Page 79 of Trapped and Tackled

I can barely move when I let myself into my condo. My body is sore, and I’m exhausted after a grueling day of practice.

But the delicious scent of garlic and eggplant greets me and knowing that Leni is here eases some of my discomfort.

She comes out of the kitchen when she hears me. “How was it?” she asks, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

I hold my arms out to the sides, and she falls into them. “Nothing I can’t handle,” I assure her.

Just hugging her makes me feel better.

I tug on the end of her ponytail and her face meets mine. Grinning, I drop my mouth to hers to brush a kiss over her irresistible lips. “It smells good.”

Leni blushes. “I hope you like dinner.”

“I’m just happy to see you, Len.”

She threads our fingers together to lead me toward the kitchen. I love having her here, seeing her in my space. She moves around the kitchen with ease, and I note the fresh flowers in a vase on the dining table. It makes me grin.

My space has been sparse for a long time. I never saw the point in decorating or getting a bunch of shit I don’t need. In one day, Leni’s managed to make it feel more like a home than a space I sleep at. And I like that too—it makes me wonder what it will look like, how it will feel, a few months from now.

“Was Dad awful?” She dishes some pasta into two bowls.

“No,” I snort, shaking my head. I don’t tell her that Coach definitely ramped up my conditioning. Or that my teammates noticed. I don’t want to upset her or give her one more thing to worry about.

Instead, I want to enjoy dinner with her, curl up on the couch, and hold her close.

“Everything was fine. I just want to enjoy my time with you,” I say, grabbing the salad bowl as we relocate to the dining table.

“Tell me about your day. What’d you do?” I ask once we’re seated.

Leni beams. “I called my sister.”

“You did? How is Lincoln?”

“She’s great!” Leni proceeds to tell me about Lincoln, about grocery shopping with her mom, about Marlowe and the upcoming debutante ball.

I hang onto every word she shares. I love the details that color her stories—like the little boy who picked her a flower at the farmer’s market. I love the way her eyes dance when she laughs—sky blue mixed with the Caribbean. I could sit and stare at her all day, feeling grateful to be swept up in her orbit.

Again, I understand what some of my teammates tried to tell me last season.

When you find the right woman, everything else pales in comparison. Even football.

After dinner, I wash the dishes. Leni argues with me, but I shake my head.

“You cooked, I clean,” I remind her. Instead, I pour her a glass of wine and ask her to keep me company.

She does, sipping her wine slowly, while perched on the edge of the countertop, her legs swinging.

After I stow away the last pot, I step between her thighs and place my palms down on the outside of her hips. “I wish you could spend the night with me.”

“Me too,” she admits, placing down her wine glass and winding her arms around my neck. “I wish I could spend every night with you.”

She kisses me softly and I grasp the backs of her thighs, lifting her easily. As Leni deepens our connection, I relocate us to my bedroom.

I lay her down in the center of my bed and stand to yank off my shirt. I toss it on the floor before dropping over Leni.

She wraps her arms around me again, pulling me closer until our lips meet. When her legs encircle my waist, I roll us over until my back meets the mattress and she straddles me.

I hold her hips, staring up at her. God, she’s gorgeous.

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