Page 69 of Tangled with the Tight End

“Did you just smell my foot?” Declan asks.

“We can’t have you getting an infection at the surgery site. I was checking for that.”

“You sniffed my foot,” he says with an amused smirk. “Is that what they teach you in nursing school?”

“Not exactly. But how else am I going to check if you smell?”

“Fair point,” he says, shaking his head and smiling a smile that would make me buy all the potato chips.

“Looking good, O’Connell,” I say.

“O’Connell?”

“It’s a game day. You’re O’Connell.”

“Ahhh.”

As if on cue, the game starts up again. Declan’s eyes move from me to the screen. I don’t take it personally. This is his job. And his team is playing without him. He needs to keep up on what happens while he’s away.

“Do you have enough water?” I ask him. “Hydration is important, especially now that you’re back to working out.”

He holds up an insulated metal flask with a fat plastic straw. Then he takes a sip.

“I’m hydrated.” He glances over at me. “Take a seat.”

I pause, not sitting right away. Technically, I did what’s needed. He’s not on pain pills anymore. He doesn’t need vitals taken. I just needed to check on his mood and the condition of his leg after casting.

“That is, unless you’re off to sheer sheep or harvest corn.”

I laugh. “No. I’m free the rest of the day. I’ve got book club later. That’s tonight.”

“Then take a seat, Winona. Watch a little of the game with me.”

I really don’t think this is a good idea, but a slight thrill runs through me that Declan’s asking me to stay. Not because he’s Declan O’Connell. To me, he’s not some world-renowned athlete. He’s just Declan. But he’s not usually so bold about me staying on when there’s nothing he needs from me but companionship.

And maybe that’s just it. He could be lonely.

I take a seat. He looks over at me and smiles.

Declan speaks without taking his eyes off the screen. “Claudette made some fried chicken and biscuits that would make a southern grandma weep with jealousy. If you’re hungry, grab yourself a plate.”

“I just ate,” I tell him. “Maybe later.”

He just nods. Then his attention is sucked into the game. I could stand up and dance around the living room and I bet he wouldn’t notice. I’m half tempted to do just that to see if I’m right.

I watch along. Guys line up facing each other. I get that much. It’s the Thunder vs. Los Angeles. The team name is on the screen: Rams.

“Are most of the teams named after animals?” I ask.

“Not all,” he says. “Jets. Vikings. Packers. Steelers …”

“Hmmm.”

“I like the away uniform. It’s cute.”

“Cute, huh?” he chuckles. “I’ll be sure to tell the guys they looked cute out there.”

His eyes never leave the screen. I try to sit quietly, but I’m not following much. It’s hard to always tell where the ball is. Then, all of a sudden it’s airborne, flying so far, and a guy on our team catches it and takes off running.