Page 99 of Tangled with the Tight End

Declan might not complete me … but he definitely does something.

More than he should.

More than I should let him.

He smiles down at me again. “What’s the big plan? Driving the long way home?”

He’s joking, but my brain runs on random thoughts—they’re my fuel.

“Actually … yes.”

We get into the car and I tell him. “You need a drive. To clear the cobwebs. Your life doesn't have enough scenery.”

“You might be right,” he agrees. “I’ve got two settings these days—home and the practice facility.”

“Boring!”

He chuckles low and soft. I turn on the radio.

I glance over at him as I push the ignition.

Declan O’Connell, I was not expecting you.

I drive the opposite way of home, heading out two-lane roads, rolling down the window, turning up the volume. Declan’s expression morphs from curious to entertained to all-in. By the time I’m heading back into town, we’re both belting out I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys. I want to stop singing so I can listen to Declan’s deep voice, pitch perfect, lilting in all the right places, rolling over me like butter on a warm roll. But I know if I stop, he will too, so I put my heart into it and sing.

“What’s for dinner, football player?” I ask him as we pull through the first gate.

“Claudette’s something or other.”

“But what do you want for dinner?” I ask him.

“There’s this place in New Orleans …”

I glance over at him. “I don’t think you know me well enough.”

He smiles, his eyes narrowed slightly. “I want to know you better.”

I don’t know what to make of his seemingly innocent comment. It’s sweet. And I’m buzzing from head to toe with the way he’s looking at me after saying it. We’re friends. Friends get to know one another.

“What I was going to say … is that I would drive to New Orleans on a whim.”

“Yet you’ve only been to Tennessee and North Carolina?”

“No one ever mentioned that their favorite dinner was in New Orleans before.”

He laughs and then he glances out the side window muttering, “One of a kind.”

“So, within a fifty-mile radius, what’s for dinner?”

“How about hot chicken?” he asks.

“Oh. You don’t have to ask me twice.”

“You’re staying?” He sounds surprised.

I assumed we were eating together and for a moment I start to backpedal.

“I’d like you to stay,” he adds.