Page 66 of Trapped and Tackled

Leni’s already waiting on the side. “Beat ya.”

“You’re a fucking cheater.” I laugh.

She smirks. “That was some free fall.”

“Yeah,” I say, getting lost in those cerulean eyes. “It was.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon in the lazy river. I drink a beer, she sips a mojito, and we talk about everything and nothing.

Football and event planning.

She tells me how one day, she wants to be a wedding planner and I can see it. Easily.

I tell her I’m happy she’s home and I mean it. Her being here has changed the game for me. I just don’t know how yet.

Because while I’ve dropped some breadcrumbs, hoping she’ll open up and tell me about Craig, about New York, about the real reason she’s back in Tennessee, she hasn’t said a word.

Instead, I’ve gotten her bright blue eyes. Her laughter and her light.

By the time we arrive back at the hotel, I realize I’m smitten.

And I want it all with Leni Strauss.

The good, the bad, and the ugly.

“Want to go out for dinner?” I ask after she blow-dries her hair.

“Honestly, I’m pretty beat. Want to order room service?”

“Sure,” I agree.

Leni grins and flops back on the bed. “I wish we didn’t have to go home tomorrow.”

“This was a pretty epic escape.”

“Did you have a good day off?” she asks, propping herself up on an elbow.

“The best day,” I agree, taking a seat next to her. The bed dips under my weight.

Leni’s wearing a linen, white button-down shirt with a plunging neckline and short cotton shorts. She looks comfortable and at ease.

Meanwhile, I’m starting to feel like the clock is running down.

It’s been a whirlwind of a weekend and even though it’s only two days, I feel like so much has transpired between us. I’ve finally admitted that the way I feel about Coach’s daughter is legit. I’m not willing to squander it, and I know I need to come clean about my feelings to Leni.

But I want her to trust me back. I want her to confide in me. I want her to tell me about Craig.

And still, she hasn’t uttered a word.

If we return to Knoxville tomorrow without addressing this unknown elephant in the room, what will happen? Will we continue to skirt around each other?

I fucking hate that, especially after spending these endless hours with her. Hell, I held her throughout the night. I can’t exactly pretend that shit didn’t happen. Or worse, doesn’t mean anything.

“I’m going to call an order in,” she says, scanning the menu. “What are you in the mood for?”

“A burger and fries,” I say, rattling off my go-to room service order.

She calls in our dinner. After hanging up, she turns to me and asks, “Now what?”

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