of her in a white wedding gown.
“Allez,” Jörg says, and before I know it, Hazel lunges at me, poking me dead-on in the crotch. Thankfully, I’m wearing protective gear, so I don’t crumble in pain. What the hell?
“Oh God, I got you in the manhood. Are you okay?” Hazel asks as Jörg offers her a point.
I hold my hand up and nod. “Yeah, just caught me by surprise is all. Nothing is damaged. Maybe aim higher next time.”
“Sorry.” She chuckles. “You’re just so tall. Your penis is at lunge level.”
“Lucky me.” I stand and shake out my limbs.
“You ready?” Jörg asks. I nod and so does Hazel. “En garde.” We get into position. “Allez.”
Once again, Hazel lunges, and her foil hits my inner thigh with a double jab to my crotch.
“Jesus,” I mutter, bending over.
“Point Miss Hazel.”
“Did I get you in the junk again?”
I’m curled over slightly as I nod at her. “Yeah.”
“Does it hurt?”
“No.” I shake my head, even though the jab to the inner thigh was definitely surprising. “Just making sure everything is in place.”
“Okay, well, I’m ready when you are.”
“Yeah, I’m ready.” Focus, Smith. Allez means go, that’s when you’re supposed to lunge, not just stand there and let her continue to poke you in the dick.
“En garde.” We get into position, and I swear, I catch a glimpse of a smile on Hazel’s face through all the mesh. “Allez.” Is she planning—
She jabs me again, harder this time, and I crumble to the floor.
“Goye . . . my balls.”
“Point Miss Hazel.”
“Yes, we know,” I groan. “Don’t kick a man while he’s down, Jörg.”
Hazel walks up to me, her shoes coming into my view as I kneel on the floor, curled into fetal position.
“Ooops. Did I get you in your precious zone again?”
I slowly turn my head to look up at her. Her mask is off, hanging in her hand, and there’s a sinister smile on her face.
“You . . . wench.”
The corners of her mouth tilt up even higher while her foil presses against my chest. “I hope this serves as a reminder to you to never underestimate me. I might be small in stature, but I’m quick, smart, and I can tear down your behemoth body any day.” She tilts her chin up and walks away.
Talk about being bested.
* * *
“You are a cruel, cruel woman.”
I stare at the Pepto-Bismol pink sludge that’s in between two pieces of bread as she laughs.
“You go and stab my testicles multiple times and then order me a herring salad sandwich.” I poke the sandwich with my fork and try not to flinch from the ooze of whatever this thing is made of.
“It sounded so appetizing. And Pops did say I could pick what you eat tonight. Why wouldn’t I pick a sandwich filled with herring, beetroot, gherkins, and mayonnaise? All on a lovely piece of dark rye bread. It was screaming your name.”
I eye her and she tries to hold back her smile, but I can see that it’s impossible.
“You do realize you have to share a bed with me tonight, right?”
“Yes.”
“And if I have any sort of repercussions from my digestive system not being able to suffer through a new type of food, you’re going to have to deal with the consequences.”
Her smile falters. “What kind of digestive repercussions?”
I shrug. “Who knows? Could be a series of ungodly events.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’re just trying to make me change my mind about this.”
I eye her pretzel-bun bratwurst, jealousy coursing through me.
“Nah, I’d never do that. I’m a man of my word. I lost, and I’ll eat what you place in front of me. Just wanted to make sure you know what might happen if I do.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and says, “I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Okay.” I shrug and pick up my fork and knife so I can cut into the sandwich. There’s no way in hell I’m going to pick the sloppy thing up and allow whatever pink juice is coming out of it to slide down my hands and arms. The less contact the better. I cut a small piece and spear it with my fork then hold it up to her. “Cheers to your victory.” Without giving it a second thought . . . or smell, I place it in my mouth.
Holy.
Fucking.
Hell.
My nostrils flare.
My taste buds revolt.
My stomach churns.
And, yup, just as suspected, that is not good.
I chew as if the food is on fire, my teeth colliding in a rapid rate, then swallow and reach for my beer. I take a big gulp, gargle, and swallow. That’s the kind of class I’m showing right now. I slap my hand on the table, eyes wide, and I catch my breath.
The entire time, Hazel is gripping her chest, laughing her sweet little ass off.
“Oh my fuck,” I say on a deep breath, right before taking another swig of my beer. I smack my lips together, trying not to wince from the aftertaste. “Wow, that was . . . a fucking delight.”
Hazel throws her head back and laughs some more. “Oh God, I might wet myself.”
<
br /> “Please do. That would make up for whatever you just made me eat.”
“What? Are you saying you didn’t like it?”
“It tastes like fishy pickles and—” I burp and nearly throw up from the taste on my tongue, as I bring my fist to my mouth, causing Hazel to laugh some more. “Shit, you ruined gherkins for me.”
She wipes under her eyes, tears of uninhibited joy forming on her lids. “Oh Jesus.” She picks up her phone and quickly takes a picture of me, the light flashing in my face, nearly blinding me.
“What the hell was that for?”
She looks at the picture and laughs even more. “Oh God, I really am going to pee my pants.” She shrinks in her seat. “I needed to remember this moment forever. Best part of the trip so far.”
“I’m so glad my pain is your joy.”
She picks up her napkin and dabs under her eyes. “I’m not even sorry.”
“I can see that. There’s not one ounce of remorse on your face.”
“Not even a gram.” She takes a deep breath and settles down. When she’s finally not laughing so hard, she picks up her bratwurst and says, “Well, are you going to finish?”
I shake my head. “No way in hell.”
“Going to bed hungry?”
“I’d rather not eat at all.”
She shakes her head. “Food waste is a big problem in this world.”
“Blame yourself.” I push my plate away. “You knew I wasn’t going to finish that shit.”
And then I watch her take a large bite of her brat.
“Oh yeah,” she moans. “This is so good. Tastes just like victory.”
Such a goddamn wench.
* * *
Holding my breath, I slowly lift from the bed, keeping my eyes on Hazel the entire time.
I’ve waited what I consider an appropriate amount of time for her to fall asleep. An hour, to be precise. After dinner—well, her dinner—we came back to the hotel room and played cards. We kept it simple with Kings in the Corner and some California Speed, both games we used to play as kids all the time. I beat her every game in Speed—wished that was the game we played instead of fencing when it came to the dinner choice bet—and we split the games for Kings in the Corner.
After that, we called my parents and told them about the trip so far. Hazel then called her friend Mia, who I talked to for a few minutes on speaker. She sounded pretty cool, and when I watched Hazel talk to her, she seemed relaxed. Made me happy.
We then got ready for bed, and I’ve been waiting for this moment to sneak out and hit up our snack bag.
Because I’m a starving motherfucker.
I mean, serious stomach pains.
I’ve no idea how those people on survival shows go without food for so long. I’m hours into no food and I’m at starvation level ten—can’t walk, need to crawl across the floor for food because I’m so weak.
I’m almost out of the bed when my phone lights up on my nightstand. I glance at it, and see that it’s a text from River.
The food bag is across the room. Maybe if I answer this text, it’ll give Hazel more time to fall into a deep slumber.
River: How are you fuckers doing?
Before I can answer, Hollis types a response.
Hollis: Please, for the love of God, don’t ask.
River: Same, dude. Same.
Crew: That bad?
Hollis: Are you saying you’re faring better than us?
I glance over my shoulder at Hazel, peaceful in her slumber. God, she’s pretty. I have an overwhelming urge to drag my fingers over her soft cheeks but I refrain, remembering exactly why I’m awake right now.
Food.
My stomach wants food.
Crew: It’s not terrible.
River: That’s because you’re humping your friend.
Hollis: ^^Facts
Crew: We haven’t humped since. It was a two-time thing.
River: That’s what you say now. I bet you two are banging on Christmas Day.
Crew: Trust me, that’s not going to happen. She wants to keep things platonic.
Hollis: Oh shit. She threw on the chastity belt. That stings, man.
River: Doesn’t seem like she was too impressed with the dry humping.
Crew: She was impressed. She got off. Twice.
River: Just because she got off, doesn’t mean she was impressed. Just means she has an easy trigger.
Hollis: Yup.
Crew: Why am I texting you two?
River: You’re addicted to us.
Hollis: Can’t get enough of us.
Crew: Yeah, sure, that’s it. *Insert eye roll*
River: What happened to making progress?
Hollis: Trying.
Crew: Speak for yourself. I think I’m making progress.
River: Yeah? Figured out what you’re going to do with the combine? Been able to find closure?
I think on it, the memories of our trip sliding through my mind. Some good, some bad.
Crew: I think I’m coming close to closure.
Hollis: That’s cool, man.
River: Seems like Germany is where you’re meant to be.
Crew: Yeah, I guess it is.
Smiling, I set my phone down and very slowly lift off the bed. When Hazel doesn’t stir, I walk quietly to the snack bag, where a container of pretzels awaits my munching.
Breath caught in my chest, not wanting to do anything to wake Hazel, I carefully lift the canister out of the bag, slowly pop open the top, reach into the canister—
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Out of sheer terror, I toss the canister in the air, scattering pretzels all over the hotel room while a very unmanly squeal falls past my lips.
I spin around on my heels and catch Hazel sitting up on one elbow, staring me down.
“Jesus Christ. I thought you were asleep.”
“Yeah, right. You think I was going to fall asleep before you?” She shakes her head. “I know you, Crew Smith. I knew you were going to sneak off for some food.”
“I wasn’t sneaking off for some food. I thought I heard something in the pretzel canister. A mouse. As the bigger one in this hotel room, it’s my duty to take care of any rodents that might threaten our food supply.”
“Did you think up that lie while waiting for me to fall asleep, or come up with it on the spot?”
Succumbing to being caught, I say, “Thought of it on the spot. Impressed?”
“No. It was lame.”
“Wow, thanks,” I say sarcastically while picking up the pretzels and tossing them in the trash, because a hotel floor doesn’t really scream cleanliness.
She laughs, and even though she’s awake, it sounds sleepy. “Just keeping it real, Hollywood.”
“You’re really going to let me go to bed hungry?”
“If you’re hungry, eat something.”
I stare her down, not trusting that smirk of hers. “You’re going to think less of me.”
“You do what you think is best.”
I chuck a pretzel at her and she laughs. “You’re mean.” I finish picking up the pretzels and then climb back into bed.
“Aw, are you upset?”
“I’m hungry,” I say, pulling the covers over my bare torso.
She faces me in bed and smiles. “Then eat something.”
“No. I refuse to eat something in front of you when you have that knowing look on your face. I’d rather go to bed with hunger pangs.”
She reaches out and turns my chin toward her. “Are you really that hungry?”
“Starving.”
Hopping out of bed, she trots to the snack bag and grabs a bag of Kettle chips then brings them back to the bed. “What if I have a snack and just happen to offer you some?”
“You’d share?”
“Not much of a nighttime snacker, but I could eat something right now.”
“Then, yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to snack alone. That wouldn’t be fair. I’d take one for
the team and eat with you.”
She chuckles and pops open the bag. “What a knight in shining armor.” She picks up a chip and holds it out to my mouth. Without giving it a second thought, I snatch it with my teeth, and she yelps, shaking her fingers out. “You nearly bit my fingers off.”
“Careful around a beastly man like me when I’m hungry.”
She rolls her eyes and picks up a chip for herself, then she feeds me another and another. And I let her. I want her to be the one in charge of dividing up the chips.
“Who were you texting before you tried to sneak over to the snacks?”
She places a chip in my mouth and I chomp down on it. “How long were you awake?”
“The whole time.”
“Seriously? That’s some stealthy feigned sleeping.”
She casually shrugs and gives me another chip. “Pretending to sleep was a much-needed super power growing up, especially when mom brought someone home and I was on the couch. I knew it was—” She swallows hard. “It was important for Mom that I stayed quiet. So, I did. I learned how to lie so still, unmoving, that no one thought twice of me being there.”
My heart aches as I picture Hazel lying on her couch, a peaceful look on her face while she’s tormented inside.
“Jesus, that makes me physically ill just thinking about it.”
“Sorry, I was just—”
“No.” I reach out and place my hand over hers. “It makes me ill thinking of you lying there, trying to be quiet while your mom did who knows what. It makes me sad for the innocent childhood you missed out on. I wish I could have been there more for you.”
“You were there enough. You were there during the most important time of the year when I didn’t have school to distract me.”
“Well, I’m glad.”
I don’t want to get into a debate again about the years I regret, so I’m not raising my stupidity again.
Nudging me, she asks, “So who were you texting? Late-night booty call?” She wiggles her eyebrows, lightening the mood.
“Nah, none of that shit for me. It was River and Hollis, just checking in. They asked how I was doing with closure.”
“What did you say? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I said I was getting there.” She offers me another chip and I take it. “I think I’m slowly starting to find that closure. Very slowly.”
The Romantic Pact Page 17
