Trapped and Tackled (Knoxville Coyotes Football #3)

10. Talon

Chapter 10

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.

I take my time, feeling the smoothness of her curves, letting my mouth linger over hers, lengthening our connection and our kiss until we’re both breathless.

When Leni pulls back, she giggles nervously and even that sound—sweet, so fucking sweet—sends a rush through my bloodstream.

Her chest heaves and I have to avert my gaze before I pull her shirt clear over her head.

“Leni.” I drop my forehead to hers. With each breath, reality seeps back in and the realization of what I just did—of what I just took—glares back at me.

I kissed my coach’s daughter.

Fuck.

“Leni,” I repeat, with more urgency this time.

She looks up sharply at what she hears in my tone.

Already, the hope in her eyes is stamped out with understanding and I feel like an asshole for what I’m about to say.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” I whisper. Fuck, but I wanted to.

She rears back like I pushed her and I shuffle back several steps, adding distance. I grip the back of my neck again, this time squeezing tight enough to press some fucking common sense in.

Leni wipes her fingers against her swollen lips, as if wiping away my kiss, and I wince.

She’s so beautiful. So fucking lovely.

There’s that word again.

“Len—”

“Why not?” she asks, a challenge brightening her eyes.

“Because,” I say, almost pleading with her.

You’re out of my league.

I don’t know how to do this.

I’ve never had a real relationship.

Your father is like a father figure to me.

“Because of football,” she whispers, understanding dawning in her expression. “No distractions, right?” This time, her tone is harder.

And I swear. Partly because it’s the truth and partly because I didn’t even fucking think about it. About football and the team.

When I kissed Leni, all I thought about was her and how I’d never be enough. Never measure up.

And then, I thought about disappointing Coach. Not as my coach but as a man.

Not that Leni would understand. If I told her that, she’d think I’m feeding her bullshit lines.

I clear my throat. “Right.” I force the word out. Watch it pierce the air.

Witness Leni’s expression fall.

Welcome the kick that lands in my gut.

“I’m sorry, Talon,” Leni says, hurt evident in her tone. Her eyebrows furrow and confusion crosses her face. “I don’t know why I…” She trails off and I desperately wish she would complete her sentence. Finish her thought. She doesn’t. Instead, she squares her shoulders and looks at me again. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t want her apology. This wasn’t her fault—it was me crossing a line and taking something I don’t deserve but desire anyway.

“I’m not,” I say.

She frowns.

Fuck. I’m sending her mixed messages.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I amend.

She dips her head and reaches for her shoulder bag. “I should get going.”

“Wait.” I toss an arm out and she recoils, flinching. But I’m reaching for the pie box and when she notes that, relief filters over her expression.

What the hell? Did she think I was going to…what?

“Take this.” I press the pie box into her hands.

“No, I—I can’t.”

“Please.” I leave it in her grasp. Force myself not to brush a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Tonight, this dinner, it meant a lot to me, Leni.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” But her tone is clipped and I know she’s just as confused, maybe even a little embarrassed, as I am.

I hate that I made her feel that way. I hate that I messed shit up between us.

But most of all, I hate that when I walk her to the door and say good night, I do nothing to erase the look of dejectedness off her face.

Leaning back in the airplane seat, I close my eyes. I’m fucking exhausted. Partly from practice and partly from the shit sleep I’ve gotten the past few nights.

“What gives?” Callaway asks, dropping into the seat beside me.

I open an eye and glare at him. “Can’t you sit somewhere else?”

“Nope,” Crawford offers cheerily, sitting across the aisle from Avery.

I groan. “I’m going to sleep on this flight.”

“Don’t let me keep you awake then,” Callaway says, crossing an ankle over his knee and jabbing it into my quad.

“What the hell?” I mutter, pushing his knee away.

Crawford snickers on Avery’s other side.

“What’s going on with you?” Callaway hisses. “Please don’t tell me you slept?—”

“What?” I interrupt, stopping his trail of thought before he can voice it aloud. On a plane with the team and Coach. “Of course not.”

His eyes narrow. “You don’t know who I was about to say.”

I wince.

“Miller, this isn’t a fucking joke,” Callaway mutters.

“Keep your voice down.” I jerk my head to the side, knowing that Crawford is trying to eavesdrop. Luckily, his phone buzzes and since we’re still on the tarmac—and it’s Nova—he picks up.

Half a second later, he’s making fucking baby talk and I breathe a little easier knowing that nothing will distract Crawford from his baby girl. Not even scandalous gossip.

“What happened?” Avery presses.

“I kissed her,” I admit, not even caring that I’m confiding in him. Because I have no one else to confide in.

I don’t have a Marlowe or a Lincoln. I only have my team.

And as much as Callaway is Coach’s golden boy, he knows a thing or two about scandal.

Avery drops his head back and sighs. “You can get in any woman’s pants, why?—”

“I don’t know,” I cut him off.

What I don’t say is that it’s not just about getting in Leni’s pants. It’s more than that. I just don’t understand what the more is.

Why do I care so much? Why am I interested in her day? Or the debutante ball?

Or react to vibes from that dumbass, Toby?

Avery scrubs a hand down his face. “Listen, I’m not a fucking saint. What I put Mila through was messed up and even now…” Avery trails off, but I know what he’s implying.

He’s been with a lot of women and hasn’t thought twice about it.

“But when it affects the team…I learned my lesson. I’ve tried to steer clear of any scandal or anything that could disrupt dynamics. The season hasn’t even officially started, Talon. Coach’s daughter? Come on, man. Think about what you’re doing.”

I sigh and tap my head against the headrest.

“We’re taking off in three,” Crawford says.

Beside me, Avery swears softly and shoves on his headphones.

I do the same and close my eyes, feigning sleep.

But I don’t get a wink of shut-eye the entire flight to Dallas. Instead, I think about Leni. And that fucking kiss.

The soft curve of her cheek. The smooth strands of her hair. The heat of her body pressed against mine. Her sweet, full lips…

By the time we land, I’m in a shitty mood. Callaway gives me space and the rest of the team steers clear.

When I check into the hotel, I fire off a lame, generic message to Leni.

Me: Need me to grab anything for this weekend?

And I’m not surprised that when I wake in the morning, she keeps me on read.