Page 34 of Trapped and Tackled

“H-hi,” I sputter.

A slow smile cuts his gorgeous face. “Sunny Leni.” He steps back and gestures me inside. “Welcome.”

My gaze darts around his place, noting how clean the space is. The table is set for two, with folded navy napkins and two wine glasses.

“I brought wine,” I say, noting the glasses.

Talon grins. “I have some too.”

I dip my head in acknowledgement.

“But,” he continues. “I can only have a glass or so.”

“Preseason.” I know all the rules by heart. Dad doesn’t put any alcohol consumption limits on his players but he certainly lets them know that he expects them to carry themselves a certain way—with professionalism—and represent the team in a positive light. He always said that by not having too many restrictions, the players generally do things in moderation.

“Yep,” Talon agrees, reaching forward to take my shoulder bag from me.

“Oof, this is heavy,” he mutters.

“The wine,” I admit.

Talon reaches into my bag and removes the bottle, padding toward his kitchen. I follow after him, my eyes darting around his place, looking for clues into his life.

There aren’t any.

The walls are white, the furniture simple, and the space tidy. But there’s no framed photos or artwork on the wall. No knickknacks on the shelves. Not even a worn paperback on the coffee table.

“Have you lived here long?” I wonder as we enter the kitchen.

“About three years,” he admits, surprising me.

Talon places my bag on the kitchen island and turns toward me, his palms open. “Put me to work. I’m ready to learn.”

His eagerness to cook with me puts me at ease instantly. Craig hated being in the kitchen. He never cooked anything and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t know how to boil water.

“All right,” I say. “Let’s start with the ingredients.”

Talon pulls everything out of the refrigerator and lines the ingredients up on the kitchen counter. I wash my hands and survey everything he’s purchased for our schnitzel, potatoes, and cucumber salad.

Talon pours us two glasses of wine from the bottle of red he’d already purchased and presses play on a playlist. “Here.” He passes me a glass.

I look up, taking in the uncertainty lined in his expression.

He’s always so confident. So relaxed and sure of himself. The fact that he’s not relaxes me further. We’re both navigating the unknown. Together.

I don’t know what we’re doing; all I know is it feels right.

I feel…better…in his presence.

“Thank you.”

He holds his glass up. “To you, Leni. To your new beginning.”

I shake my head. “To your season, Talon.”

He smirks and we clink glasses and drink.

Then, I explain how we’re going to bread and fry the meat and set Talon up chopping cucumbers for the salad. Our conversation flows easily as we prepare dinner, sip our wine, and trade stories.

---