Page 41 of Tangled with the Tight End

“I’ve been on an elevator before,” I assure him.

“I figured you had.”

“Just not in a house.”

I step on and keep an eye on Declan to make sure the wheels of his scooter make it over the crack where the door will slide shut. Then I look at the panel. There are options for one, two and three.

“There are three stories?”

“The back of the house has three stories,” he says. “The third floor is a theater and rec area. The master is on two.”

Oh yes. The theater and rec room. Next thing he’ll be telling me he has a private zoo.

I push the button for the second floor and the doors slide shut, leaving me alone in an elevator with Declan O’Connell. And for the first time since I started working for him, I’m acutely aware that he’s a famous professional athlete. One I’m about to give a shower.

I stare at the panel of numbers, my nerves zinging. When the door opens, Declan wheels out ahead of me.

We’re back to not speaking.

He rolls down the hallway past a few other doorways until he reaches a set of double doors at the very end of the hall. I rush ahead thinking he might need my help with the handle, but he swings the door open and wheels into the room.

I step in behind him.

Everything’s immaculate, white and cream—like no one’s ever been in this room before. Only, there are a few personal items on a side table near the king-sized bed—reading glasses next to a short stack of books.

Does Declan like reading?

An image of him, sitting up in bed with those dark-framed glasses on, book in hand, a drowsy dip to his eyes, the comforter tucked up around his middle … Yeah, no.

I shift my attention to the dark brown wood of the four-poster bedframe—the only shock of color in the room.

Declan wheels through the room with a comfortable familiarity. He opens another door and wheels into that room. I follow him into the bathroom, which is as big as my kitchen and living room combined. Double sinks are on one wall and a massive curved tub is across the tile floor from the sinks. In the corner is a shower that could fit four men the size of Declan. I peer through a doorway leading into yet another room to find a toilet and a wall-mounted TV.

“You watch TV in the bathroom?”

“Only when a game’s on or if I need to hear about stats.”

“Ah. Yeah. Okay. I share a bathroom with Cass,” I blurt out. “A small bathroom. You could fit five or six of our bathrooms inside this one. And the toilet’s right there in the mix. Our shower has a curtain. No glass. Your bathroom is … wow.”

Declan just smiles as if my lack of filter is amusing.

The strong urge to run to the elevator makes my toes twitch. I’d push the button for the first floor and keep running. But, I’m here to do a job, and I will do it.

Declan needs my help.

I’m a nurse’s aid. He’s a patient.

I’m a nurse’s aid. Declan’s my patient.

Nurse’s aid. Patient.

I repeat that to myself several times and it starts to work until Declan crosses his arms, grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs it off his torso in one fluid movement.

My eyes don’t know where to look. He’s all lines and ridges and muscles. Declan’s muscles have muscles. I’ve never seen anything like him. Not in person, anyway.

Maybe I should just work with seniors.

Not that giving them baths is a picnic. It’s just not … this.