Page 1 of Tangled with the Tight End

Chapter 1

Winona

I don’t understand American football at all.

It looks like all-in wrestling with crash helmets.

~ Sting

There are rare moments in life when you wish you had the flu. Right now is one of those.

Every eye is on me. My best friends comfortably fill the couches and stuffed chairs in the back room of Moss and Maple, our local bookshop.

We’re surrounded by stacks of books and the smell of cinnamon and vanilla. Everything in this old craftsman-turned-bookshop is decorated for back-to-school even though the leaves on the trees outside the windows are still a vibrant green.

We’re here for book club, but we stopped talking about our monthly read ten minutes ago.

Ever since we shut our books, Daisy has been on the edge of her seat, going on about this weekend’s practice for the Tennessee Thunder football team. Daisy’s father-in-law built the team’s new practice facility—a whole building devoted to practicing. And now they want us to come watch.

“He got tickets for all of us to go. Isn’t that exciting?” Daisy exclaims.

“All of us would go to the practice?” I ask, even though she just spent the last ten minutes basically saying just that.

“Yes. Fans would go nuts for these tickets, but Declan has a friend on the team who isn’t inviting anyone, so he has enough for all of us.”

Declan is Daisy’s brother-in-law. I know him. Well, I knew him growing up. He was a few grades ahead of me in school, so we never really crossed paths. But that doesn’t matter because everyone in Waterford knows Declan now.

He’s an NFL pro player—the local boy gone big.

And he wants us to watch him practice.

I picture myself when I was ten, learning the flute. No one wanted to watch me practice—rightfully so. I’d make that kissy face my band teacher taught me to make, put my lips to the hole and blow. The resulting high-pitched squeaks, sputters and airy whistles were nothing I’d sell tickets to. That’s for sure.

But here Declan is, inviting our whole friend group to watch him practice.

And it’s not that I don’t want to go out with my friends. It’s just … football. I don’t watch it. I don’t understand it. And, to be honest, if I’m going to watch something, I’d like it to be the polished outcome of lots of practice, not the practice itself.

Maybe I don’t want the flu. A quick bout of vertigo or temporary blindness would be fine too. Those might pass more quickly, but still would get me out of having to watch a group of men practice football.

I glance around at my friends. They’re all nodding at something Daisy said.

“It’s so sweet of Declan,” Cass says. “Right, Winona?”

“Yeah … uh … Yes. Very sweet.”

“I’ll tell him we’re all a yes, then,” Daisy says, standing and picking up her dessert plate off the coffee table in the middle of the room.

“I need to get a jersey,” Cass says.

“A jersey?” I ask. “The cow?”

“No, you goof,” Cass says. “The team jersey—the shirt the guys wear.”

“You can just wear anything you like,” Daisy says. “It’s only practice. It’s actually a day they’ve opened for kids camps, so the players’ families are welcome to come too. But with any luck, Patrick will score us tickets to the first game too.”

Cass bounces on her toes. “I’m so excited! Tell Patrick he’s the best.”

Emberleigh gasps and every eye in the room turns toward her. “Sorry, guys. Baby gets more active at night.” She looks around at us. “Anyone want to feel the kicks?”