Page 71 of Tangled with the Tight End

He laughs. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’d have thought Patrick or Maeve would have been here.”

“Patrick’s working. He’ll be here next week. That’s how his rotation lands. Maeve doesn’t want the girls running around making a ruckus when I’m trying to focus.”

“Sort of like a certain home health aide asking questions while you’re watching.”

“Totally different. You’re not screaming about Bluey.”

I smile. “So, what do you do at halftime?”

“It goes quickly. It’s only fifteen minutes. Use the restroom. Get snacks. Stretch.”

“I’m good on all three counts,” I tell him. “Do you need to stretch?”

He lifts his arms overhead and his shirt rises up with the stretch. I glance away instead of staring at the sliver of skin along his waistband. What is it with him? Every inch is a work of art.

“So, that play?” he says. “The one I called before they ran it?”

“Third and ten?” I ask.

“Yes. The game is played in four quarters over a whole hour of play. Fifteen minutes each quarter. And our goal is to get the ball down the field.”

“To get a touchdown,” I supply.

“Yes. Exactly. But we count progress in ten-yard increments. And the offense—the team with the ball—gets four chances to move the ball ten yards. The chances are called downs. If they don’t move the ball ten yards, the ball goes to the other team. Then our defense comes out and tries to block them.”

I nod. I’m not sure why they’re called the offense. The guys trying to knock people down are far more offensive. But I don’t interrupt Declan to make that point. He’s animated and smiling. It obviously means a lot to him that I learn his sport. This is the happiest I’ve seen him since the day I came to work here. If teaching me football makes him happy, I’m here for it.

“So,” Declan continues. “Third and ten means we already had two chances to move the ball and didn’t move it. And that was our third chance.”

“Ohhhh!” I say. “And that’s why the next time it was first and ten. You got back to having four more chances.”

“Yes!” he shoves his fist in the air again, and I watch his leg to make sure he’s not destabilizing himself.

“So, the ten is how many yards you have left in that chance?”

“Yes. It could be second and four.”

“Second down. Four yards left,” I say.

“Yes!”

Making him happy is addictive.

“Tell me more,” I say. “This is starting to make sense.”

He spends the rest of halftime filling me in on what a blitz is—when all the defenders go for the quarterback and try to tackle him right off the bat. And he explains what the difference between a passing play and a running play is. And then he tells me about his position.

“Tight ends block and receive.”

“Two jobs?”

“Yeah. We have to be versatile.”

“That’s impressive,” I say. And I mean it.

His face grows a little solemn.