Page 48 of Trapped and Tackled

“Good, good.” He clasps my shoulder. “You all set for this weekend?”

“Yep. Leni said to swing by to pick her up at six.”

“Good. She’s been…different, these past few days.”

“Has she?” I mutter, wondering where Coach is going with this.

His fingers flex involuntarily on my shoulder, and I clear my throat.

Did Leni tell him I kissed her? Did she say anything about the night we had dinner? Is something else going on that I don’t know about?

And why the fuck do I hate it so much? I’ve always felt comfortable around Coach. I could always count on him to have my back.

But, clearly, not when it comes to his own daughter. His flesh and blood.

I’m out of my element and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.

“Keep an eye on her, Miller. I’m trusting you,” Coach warns, his words slamming into me like a punch to the gut.

“I got it, Coach. Don’t worry.”

He snorts, as if he can’t not worry.

Damn.

“Call me if you need anything. And try to enjoy the weekend.”

“Will do,” I say as he gives me one last, hard squeeze and ambles down the hallway.

I push out an exhale and grip the back of my neck. My thoughts whirl as my stomach tightens. I have no clue what I’m getting into this weekend.

All I know is I’m hung up on Leni Strauss.

Her father would fucking kill me.

To an extent, he can determine the trajectory of my career.

I’d never want to put the guys on my team in a compromising position. But I also can’t get the memory of Leni, the feel of my mouth on hers, out of my mind. I’ve thought about her since the moment she walked out of my condo, an Annabelle’s pie box tucked under her arm.

I’ve gone out of my mind that she kept me on read the past few days, not bothering to reply to my text message.

Up until twenty minutes ago, I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure if I was still going to the lake house this weekend. Like a fool, I hoped I was, and I packed a bag accordingly, tossing it into the back of my SUV before coming to the training facility for a morning workout.

Now, I’m ready to go, with energy buzzing in my limbs and concern spooling in my mind.

The last thing I want to do is go home and kill time, waiting for six p.m.

Fuck that.

Pulling out my phone, I tap out a message.

Me: I’m done early. I’ll be by in twenty.

Three bubbles dance across the bottom of our text thread. Stop. Begin again. Stop.

Leni: Now???

Me: Now. We need to talk, Leni.

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