Page 53 of Trapped and Tackled

“I’m partial to pilsners, particularly Beck’s,” I share.

Talon smirks. “I’ll make a note of that.” He wraps an arm around my waist and I lean closer, as if pulled by a magnet.

“Y’all are cute together,” Marlowe comments.

I straighten from her words, tension trickling through my body.

Is anyone taking photos tonight? Will Dad see them and wonder why Talon and I seem so comfortable around each other? Is Talon?—

“Thanks,” he says easily, taking another pull of his beer. He isn’t bothered by Marlowe’s observation. In fact, his hand splays wider on my lower back, his pinky slipping slightly underneath the band of my jeans.

Marlowe gives me a look and I roll my lips together to keep from cheesing too damn hard.

I have no idea what Talon and I are doing. It’s a delicate dance. A little push, a little pull. But it’s exciting and exhilarating. It’s a breath of fresh air after the shit Craig put me through. And I want to enjoy it.

The sound of a boat engine pulls our attention, and we all turn toward the dock as Toby drives up. The guys on the boat are rowdy, much drunker than the rest of us hanging on the deck, and a sheen of panic slips across Marlowe’s expression.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, stepping toward the dock.

“Let us know if you need backup,” Talon offers, correctly reading the situation.

Not for the first time, I’m relieved, hell, maybe even a little grateful, that Dad insisted he come along this weekend.

Talon’s arm tightens around me and I shuffle closer, resting my head against his strong chest.

“She can do better than him,” he echoes my thoughts.

“Much better,” I agree before glancing up at him. “Thank you for coming with me, Talon. I know this isn’t how you’d want to spend a day off but?—”

“I’m right where I want to be, Leni,” he says sweetly. Seriously. One side of his mouth tugs upward and he leans down to drop a kiss to the crown of my head.

We stand like that for a while, watching the guys get off the boat. Noting the argument that erupts between Marlowe and Toby—wild gesticulating and him stalking away. The scent of barbecue pulls my attention and Talon jumps in, offering to help with the grill.

The guys that kept their distance when we first arrived begin to approach him. And he’s so damn cool. Easygoing and charming. Guys laugh like they’ve been friends with him for years, and women smile at him with hearts in their eyes.

But I notice how he keeps the conversation at the surface level. I note how he doesn’t offer anything about himself, sticking to funny stories that contain no personal details. He doesn’t break off into deeper one-on-one conversations with anyone, preferring to flip burgers and address the group at large.

Some people ask him for a selfie, which he poses for easily, even pulling me into a few.

There’s music and laughter. Beer and shots of vodka.

And when I look at Talon, there’s a tug that doesn’t exist with anyone else. There’s a connection, an understanding, something more, that causes butterflies to beat their delicate wings in the center of my chest and makes me smile with hearts in my eyes.

When Talon smiles back, I note them in his too.

As the night continues, the rowdiness increases. Toby’s friends from the boat are wildly drunk, hard liquor flowing through their veins. As a group of women—one I recognize from high school—doubles down on a game of beer pong, they begin to catch up.

Someone starts a bonfire and marshmallows are roasted, squished between graham crackers with chocolate to make s’mores. Sticky fingers and swaying hair, an inky, starlit sky, and the gentle ripple of the lake. Mosquitos are kept at bay by tiki torches and citronella candles. The scent wafts in the air, mixing with beer, perfume, and the heavy tanginess of summertime.

“Have you seen Marlowe?” I ask Talon as he takes a swig of water from a plastic bottle. He nursed a beer for most of the day and swapped his one pint for water when he started barbecuing.

He scans the backyard before shaking his head. “Not for a while.”

I tilt my head toward the house, something twisting in my gut. I can’t put my finger on what it is but it’s strange that I haven’t seen her in hours. A few years ago, I would have assumed that she and Toby wandered off to have some alone time, but Toby just shotgunned a beer and is daring a friend to dive off the deck into the lake. What a fucking tool. “I’m going to check on her.” I point toward the back entrance of the house, where drunk friends spill out, clinging to each other and laughing hysterically.

For a beat, they remind me of me and Marlowe. Or me and my sister. Nostalgia hits me square in the chest and I wonder if I’ll ever have that carefree, live-in-the-moment, giggling hard rush with either of them again.

“I’ll come with you,” Talon offers.

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