Page 37 of Trapped and Tackled

Talon

“I got it,” I tell Leni as she begins clearing the table.

“We’ll do it together,” she assures me, stacking our plates. “It will be faster. Plus, you have an early morning tomorrow.”

She’s not kidding. Tomorrow is an intense practice day as the team prepares for our game against Dallas.

I follow Leni into the kitchen, and we clean up quickly. Then, I grab two plates and forks, carefully balancing the Annabelle’s pie box on top, before we head back to the table for dessert.

“I can’t believe you’re eating pie.” She points at me accusingly.

“Don’t tell Freddy,” I joke back.

Leni grins, leaning against the edge of the table. “Secret’s safe with me. I didn’t tell Dad I was coming here tonight.”

I had wondered about that but didn’t want to ask. Hearing her voice it fills me with both relief and disappointment, which is confusing as hell.

Knowing I have Leni’s number and took her for tacos is one thing. Inviting her to my home to cook me dinner and share a buttermilk pie from Annabelle’s is different and Coach would know it. Hell, Avery already implied as much.

And yet, I hate that she would be embarrassed to tell her Dad she was having dinner with me. There’s no man I admire more than Coach Strauss and I wish he could look at me and see more than the Coyotes kicker and a kid with a chip on his shoulder.

“Talon?” Leni asks, gently touching my forearm.

Shit. I shake my head. Force a grin. “Yeah.” I grip the back of my neck and shrug. “Probably a good thing, huh?”

She shuffles closer half a step. Her hand lifts to my hip and the second she touches me, my body locks down. But her eyes are wary—hopeful and uncertain—when they meet mine. “Did you want me to tell Dad? Does this… I don’t want to make things harder for you. With football,” she clarifies.

Somehow, her concern makes it fucking worse. The fact that she cares, the fact that she knows enough about the game, about the team, makes me feel like an ass. And I don’t know why.

“No, I know,” I murmur.

Leni’s fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt and I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arm around her waist, placing my palm in the small of her back.

“Leni.” What am I going to say? What the hell do I want to say?

Her big eyes plead with me…for what? Her chest heaves, as if she’s nervous or…expectant.

Heat sparks between us, shimmering brightly.

“What does this mean, Talon?” She’s so damn honest. So fucking vulnerable and it’s as endearing as it is terrifying.

“I don’t know, Len,” I admit truthfully. My other hand lifts in slow motion, cupping her cheek.

She leans into my touch and I feel it everywhere. Her trust is like a live wire to my fucking nervous system. My thumb brushes over her soft skin and I work a swallow. Dragging my thumb down her cheek, I nudge her chin upward, force her to give me her eyes.

And God, they are brilliant. Desire swirls with hope and I stop thinking.

I stop questioning.

I lose my edge, fuck my focus, and drop my mouth to Leni’s.

The first brush of my lips with hers is sweeter than any buttermilk pie I’ve ever tasted. Even Annabelle’s.

The tiniest gasp of surprise falls from Leni’s mouth and I’m about to pull away when her other hand fists the front of my shirt. She pulls me closer, flush against her body, and I drop one hand to brace it against the table she’s pinned against.

Angling my mouth, I deepen our kiss. When Leni’s lips part, I slip my tongue inside to meet hers. And it’s like fireworks detonate in my head.

Kissing Leni is all color and spark. Promise and purpose.

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