Trapped and Tackled (Knoxville Coyotes Football #3)

8. Talon

Chapter 8

Talon

“You cheated!” I accuse as I hit the wall a stroke behind her.

She laughs. “Don’t let Freddy hear you say that. Those are fighting words.”

“Freddy?” I shake my head, pulling off my goggles.

Leni blushes. “It’s what my friends call Dad,” she admits.

My eyebrows lift. “Freddy?” I sputter, unable to see Coach Strauss as anything other than Coach.

Leni giggles, lifting her hand to her mouth sweetly. Innocently.

God, but she’s cute.

Stop flirting with her!

But I can’t because being with Leni, talking and joking and hanging with her, is the most natural I’ve ever felt around a woman. Things with her are…easy. Sometimes, alarmingly so. I find myself sharing things with her that my closest teammates don’t know.

“I beat you fair and square,” she says, pushing her index finger into my chest.

Reaching over the lane divider, I tug her closer. “Fair and square?” I repeat. “Who says things like that?”

She blushes again, deeper this time. Like she’s actually embarrassed. “I do,” is her retort.

I snort and shake my head. “You do,” I agree. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, Len. Name your favorite restaurant. Favorite type of food. Whatever you want.”

She ponders this for a moment. “Do you have any allergies?”

“Nope,” I admit.

“Do you live alone?” Her eyebrows tug together and for a beat, I can’t read her expression.

“I do.”

She sucks in a breath and stares at me for several seconds, a faint blush warming her cheeks.

I wait for her to continue, searching her expression for a clue about what she’s going to say. My gaze drops to her lips and I instantly regret it. Leni’s lips are slightly parted and soft pink—practically begging to be kissed.

“My favorite meal is schnitzel. It’s my grandmother’s recipe and one of the only dishes I make pretty well.” She bites her bottom lip, as if unsure, and I force myself to blink. “I can make it for us. But?—”

“You want to cook dinner for me?” I interrupt, feeling a kick behind my breastbone. No one’s ever cooked for me before. I mean, other than the various foster parents I collected over the years—who mostly did the bare minimum to ensure I was fed—and some team dinners sponsored by a coach or a teammate’s parents. But not counting myself, there’s been no one who has ever made a meal specifically for me.

Leni tugs off her swim cap and clenches it in her fist. Her hair tumbles down, framing her face and draping over her shoulders.

She steels her shoulders and clears her throat, as if shoring up her resolve. “Yes. I’d like to cook for you, Talon.”

I nearly drown in her eyes. My gaze darts between them as if trying to find a hidden motive. Or…something.

Because why would this woman who is lightyears out of my league want to do something…nice for me? Especially after she won the race. The wager.

“Can you come over at seven?” My voice is deeper than it was a minute ago.

Leni nods solemnly.

A moment passes between us and I don’t know how to shut this down. This is more than flirtation. We’re veering into dangerous territory.

I clear my throat and Leni breaks eye contact, glancing down.

“Send me a list of ingredients and?—”

“I’ll bring everything I need,” she says.

“Please, Len,” I mutter, needing to contribute something to one of the kindest gestures I’ve ever received. I’ve never had a woman be so…thoughtful toward me. “Send me a list and I’ll get the ingredients. Okay?”

She glances up, holds my gaze, and nods.

“Okay,” I confirm, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind her shoulder. I wrap the blonde strand around my index finger, studying the different shades of sunshine. Platinum and honey. Gold and champagne.

Shit. What am I doing? Touching her like this. Touching her at all.

“Okay,” I breathe out again, sounding like a damn parrot. I tuck the strand behind her ear, my thumb brushing against her earlobe and pressing against her silver star stud earring. She sucks in a breath and involuntarily leans into my touch. As if she can’t help herself, as if she wants me the same way I want her.

I force myself to drop my hand. Lower my gaze. I need to get out of here. I need to put space between us.

Heaving myself out of the pool, I shake off some of the water. “I better let you get your laps in,” I mutter. “You have my number?” Stupid. I texted her first; of course she has my number.

Leni looks up at me, her eyes tracking up my frame. She bites her bottom lip and my cock stirs to life, my wet swim trunks leaving nothing to the imagination.

Leni’s eyes drop to half-mast and it’s a pure shot of lust. Want. Desire.

Dammit.

“I have your number,” she confirms, a promise lingering in her tone.

I run a palm over my hair. I need to hit the locker room. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, Sunny Leni.”

“Seven p.m.”

“At seven.” I back away from her.

When I’m half a lane away, I force myself to turn around.

Then I shove my way into the locker room and suck in a gulp of oxygen.

I’m playing with fucking fire. And forget getting burned; I’m about to burn down everything I’ve ever worked for.

And still, I can’t wait for dinner tomorrow night.

She wants to cook me dinner.

Callaway: Anyone up for a drink?

I lift an eyebrow, surprised our team captain would want to grab a beer with our second preseason game coming up.

Campbell: A drink?

I chime in for good measure.

Me: Like, a tea?

Quincy: I could go for an espresso.

Gutierrez: You good, Callaway?

Baglione: Quincy, you need a pastry for that espresso?

Campbell: (laughing faces emoji)

Quincy: (middle finger emoji)

Callaway: Corks?

Baglione: Womp. No espresso for Fancypants.

Quincy: Fancypants was serious about the espresso. I’m grabbing one with Harper. See you tomorrow.

I snicker, knowing Leo will have a better conversation with one of his long-time friends, Harper Henderson. They go way back and most likely, Harper’s boyfriend, NHL player Damien Barnes, will join.

Baglione: I’m beat tonight. Sorry, bro.

Gutierrez: My sister’s in town. Taking her for dinner.

Campbell: Don’t get pissy ? —

Callaway: Not one word about my sister.

I laugh louder. Cohen Campbell going after little Raia Callaway was a flea flicker no one saw coming. The fact that Callaway is cool with it is even more shocking. But I guess on some level, having your best friend, the guy you trust the most, date your sister isn’t the worst thing in the world. At least Avery knows Cohen worships Raia and will always treat her like a treasure.

Me: I’ll meet you, Callaway.

Callaway: 20 minutes.

Me: See you there.

I place my phone on the kitchen island and move toward my bedroom. I change quickly, having already showered after the pool. Since I returned from swimming, I’ve been in a head fog, wondering how badly I’m messing up my future—my game—by tangling up with Leni. Even though it’s innocent.

Nothing happened.

I mean, a few glances at her lips and now…dinner.

God, what am I thinking?

The only thing I have in my life is football. As the kicker, my mental focus is nearly paramount to my physical endurance. My skills on the field are largely connected to the headspace I cultivate.

And right now, with preseason games and intense media coverage, with the Coyotes making cuts left and right, it’s imperative that I keep my head in the game. Literally.

All I can think about is Leni making me dinner tomorrow night. Schnitzel. A family recipe.

I didn’t even know what the fuck a schnitzel was until I met the Strauss family. They’re all cultured and well-traveled and I’m…trying to fucking survive and keep my position in the process.

Avery’s message is a welcome distraction. Knowing that I can hang with him instead of alone in my condo is a reprieve I’m grateful for.

Tossing on shorts and a shirt, I slide into sandals and grab my wallet and keys. Then, I drive to Corks, post up at the bar, and order two beers.

Avery arrives a few minutes later, grinning when he sees me.

“Ballsy,” he comments, jutting his chin toward the Heineken.

“We don’t have to finish them,” I admit, knowing he doesn’t drink heavily during preseason. Hell, neither do I. But tonight…tonight I need the distraction of a cold beer too.

Avery chuckles and takes the stool next to mine.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He shrugs, taps his pint against mine, and takes a swig. “Honestly? I had to get out of my house.”

I sigh. “Same.”

Avery lifts an eyebrow. “I think I have a fucking stalker.”

“What?” I snort, shaking my head as the beer I was about to swallow burns the back of my nose. “A stalker?”

“Fuck, bro,” Avery groans.

“Is it the Sports Illustrated MILF?” I wonder, recalling an older woman Avery was hooking up with.

“No. This is even worse. She’s one of Raia’s teammate’s sisters.” He takes a swig of his beer, frowning. “Older sister, too.”

“Huh?”

Avery shakes his head, looking confused. “She’s gotta be twenty-six. Twenty-seven.”

“Are you worried? Is she…threatening?”

“No, nothing like that.” He waves a hand. “She came to a few of the open practices and…shit, I don’t know. She must have gotten my address from her sister and…she’s been fucking everywhere. Today, I’m certain I saw her in the lobby of my building. And then, again tonight, at the coffee shop on the corner by my place.”

“That’s strange.”

“What’s strange is she doesn’t give off enamored, I-have-a-crush-on-an-athlete vibes. It’s more like she’s…curious. Or, conducting research or something.”

“What do you mean?” I frown. I’ve never heard of a stalker like this.

“I feel like she’s watching me, or interested, but it’s…clinical somehow. I don’t get the feeling that she’s trying to hook-up or anything like that.”

“Huh.” I take a swig of my beer, speechless.

He shakes his head. “It’s the weirdest thing. But she seems like a cool woman. I mean, she’s harmless. The whole thing is just…different.”

“Right.”

“I just wanted out of my place.” He tips his beer toward me. “What’s your excuse?”

I shrug. “Just gotta get out of my head.”

“What are you caught up on?”

“Leni Strauss,” I admit.

Avery rears back, his expression morphing from one of nonchalance to downright concern. “Are you fucking kidding?” he hisses. “Coach’s daughter!”

“It’s not like that,” I backpedal, mentally swearing at myself for being so goddamn careless. But she is at the forefront of my mind and…I don’t understand why. I don’t get what the hell is transpiring between us. “Coach asked me to look out for her.”

Avery’s eyebrows pull together. “He did?”

“Yeah. And…she’s a cool woman too, you know?”

“Yeah, I fucking know that.” Avery watches me closely, as if he’s reading between the lines. But there’s nothing to read. I’m grappling, spilling my thoughts, as they pop into my mind.

I shrug. “She’s a friend.”

“A friend,” Avery repeats.

I take a pull of my beer. I need to steer this conversation in a different direction. And fast. “But after meeting some of her friends, I get why Coach is worried.”

Avery leans closer, as if pulled by the edge in my tone. “You think something’s wrong?”

I bite my bottom lip, considering his words. “I don’t know. But there’s something there…something that isn’t adding up.” The way she looks like she’s holding herself together. Her sudden return to Knoxville from New York—which Coach said was her dream when she first accepted an internship there. Her reaction to her best friend’s boyfriend, Toby. And…the way I’m drawn to her. The protectiveness she evokes from me. “There’s…something.” I’m not making any damn sense.

Avery hangs his head, partially in defeat. “Yeah.” He looks back up. “Just make sure the something stays in your fucking pants.”

I stare at him, getting his warning loud and clear.

Don’t fuck around with Coach’s kid. I get it.

But I don’t bother refuting his assumption. Because there is something between Leni and me. Something I shouldn’t want and yet desire. Something I shouldn’t feel but am still leaning into.

It’s just dinner. Nothing’s happened. I haven’t crossed a line.

Yet.

At the look in Avery’s eyes, I know he knows it too. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Use your head, Miller. Don’t throw away everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve earned…”

“I’m not,” I say softly, spinning my pint glass in between my palms. “I’m just looking out for her. That’s it.”

“Yeah.” Avery snorts. “I’ve heard that before.”

I’m sure he has. And still, his warning doesn’t deter me. Not the way it should.

His conversation doesn’t distract me.

I still spend the rest of the night thinking about Leni and our dinner tomorrow night. Even though it’s all wrong.

Even though I know better.