Page 31 of Trapped and Tackled

Quincy: I could go for an espresso.

Gutierrez: You good, Callaway?

Baglione: Quincy, you need a pastry for that espresso?

Campbell: (laughing faces emoji)

Quincy: (middle finger emoji)

Callaway: Corks?

Baglione: Womp. No espresso for Fancypants.

Quincy: Fancypants was serious about the espresso. I’m grabbing one with Harper. See you tomorrow.

I snicker, knowing Leo will have a better conversation with one of his long-time friends, Harper Henderson. They go way back and most likely, Harper’s boyfriend, NHL player Damien Barnes, will join.

Baglione: I’m beat tonight. Sorry, bro.

Gutierrez: My sister’s in town. Taking her for dinner.

Campbell: Don’t get pissy?—

Callaway: Not one word about my sister.

I laugh louder. Cohen Campbell going after little Raia Callaway was a flea flicker no one saw coming. The fact that Callaway is cool with it is even more shocking. But I guess on some level, having your best friend, the guy you trust the most, date your sister isn’t the worst thing in the world. At least Avery knows Cohen worships Raia and will always treat her like a treasure.

Me: I’ll meet you, Callaway.

Callaway: 20 minutes.

Me: See you there.

I place my phone on the kitchen island and move toward my bedroom. I change quickly, having already showered after the pool. Since I returned from swimming, I’ve been in a head fog, wondering how badly I’m messing up my future—my game—by tangling up with Leni. Even though it’s innocent.

Nothing happened.

I mean, a few glances at her lips and now…dinner.

God, what am I thinking?

The only thing I have in my life is football. As the kicker, my mental focus is nearly paramount to my physical endurance. My skills on the field are largely connected to the headspace I cultivate.

And right now, with preseason games and intense media coverage, with the Coyotes making cuts left and right, it’s imperative that I keep my head in the game. Literally.

All I can think about is Leni making me dinner tomorrow night. Schnitzel. A family recipe.

I didn’t even know what the fuck a schnitzel was until I met the Strauss family. They’re all cultured and well-traveled and I’m…trying to fucking survive and keep my position in the process.

Avery’s message is a welcome distraction. Knowing that I can hang with him instead of alone in my condo is a reprieve I’m grateful for.

Tossing on shorts and a shirt, I slide into sandals and grab my wallet and keys. Then, I drive to Corks, post up at the bar, and order two beers.

Avery arrives a few minutes later, grinning when he sees me.

“Ballsy,” he comments, jutting his chin toward the Heineken.

“We don’t have to finish them,” I admit, knowing he doesn’t drink heavily during preseason. Hell, neither do I. But tonight…tonight I need the distraction of a cold beer too.

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