Page 83 of Trapped and Tackled

“And tomorrow is the big night.”

“Yes!” I snuggle deeper into his arms. “I’m really excited for this event. I just hope it all goes smoothly.”

“It’s going to be great.” Talon releases me and takes my hand to pull me deeper into his living room. “Sit with me for a minute. Catch me up.”

We lean back on the couch, turning toward each other. Between the start of football season and the approaching deb ball, I’ve barely seen him. We steal moments whenever we can and try to eat dinner together at least one night a week, but it’s been tough.

I may be on cloud nine in my personal life, but living under Dad’s roof hasn’t been a picnic. He oscillates between ignoring me and trying to pick a fight with me by making condescending, Talon-related comments.

At least, he was. Over the past few days, it seems like he’s starting to come around.

Raia told me that Dad threatened to freaking bench Talon for the first game, which was insane—the Coyotes don’t have another kicker.

The fact that Talon didn’t blink twice aggravated my father further, which Mom found amusing.

However, as the debutante ball approaches and Dad sees how supportive and helpful Talon’s been, his coldness toward Talon is beginning to thaw.

He asked me twice if Talon is attending the ball on Friday night. He even grunted, begrudgingly and with a modicum of respect, after the second time I confirmed Talon’s attendance.

That, coupled with the way Mom’s been singing Talon’s praises—he helped her garden last week—is forcing Dad to realize that Talon and me being together is for real.

This isn’t a rebellious phase on my part, and this isn’t Talon trying to pull one over on the Coach either.

“The events this week have been good. Adeline’s been enjoying everything. I don’t know what is going on with Marlowe’s family; to be honest, I don’t think she does either. But her mom didn’t show up to the Mother-Daughter tea yesterday.”

“Shit,” Talon whispers, his eyes widening.

“Adi was okay,” I rush to explain, placing a hand on his forearm. “Marlowe came instead.”

“That’s good.” Talon pulls me into his lap. “I missed you.”

“Me too.” I snuggle deeper. “Great game in Buffalo.”

I feel the curve of his smile against the back of my neck. “You tuned in?”

“I watch all the games.” I point to myself. “Coach’s daughter.”

Talon snorts. “Don’t remind me.”

I turn in his arms, straddle him, and kiss him hard.

“How much time do we have?” he asks, sliding his fingers though my hair and holding the back of my neck.

“Just enough,” I assure him, pressing my mouth back to his.

“Do you want to see my tuxedo first?” he asks, grinding against me.

“You got one?” I ask, surprised by his thoughtfulness. While there is a formal dress code, I didn’t want to pressure Talon into obtaining a tuxedo and make him feel uncomfortable.

“Wait ‘til you see me in it…” He trails kisses down my neck.

“I want to see.” I push against him gently, not wanting to end this moment but also curious to see him in his tuxedo.

He chuckles, drawing up the hem of my shirt. “I’ll surprise you, baby,” he replies, his eyes flashing. Then, he wastes no time, turning us so I’m lying on my back and he’s hovering over me. His eyes hold mine—deep and brimming with sincerity—and my heart beats a little faster.

“What is it?” I wonder.

He shakes his head once, a small smile playing over his lips. “I love you, Leni Strauss.” He admits it on an exhale before dipping his head and kissing me softly. “I love you so damn much.”

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