Page 105 of Tangled with the Tight End

My mind drifts to the throwing lessons—a convenient excuse to touch her.

I’m a chicken in a grown man’s body.

I’ve never hesitated over a woman. But no woman has ever mattered like she does.

She should be here in an hour, after she finishes whatever Winona for Hire job she’s doing this morning.

I could hire her. She wouldn’t have to take all these random gigs. And I’d pay her well. But then I definitely wouldn’t be able to date her.

Date her.

I officially said the words. Not out loud, but I’ve been dancing around what I want, even in my own head. I want to take her out. Or stay in. Cook for her. Put on candles. Some nice music over the speaker system. Maybe even dance with her in the kitchen. Maybe we would go out. Somewhere nice. In Nashville. Take her dancing there.

Then we’d drive home and she’d lean her head back on the headrest, satisfied and happy. And when we got to her driveway, I’d jump out and open her door. Walk her to the porch … does she have a porch? I don’t even know. Why don’t I know if Winona has a porch? I should know. This relationship has been all about me. That needs to change.

Well, for the sake of my imaginary moment, she has a porch. And we’re on it, under a glowing porch light that Cass left on for her sister. And Winona looks up at me. I brush my hand along her cheek, letting it drift down her arm. She smiles, giving me a green light to lower my head to meet her mouth in a kiss …

I shake my head, snapping myself out of my daydream. Before I think better of it, I reach out to call Patrick. I need help.

Wait. I can’t call Patrick. Not about her.

Daisy’s in Winona’s world. He’d want to talk to Daisy.

I push the button and say, “Call Marcus Delaney.”

The phone rings twice and Marcus’ boisterous greeting bellows through.

“O’Connell, my man! What’s up?”

“Hey, Delaney … How are you?”

“How am I?” He laughs a full laugh. “How am I? O’Connell. You telling me you’re calling to ask how I am?”

I run my hand down my jaw.

I should be calling to ask how he is.

“No.”

“Get to it, then.” He laughs lightly.

“I … uh … aww man, I’m no good at this.” I drag my hand through my hair.

“Are you trying to propose, O’Connell? Because as much as I like you, I’m holding out for a woman who knocks me off my feet and leaves me seeing more stars than if I was hit by a three-hundred-pound linebacker. I haven’t met her yet, but she’s out there.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m calling about.”

“To propose to me?” He laughs again. “Did you hit your head?”

“No,” I laugh. “I got hit by a linebacker. I mean … a woman.”

“Declan.” Delaney’s voice is serious. “Were you in an accident? Someone ran into you?”

“No … No.” I shake my head. “A woman knocked me over. Like you said … Winona.”

“Oooooweee.” He laughs hard now—hard gasps between peals of his deep laughter. “Declan O’Connell got laid out by a woman. I can see it, though. She’s …”

I cut him off. “Don’t say another word about her.”