Page 12 of Tackle

His first and only long-term girlfriend hadn’t happened until his junior year of college. That had crashed and burned when it turned out she’d only been using him as a stepping stone to get in tight with the quarterback. Talk about a humbling experience.

He'd had a few dates since his school years—his teammates always eager to hook him up with a friend of their latest girlfriends. But to be honest, he put most of his energies into football,knowing that chapter in his life would be short lived. He wasn’t opposed to a relationship, he just hadn’t stumbled across someone intriguing enough to make the effort.

Until Emerson.

For her, he was willing to do almost anything. Even make a fool of himself.

“Good game today, Mr. Olson,” the guy manning the security gate to his apartment said when Oz stopped and rolled down his window.

“Thanks, Chuck.” They had three guys on rotation who manned the booth and Oz had made it a point to get to know each one. “How’s the youngest? Getting over her flu?”

“Yes, sir. She’s feeling much better.”

“Good. The car pulling in behind me, they’re with me.”

“You got it. I’ll let them through.”

Chuck opened the gate, and after pulling in and parking, Oz signaled for Emerson to pull into the spot next to him. He went to her car and opened the door to help her out.

“Do you always drive like a grandma?” She took his hand, smiling up at him as she stepped out.

Feeling his cheeks heat, he defended, “I didn’t want us to get separated.”

“So you don’t always slam on your brakes as soon as a light turns yellow? Because that might be a deal breaker.”

He could tell she was kidding, so he gave her a small smirk. “I’ve been known to blow through a yellow light. And sometimes, to live on the wild side, I’ll execute a rolling stop at a four-way intersection…. When the coast is clear, of course.”

“Of course. You may be a rebel, but not an asshole.”

“Damn straight.”

They both chuckled and Oz felt the tension in his shoulders ease.

“Nice place.” Emerson’s head swiveled as she took in the lobby.

“It’s all right. I live alone, so I don’t need anything fancy. The only thing going for it is it has great security.”

“Well, it’s a lot nicer than my place.”

“Yeah? Where do you live?” Shit, did that come off as creepy? “I mean, only if you’re comfortable telling me.”

“You know where I work and that I’m there alone late at night. I think if you wanted to harm me, you’d have had ample opportunity.” She chuckled.

He was an idiot. Why had he never thought about her being all alone after hours? He didn’t like that.

Not one bit.

“I’m in East Portland just over the Burnside Bridge. The place is old, but it’s cheap and not too far from work, so…” She shrugged to finish her sentence.

He didn’t like the sound of that either. Oz had first-hand knowledge of old buildings and how they could be deathtraps in the wrong hands. His mind raced with the vision of leaking ceilings, termite infested foundations, and drafty windows with poor insulation. He needed to improve her living arrangements, but the only idea that came to mind was convincing her to let him help her move. He didn’t know Emerson that well, yet, but had a feeling having that conversation on a first date, wouldn’t lead to the promised second. He’d shelve the discussion—for now—but it wasn’t something he’d forget.

The elevator doors parted to reveal Oz’s floor and he directed her down the hall, stopping when they reached his apartment. “Well, this is me.” He slipped a key in the lock and gave the door a shove.

Waiting until Emerson stepped inside, he followed her in, kicking the door shut and making his way into the kitchen. He tossed his keys on the counter while Emerson made her way to the living area. She made a full circle, taking in the room. Her hands landed on her hips and her head tipped to the side.

“Not how you imagined?”

The architecture of the building might be plain and uninspired, but that didn't mean his living space needed to be. The basic color scheme was a palette of grays, but he'd added warmth with pops of deep mustard and burnt orange. The framed art pieces were an eclectic mix of personal photos and famous landmarks, made cohesive by their aged, golden frames. Various mementos and knick-knacks scattered throughout added character to the room.

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