Page 15 of Trapped and Tackled

Talon

“What are your plans now that you’re back?” I blurt out the question as she places a spoonful of pralines-and-cream ice cream between her plump lips.

Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth, a bit of ice cream falling to the corner of her bottom lip. “I—sorry, what?”

She’s cute when she’s flustered. Using my thumb to swipe away the bit of ice cream, I repeat my question.

Leni clears her throat, glancing around uncertainly. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed her looking lost—anxious—and usually in response to general questions. “I met with the women who organize the debutante ball today.”

I tilt my head, waiting for more of an explanation. “The debutante ball?”

She flushes. “Yes. It’s an annual coming-out party for women of age.”

“Huh?” I mutter. “Like, some nineteenth-century shit?”

She snorts, rubbing the tip of her nose. “Kind of. But not.” She shakes her head. “I’m explaining this terribly. Historically speaking, yes, a debutante ball was when a woman of marrying age entered society and let suitors know she was ready for marriage. But today, it’s more focused on women’s empowerment, philanthropy for notable charities, and continuing traditions that foster community. Here in Knoxville, well, it’s Southern,” she tacks on, making me smirk.

“I figured.”

Leni chuckles and her shoulders drop an inch. It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen her, with pink dotting her cheeks and her cerulean eyes glowing. She looks beautiful. Breathtaking.

Off-fucking-limits.

I clear my throat. “So, you met with the women who organize it?”

“Yes,” she continues, nodding. “My mom arranged for me to join the organizing committee. Back in New York, I worked in event planning. Now that I’m home, trying to figure things out, Mom thought this would be a step in the right direction.”

“What do you think?” I wonder.

She bites the corner of her lip. “I was worried I’d fail at it,” she murmurs quietly. Honestly. It cuts me up how damn willing she is to make herself vulnerable and admit the truth. It’s something I’d never fucking do. “But I think it is a step forward. I need to do something, right?” She looks to me and for a second, it’s as if she’s seeking my confirmation.

“If this is what you want to do, then I’m sure you’ll make it a huge success,” I say easily. Truthfully. I don’t doubt that Leni takes her career seriously. Coach always said she was studious and disciplined. Seeing her swim laps, listening to her admit her fears, confirms that.

“I hope so,” she sighs, taking another bite of ice cream. “What about you? How are you feeling about preseason?”

The subject change to football is common ground. Not to mention, a safe topic.

As I tell her about training camp and we talk about the team, I note three things.

One, she’s easy to talk to. A hell of a lot easier than most women I’ve conversed with.

Two, she’s skittish. Unsure of herself, which is at odds with everything Coach has shared about her. But it’s clear she’s trying to find her way.

And three, I need to stay the hell away from Sunny Leni. Because the more she talks, the more I find myself falling into her deep blue eyes. Thinking about how silky her hair would feel against my fingertips. And wondering what her lips taste like.

It goes against everything I believe in—loyalty. The only thing I own is my name and I’ve committed that name to Coach Strauss and the Coyotes.

The last thing I need is to crush on Coach’s untouchable daughter.

“You wanted to see me, Coach?” I walk into Coach Strauss’s office after a grueling day at camp. My body aches, soreness wrapping around my quads and shooting all the way down my legs. And I’m famished.

But Callaway told me Coach wanted a word before I head out for the night, and while my initial response was confusion, I’m now concerned.

Did Leni tell him about running into me at the pool? Does he think our grabbing an ice cream is more than what it is? Is he going to warn me to stay away from his daughter?

This is why I don’t do this shit. There’s no time for distractions. Or confusion about where my loyalty lies. There’s the team and that’s it.

“Ah, Miller. Come on in.” Coach beckons to the chair in front of his desk.

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