Page 72 of Tangled with the Tight End

“Is it hard to watch your team play from here on your couch?” I ask.

“Yeah. But not as hard as it might have been.”

“Well, I appreciate you inviting me to stay.”

I’m quiet the whole second half, except commercials. That’s when I ask questions. The game is down to the last minute. It’s third and eight. We’ve got the ball. And I can’t even believe I understand all of that already.

“You’re a good teacher,” I say, quietly.

Declan doesn’t look away from the screen, but he says, “Thanks. You’re a good student.”

I’m glad his eyes are fixed on the players lining up at what I now know is called the line of scrimmage, because my chest tightens and a light stinging pulls behind my eyes.

It’s no big deal. Declan said I’m a good student.

But it is a big deal—to me, it is.

I clear my throat and focus.

“Go Thunder!” I say.

Declan huffs out a soft laugh. I can only see the side of his face from where I’m sitting, but his cheeks tug up and a dimple pops.

He’s smiling. And I’m the reason.

The ball snaps and the quarterback looks around. The guys blocking are keeping the LA team away from Delaney. That’s who Declan said was the quarterback. I met him. And now I’m watching him throw the ball high and long to a guy who is running like he’s being chased by rabid dogs while he’s carrying a steak. The guy turns, jumps, catches the ball and does this sideways dive maneuver that sends him over the line into the end zone.

I jump up and shout, “We won!” I look at Declan. He’s beaming. I’m jumping up and down. “We won! We won!”

“Yeah,” he says with a smile that shoots straight through my heart. “We won.”

The cameras pan around as the players leave the field. Reporters show up, mostly women, interviewing the guys about the game.

I ask Declan, “When’s the next game?”

“Next Sunday,” he says. “Are you planning to watch?”

“I have to watch it now. I need to see if we win.”

His smile gets even wider. Then he says, “Most games are on Sundays. But we can have Thursday or Monday games. And we often play on Thanksgiving.”

“What?” I pause, my post-game excitement ratcheting down a notch. “You play football on Thanksgiving?”

“Six teams play on Thanksgiving Day every year. No one gets a bye week that week. The rest of us play Black Friday or Sunday.”

“A buy week? If you can buy the week, maybe you should offer more money. I would. I’d pay a lot not to have to work on Thanksgiving.”

He chuckles. “Bye. B-Y-E.”

“Oh. Okay.” I stand to leave. “Bye.”

That was abrupt, but I have been here a long time. Maybe he’s tired after watching the game.

Declan laughs. “No. Winona, I’m not telling you to leave. We call it a bye week—the one week a season we don’t work. It means we’re not playing.”

“Oh! A bye week. That’s a funny name.”

“I guess it is. I never gave it much thought.”