Page 111 of Tangled with the Tight End

“Well, you would. Anyway, I listened to some of those—and I watched some highlights of the upcoming game. Then I just Googled what I didn’t understand. It’s pretty interesting. Strengths and weaknesses match up differently every game. That keeps you on your toes, doesn’t it? You can’t just go out there playing the same way with every opponent. You have to know what to anticipate.”

“Exactly. That’s why we watch film.”

“Huh. I always wondered what the film was. I thought it might have been more like YouTube tutorials.”

I laugh. One minute I’m imagining her taking Tony Romo’s place as a game analyst, and the next, she’s back to being the woman who picks her favorite team based on whether the mascot is cute.

Thunder is not cute, according to Winona.

Chapter 17

Declan

"Hard to sit here and be close to you,

and not kiss you."

~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender Is the Night

This.

I never thought I wanted this.

But it turns out, having the right woman curled up in a chair next to you while you watch a game … Well, it’s the kind of nice that makes me think about houses and futures and a shared life.

An unfamiliar warmth spreads over me picturing Winona sitting in the stands at games wearing my name on the back of a jersey, not because she wants to see me win, just because she wants to see me.

Not that I’m proposing. Obviously not.

Winona hasn’t shown any romantic interest in me—yet. But I’m a tight end. I know how to wait for my play. Other guys are ball-hungry. They get more targets. I only have one target. And I’ll be patient. When my route is clear, I’ll be ready.

I tip my glass up to my lips. Empty. Ice cubes fall toward me and resettle when I tip the glass away. My plate of home-cooked comfort food sits almost finished on the coffee table.

Winona shouts at a play and my irrepressible grin spreads. I keep my eyes on the TV so she doesn’t see it. We gain five yards, but it’s not enough for a down. The Chiefs take the field and we go to a commercial break—a scene with a group of friends at a bar.

I grab my crutches and stand.

“Want anything?”

I’m pinching the rim of my glass while gripping my crutch, determined to serve myself instead of asking Winona to do one more thing for me.

“Oh, is there beverage service now?” she asks, laughing and looking up at me.

She’s got the lightest smear of au gratin on her cheek right next to her lips.

I don’t think. Propping my crutch under my free arm, I reach over and swipe it off.

She stills, staring up at me with wide, unblinking eyes.

Did I go too far?

All this talk with Delaney and Linc. That imagined kiss.

I don’t know how to do this with a woman like her. She means something.

The last thing I want to do is mess this up before I even have a real shot with her.

Her smile blooms slowly, overtaking her face. “You know, in romance novels the guy always does that.”