Page 30 of Trapped and Tackled

“Can you come over at seven?” My voice is deeper than it was a minute ago.

Leni nods solemnly.

A moment passes between us and I don’t know how to shut this down. This is more than flirtation. We’re veering into dangerous territory.

I clear my throat and Leni breaks eye contact, glancing down.

“Send me a list of ingredients and?—”

“I’ll bring everything I need,” she says.

“Please, Len,” I mutter, needing to contribute something to one of the kindest gestures I’ve ever received. I’ve never had a woman be so…thoughtful toward me. “Send me a list and I’ll get the ingredients. Okay?”

She glances up, holds my gaze, and nods.

“Okay,” I confirm, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind her shoulder. I wrap the blonde strand around my index finger, studying the different shades of sunshine. Platinum and honey. Gold and champagne.

Shit. What am I doing? Touching her like this. Touching her at all.

“Okay,” I breathe out again, sounding like a damn parrot. I tuck the strand behind her ear, my thumb brushing against her earlobe and pressing against her silver star stud earring. She sucks in a breath and involuntarily leans into my touch. As if she can’t help herself, as if she wants me the same way I want her.

I force myself to drop my hand. Lower my gaze. I need to get out of here. I need to put space between us.

Heaving myself out of the pool, I shake off some of the water. “I better let you get your laps in,” I mutter. “You have my number?” Stupid. I texted her first; of course she has my number.

Leni looks up at me, her eyes tracking up my frame. She bites her bottom lip and my cock stirs to life, my wet swim trunks leaving nothing to the imagination.

Leni’s eyes drop to half-mast and it’s a pure shot of lust. Want. Desire.

Dammit.

“I have your number,” she confirms, a promise lingering in her tone.

I run a palm over my hair. I need to hit the locker room. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, Sunny Leni.”

“Seven p.m.”

“At seven.” I back away from her.

When I’m half a lane away, I force myself to turn around.

Then I shove my way into the locker room and suck in a gulp of oxygen.

I’m playing with fucking fire. And forget getting burned; I’m about to burn down everything I’ve ever worked for.

And still, I can’t wait for dinner tomorrow night.

She wants to cook me dinner.

Callaway: Anyone up for a drink?

I lift an eyebrow, surprised our team captain would want to grab a beer with our second preseason game coming up.

Campbell: A drink?

I chime in for good measure.

Me: Like, a tea?

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