Trapped and Tackled (Knoxville Coyotes Football #3)

9. Leni

Chapter 9

Leni

I texted Talon a list of ingredients early this morning.

He responded with a green check mark, letting me know he picked up everything we need.

God, I’m nervous. I drag my palms over my denim skirt. I paired it with a sage green bodysuit and plain white sneakers. But riding the elevator up to Talon’s place has my heart in my throat and my fingers clutching at the stiff denim.

The only man I’ve ever cooked for was Craig, and we were living together. It was one of Craig’s expectations and I carried out my duties well, fulfilling every whim he had. And it still wasn’t enough.

But tonight, I want to cook for Talon. I want to spend time with him, away from any watching eyes.

He’s the last man I should date. Not that this is a date or anything.

And still, my heart flutters like butterfly wings against my rib cage, and that trickle of nervous anticipation I used to relish drips down my spine.

Could it be a date? Are we really friends? Or is there potential for more?

When the elevator arrives at his floor, I let out a deep exhale, fix the front pieces of my hair that have fallen out of my loose braid, and hitch my purse that contains a bottle of wine, higher on my shoulder. Then, I stride to Talon’s door and knock twice.

He pulls it open a heartbeat later and my eyes widen.

He’s dressed casually, in a pair of ripped jeans and a black T-shirt that hugs his biceps, making them pop. His feet are bare, his stance relaxed as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

“H-hi,” I sputter.

A slow smile cuts his gorgeous face. “Sunny Leni.” He steps back and gestures me inside. “Welcome.”

My gaze darts around his place, noting how clean the space is. The table is set for two, with folded navy napkins and two wine glasses.

“I brought wine,” I say, noting the glasses.

Talon grins. “I have some too.”

I dip my head in acknowledgement.

“But,” he continues. “I can only have a glass or so.”

“Preseason.” I know all the rules by heart. Dad doesn’t put any alcohol consumption limits on his players but he certainly lets them know that he expects them to carry themselves a certain way—with professionalism—and represent the team in a positive light. He always said that by not having too many restrictions, the players generally do things in moderation.

“Yep,” Talon agrees, reaching forward to take my shoulder bag from me.

“Oof, this is heavy,” he mutters.

“The wine,” I admit.

Talon reaches into my bag and removes the bottle, padding toward his kitchen. I follow after him, my eyes darting around his place, looking for clues into his life.

There aren’t any.

The walls are white, the furniture simple, and the space tidy. But there’s no framed photos or artwork on the wall. No knickknacks on the shelves. Not even a worn paperback on the coffee table.

“Have you lived here long?” I wonder as we enter the kitchen.

“About three years,” he admits, surprising me.

Talon places my bag on the kitchen island and turns toward me, his palms open. “Put me to work. I’m ready to learn.”

His eagerness to cook with me puts me at ease instantly. Craig hated being in the kitchen. He never cooked anything and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t know how to boil water.

“All right,” I say. “Let’s start with the ingredients.”

Talon pulls everything out of the refrigerator and lines the ingredients up on the kitchen counter. I wash my hands and survey everything he’s purchased for our schnitzel, potatoes, and cucumber salad.

Talon pours us two glasses of wine from the bottle of red he’d already purchased and presses play on a playlist. “Here.” He passes me a glass.

I look up, taking in the uncertainty lined in his expression.

He’s always so confident. So relaxed and sure of himself. The fact that he’s not relaxes me further. We’re both navigating the unknown. Together.

I don’t know what we’re doing; all I know is it feels right.

I feel…better…in his presence.

“Thank you.”

He holds his glass up. “To you, Leni. To your new beginning.”

I shake my head. “To your season, Talon.”

He smirks and we clink glasses and drink.

Then, I explain how we’re going to bread and fry the meat and set Talon up chopping cucumbers for the salad. Our conversation flows easily as we prepare dinner, sip our wine, and trade stories.

By the time we sit down to eat, I’m relaxed and relieved.

And Talon is looking at me like I’m the first woman he’s ever truly seen. Which makes no damn sense but makes me feel special. Desired.

And it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything close that I don’t want this night—this dinner—to end.

I watch Talon as he takes his first bite of the veal schnitzel.

His gray eyes sink to half-mast as he drops his head back and groans.

I lean closer to the table, the edge cutting into my chest. “Do you like it?”

“Leni…” My name is hushed, spoken with reverence. Like crushed seashells mixed with magic.

I shiver from his tone.

He opens his eyes and pierces me with them. “This is the best meal I’ve ever had in my life.”

Nerves skate through me, causing my fingers to curl into the denim of my skirt. I titter out a laugh.

“I’m not kidding,” he continues, his voice serious, his expression unreadable. “I’ve never… No one’s ever…” He shakes his head and places his fork down. Folding his hands neatly in front of his plate, he stares at me. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” I whisper, feeling his appreciation down to my toes.

And having that—Talon’s acknowledgement, his gratitude—lights me up like the North Star. Lightness washes through me, sweeping away the shame I’ve carried for weeks. No, months.

I am enough. I am worthy.

Talon clears his throat and looks away for a beat. When he turns his eyes back on me, they’re heavy, ringed with midnight. Baggage , my sister Lincoln would say.

But Craig has clear eyes—sky blue—and he inflicted more trauma on me than I could’ve anticipated.

“No one’s ever cooked me dinner before, Len. This…” He pauses to gesture between us. “Is a first for me.”

I suck in a breath, his words punching through me. “Never?”

He shakes his head, his lips rolled between his teeth.

“What about your foster parents?” I wonder.

“Foster care wasn’t really like that,” he admits. “I mean, I ate,” he assures me. “But it wasn’t a special meal or anything. It was…survival.”

“Right,” I murmur, sadness rolling through me. For a blink, I can see Talon as a boy. Heather gray-green eyes and a crooked smirk. A backwards baseball cap and a missing front tooth.

And then, the charismatic man at the center of every party, injecting it with laughter. With fun. With surface-level frivolity so no one gets closer or digs deeper.

“I used to cook for my—for Craig—every night,” I admit.

A cloud passes through Talon’s eyes, but when he blinks, it clears. “He didn’t know how damn lucky he was.”

The corners of my mouth turn upward but I don’t smile. I can’t. “I don’t think he ever felt that way.”

“His loss,” Talon replies, his tone harder. Half bite, half bark.

“Maybe,” I reply, taking a bite of my dinner.

“Hey.” Talon reaches across the table, covering my hand with his. The weight of his palm rests on my fingers, strong and steady. “You deserve the world, Leni. Don’t let anyone, especially not some guy in New York, make you feel otherwise.”

I dip my head, my fingers desperate to stray to my collarbone. But I keep them pressed against the table, under the warmth of Talon’s skin. “I know,” I say, even though I don’t.

I’m still fighting the thoughts, the memories, the panic of that night. Of several nights.

“Leni?”

I look up and hold Talon’s gaze.

“Why did you come home?” There’s a thread of hesitation in his voice and I recognize it. I’ve heard it in Mom’s tone, in Marlowe’s, and Dad’s. Hell, it’s the reason why I haven’t returned Lincoln’s calls since I returned home. She’s too close to knowing the truth; I know she suspects it. And for now, I know Mom is buying me time. Eventually, I’ll need to connect with my sister and fix the fragility of our relationship. A bond I weakened by being too damn scared.

“It was time,” I murmur, hoping the more I say it, the more I’ll believe it.

Except the statement doesn’t ring completely false. It was time to come home. It was time for…something to give. I just didn’t think it would be my relationship.

Talon swipes his thumb over my wrist before removing his hand and nodding, accepting my response for what it is. A white lie.

We resume eating.

I take a big sip of my wine and clear my throat, not wanting anything between us to be awkward. Not when this night has been so effortless.

“How do you feel about the next preseason game?” I ask, knowing Dad has been stressed about the cuts and finalizing the roster.

Talon clears his throat. “We’re playing Dallas. It’s an away game, but I feel pretty good. The extra time in the pool has helped with flexibility. I’m just trying to stick to my routine and mentally prepare for the season.” He looks up and smiles. “For me, mentally being able to tune things out, to have that type of fortitude, is half the battle.”

“You need to focus.”

“Yeah. No distractions,” he says, tilting his head.

Does he mean I’m becoming a distraction?

I can’t help but blush at the meaning behind his words.

Is that a good or bad thing?

Talon takes another bite of his dinner and moans again. “Too good, Leni.”

“You helped,” I remind him.

He laughs. “It never would have come out this well if you weren’t running the show.”

“Give yourself more credit.”

“Nah.” He polishes off his wine. “I’d rather give you all the credit. But I’ll take the credit for dessert. I got a buttermilk pie?—”

“From Annabelle’s!” I blurt out, beaming at the thought. Annabelle’s pies are the best in Knoxville but they usually sell out within an hour of opening each morning.

“Yes.” Talon laughs.

“But you must have gotten there at seven a.m.”

Talon shrugs, his eyes catching mine. “It was worth it.”

All I hear is you’re worth it .

And I smile at Talon, feeling my cheeks stretch.

He grins back, easy and familiar.

This is the best non-date dinner I’ve ever had.