Trapped and Tackled (Knoxville Coyotes Football #3)

5. Leni

Chapter 5

Leni

“A chaperone?!” I holler.

“Think of it like a buddy,” Dad says soothingly, his palms outstretched like he’s trying to calm a crazy, rabid wildebeest. Which, right now, is not too far off the mark.

“What is this, the eighteen hundreds?” I clap back.

“You haven’t been with this group in a long time,” Mom tries.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve known them all since high school. Hell, some of them since middle school. And I’m an adult. I’m twenty-four! I lived in Manhattan and took the subway and stayed out until sunrise just a year ago.” I wave my arms emphatically.

God, I’m angry. But also…it feels good—normal—to feel something other than…shame. Emptiness. So, I lean into my anger and brandish my hands once more for good measure.

“But now you’re back here,” Dad reminds me, the gentleness gone. “My house?—”

“Maybe I should move out,” I interject.

Dad swears. Mom sighs. And I stew.

But I can’t believe my dad asked one of his players to crash Marlowe’s birthday weekend and be my fucking babysitter. How embarrassing is that?

Plus… “Don’t you think you’re crossing other lines?” I ask Dad.

He lifts an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish that thought.

“One of your players? A weekend away with your daughter?” I point to my chest. “What happened to no dating athletes?”

“Talon would never—” Dad starts.

“It’s Talon Miller?” I shriek. Somehow, this is infinitely worse.

If it was Avery or Cohen, it would truly be like a brother looking out for his sister. Maybe Cohen would even have Raia come along and then it would just be…fun. Awkward, but fun.

Same with Leo Quincy. He would probably orchestrate birthday activities and time us in flip cup or something.

But…Talon Miller? Sexy, distracting, charismatic Talon Miller who seems to see more than what I’m projecting? Who took me for ice cream and made me laugh? Who makes me feel things I have no right feeling?

That’s who my dad picked to babysit me?

“What is wrong with you?” I press.

Dad swears again, more colorfully this time. Then, he tosses his hands in the air and leaves the living room. A second later, the back door closes and I lean against the sofa, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at Mom.

She takes a sip of her tea. “He’s worried about you; we both are.”

“I’m fine,” I say defiantly.

Mom tilts her head, giving me a look. She knows I’m lying but won’t call me on it because she’s letting me have my pride. For this moment anyway.

I sigh and run my fingers over my eyebrows. “I’m fine,” I say again, softer this time.

“I know you are. At least, you will be,” Mom concedes. “Put our minds at ease and bring Talon to the party. No one will care. I bet Marlowe will be thrilled.”

She will be; Mom knows her too well.

“Plus, did you ever think Talon wants to come?” Mom continues.

I give her a look.

“It’s an extra day off for him to have some fun and relax. Swim in a lake and drink a beer. He’s been putting in a lot of extra sessions. Maybe it will be good for him to have a break too.”

I roll my eyes, not wanting to see her point. Besides, the whole arrangement is entirely unconventional. Not to mention unethical. The coach is giving a player an extra day off during preseason so he can chaperone his daughter’s weekend plans?

Before I can toss back a retort, my phone buzzes with an incoming message and my stomach dips.

I pray that it’s not Craig. I haven’t heard from him in a few days and the distance is starting to feel normal. Healthy.

Unknown Number: Hey Sunny Leni, it’s Talon. You free for dinner?

My heart rate ticks up before I bite my bottom lip, embarrassment flooding through me as I realize my father put him up to this.

The man who never wanted me to date a player is now setting me up for a weekend with his star kicker. Not to date me of course, but to keep an eye on me.

The whole arrangement is messed up.

Gripping my phone, I stomp from the living room and blink back the tears in my eyes. This is such a fucking disaster.

In the safety of my bedroom, I slam my door closed and sink to the edge of my bed. Dragging a hand across my eyes, I suck in a breath and read Talon’s message again.

A pity dinner date. Ugh, could I be any more of a loser?

My thumb hovers over the keyboard but I don’t know what to type back. I’m humiliated and frustrated. What do I say to save face?

Before I respond, another message appears.

Unknown Number: I’m craving tacos. Please don’t leave me hanging.

I can’t help the smile that tugs on the corners of my mouth. He’s funny too. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and I like that about him.

Sighing, I save him in my phone and tap out a reply.

Me: Alberto’s?

Talon: Is there anywhere else to eat a taco on a Tuesday?

Me: I’m free.

Talon: I’ll pick you up in thirty.

I confirm by giving his message a thumbs-up. Then, I hug my phone to my chest and drop backward onto my bed. Staring up at the ceiling, I try to regulate my breathing.

This isn’t a date.

It’s nothing. Just…tacos with a football star.

No big deal.

Mom knocks softly on my bedroom door and I sit up just as she enters.

“Leni,” she says, her expression filled with understanding.

“Talon’s picking me up for tacos,” I say before she can add anything else.

Her eyes widen and she smiles. “He is? Well, isn’t that lovely?”

I snort and shake my head, fighting my grin. I’m not sure when “lovely” became Mom’s go-to word but she certainly uses it to temper my emotions.

Mom catches my almost-smile. “It is,” she decides, nodding. “I’ll let you get ready then.” She backs out of my room and closes the door with a soft snick.

Shit! I need to get ready.

Rushing from my bed, I tug open my closet and flip through the hangers. Alberto’s is a low-key taco and tequila kind of spot. And yet, I don’t want to wear cut-off shorts and a T-shirt. But I don’t want to look overdressed either since this dinner date is…nothing.

Biting the corner of my lip, I finally settle on a simple, royal blue maxi dress and gold strappy sandals. I pull my hair back into a low ponytail, apply a minimal amount of makeup, and add some gold hoop earrings. It’s elevated summer casual. I could have come from shopping with Mom.

Pleased with my appearance, I grab a small crossbody purse, stuff my phone and some cash inside, and relocate to the living room.

Relief floods my veins when I spot the note from Mom.

Leni—I took Dad out for dinner! Have fun tonight. Love you, Mom

My mom is the best. I know she got Dad out of the house to save me any more embarrassment. At least now, I won’t have to suffer through Dad and Talon having some awkward exchange about me riding in his car to Alberto’s.

I wait for Talon in the living room and pull my phone out to randomly scroll through social media when a message comes through, stopping me cold.

Craig: Leni, are you ready to talk yet?

My heart rate accelerates at seeing his name. I read his message several times, as if there’s a hidden meaning. Is there?

Craig: You can’t avoid me forever, sweetheart. I know we argued but moving out was a mistake. Breaking up was a mistake.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes as my stomach bottoms out and my heart rushes upward into my throat. My hands begin to shake and the words on the screen swim in front of my eyes.

I should block his number. Hell, I’ve tried to block him. But there’s something about cutting Craig off completely that terrifies me. If I end the channel of communication, will he come for me? If so, I won’t have any warning. I won’t suspect it at all. Somehow, receiving Craig’s messages, being able to assess his mental state, offers a glimmer of reassurance that he’s in New York and not here.

But will he ever move on? Or has my taking a stand become a new challenge for Craig?

Blinking rapidly, I manage to avoid crying.

Outside, a car door closes.

I blink faster, running one palm along the length of my dress.

Why is Craig doing this to me now? Why is he swooping back in right as I’m about to take a step forward?

Nerves skitter through my limbs and a shiver runs down my spine. My thumb hovers over the keyboard of my phone.

If I finally reply, and tell him again that it’s over, will that shut him down for good? Or encourage him to show up in person?

Craig: I need you, baby. Give me the chance to fight for us. Call me.

“Jesus,” I murmur, shocked by his admission.

I need you.

Does he? Can I help him seek help?

No! I shake my head at my thoughts.

The pad of my thumb runs over his name on screen, and I can hear his voice in my mind.

I love you, Leni. I’m gonna make you my wife one day.

I believed him.

I rub the inside of my left wrist, a phantom pain blossoming. Before I can fully recall that night, the doorbell rings and I jump up. My phone falls to the floor, and I swear, bending down to retrieve it.

I clench my hand into a fist to stop the trembling of my fingers.

Get it together, Strauss.

Mentally pep-talking myself, I stash my phone in my purse, straighten my shoulders, and stride to the door. Pulling it open, I’m rendered speechless as Talon turns to face me on the front porch.

He’s wearing light-washed jeans, Nike sneakers, and a paper thin, heather gray V-neck T-shirt. He looks relaxed and comfortable. Confident and gorgeous.

“Hey, Len.” He grins.

“H-hi, Talon,” I sputter, my voice shaking slightly. My grip tightens on my purse.

His eyebrows pull together. “You okay?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah. Yes,” I amend, a forced laugh escaping my throat. I settle the strap of my purse over my shoulder. Against my hip, I feel my phone vibrate with an incoming message.

It takes everything in me not to check it. Is it Craig? Deep down, I know it is. And I know that even though he hasn’t snapped yet, he’s getting close to losing it since I haven’t replied to any of his messages. He’ll know that I’m keeping him on read status and it’ll be a blow to his ego.

A month ago, I wouldn’t dare not answer.

But right now, with Talon standing before me looking somewhat confused and concerned, I force myself to step onto the porch, lock the front door, and push Craig as far from my mind as I can.

Which, admittedly, isn’t very far. But it’s a hell of a lot farther than it was a week ago.

And that’s progress.