Free Breaking Tackles: A Taking Flight Novel by Erin Brown

something are two totally different things.
     
    When I’m off the plane, I make a quick stop at the restroom to check my reflection and make sure that the cute New Orleans Saints V-neck tee I bought isn’t too wrinkled. I notice that a small pimple has popped up on my chin. Trying to pop it now will just make it worse, so I sigh and then head to the escalator to go see my fiancé.
     
    As I scan the baggage claim area from the top of the escalator, I don’t see Adam anywhere. And he’s the type of guy to stand out, considering his size. I grab my phone and realize that I never turned it off of airplane mode.
     
    I swipe and wait as my phone reconnects to the signal, and then see a message from my mom, asking if we landed safely, but nothing from Adam.
     
    Maybe he’s just running a little late from practice. That’s entirely possible.
     
    As I get to the bottom of the escalator, I pause and look around before walking toward the exit. I only packed a carry-on, so there’s no need for me to wait at the baggage claim. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my waist, spinning me around, and I’m face to face with Adam, whom I barely register before he grabs my face and meets my lips with his.
     
    The kiss is deep and long and hot.
     
    Way too hot for a kiss anywhere in public.
     
    When we break apart, I feel flushed and short of breath and very, very turned on.
     
    “Where were you hiding?” I ask. “I looked for you everywhere.”
     
    “I was standing just to the right of the escalator.”
     
    “Exactly where I couldn’t see you,” I say, shaking my head. “Were you trying to give me a heart attack?”
     
    He grins and says, “I just wanted to surprise you. I like your shirt, by the way.”
     
    Normally when I buy clothes, I go for things that aren’t formfitting. I’m more comfortable in something a little loose. But even though I ordered a large shirt from the NFL website, when it arrived I was shocked at how small the large was. I was going to send it back immediately, but my mom saw it and forced me to try it on. I thought it was way too tight, but she swore that it looked great on me and that it accentuated my waist. I’m pretty sure it just makes my boobs look huge. Which is probably why Adam likes it so much.
     
    “I figured you would, Mr. I-Play-for-the-New-Orleans-Saints.”
     
    “It’s still so weird to hear that,” he says, smiling hugely.
     
    “Why? It’s not like you were surprised to make the team. You worked your ass off all summer.”
     
    “But. I play for the New Orleans Saints. It still sounds surreal.”
     
    “I guess it does a little,” I say. “I’m used to saying ‘Go Tigers’ not ‘Go Saints.’ It’s nice that they’re the same colors. My black and gold game day wardrobe is still applicable to my life.”
     
    Adam laughs at that and then grabs my suitcase in one hand and my hand in the other. “Come on. Let’s go explore New Orleans.”
     

     
    After I take the last bite of my étouffée, I frown at my plate.
     
    “Didn’t realize that was the last bite?” Adam asked, an amused twinkle in his blue eyes.
     
    “Just sad that it was. That was seriously delicious.”
     
    “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
     
    “I still can’t believe you swung a reservation here at the last minute.”
     
    “It wasn’t really me,” he says. “I might have mentioned it to our press office and they said they’d take care of the reservation. Apparently local restaurants like having Saints players frequent their establishments.”
     
    “I’m sure,” I say, before realizing what else probably goes along with having the press office of a national football team book a table for you. “Wait. Does that mean you have to do press?”
     
    Adam shrugs. “Nobody said anything about it.”
     
    As if on cue, the maî·tre d' comes over with a huge piece of chocolate cake and says, “Compliments of the chef. Mr. Kistler, if you don’t mind, we’d love to get a quick photo of