Page 17 of Tackle

“Breathe?”

He nodded. “You’d be surprised how often you hold your breath without realizing it when nervous. That leads to a higher heart rate, which in turn, causes your brain to panic. Deep breaths—in and out—calms everything. Even your shaky fingers.”

“I guess that makes sense—the heart rate thing. I can hear it pounding in my ears while I key in the code.” They reached her car and came to a stop.

“All that anxiety makes you forget things you would normally know. I have to memorize hundreds of plays. I know they’re all up here,” he tapped his temple, “but if I don’t remember to breathe, they all fly out the window.” He took her keys from her hand and beeped the lock.

She stopped in her open car door. “Thanks for coming and for helping me. You didn’t need to do that.”

“Yes, I did. Your wellbeing is important to me.”

While staring up at him, Emerson played the will-he-or-won’t-he-kiss-me game for the second time that night.

Then, right when she thought it looked as though he might do it, he said instead, “Get in and buckle up. And don’t forget to lock your doors.”

Disappointed, but not wanting to keep him, she did as told. He waited until he saw her click the locks before jogging to his SUV.

And even though she shouldn’t have been, he still managed to surprise her by following her all the way home.

∞∞ ∞

Standing in the bathroom at the pub, makeup and hair stuff scattered all over the counter, Emerson inspected the finished product in the mirror. For working under such constrained conditions, she had to admit, she looked pretty damn good. She wore her favorite pair of jeans—the ones that let her breathe but still made her butt look cute—and paired them with a relatively new smocked top in a gentle blue that made her eyes pop. The only bummer was her shoes. Emerson had to bow down to twelve hours on her feet and stuck with low-heeled boots.

After over two weeks of trying to mesh schedules, in between the flirty texts and early-morning phone calls, she and Oz were finally going on a second date. To say she was excited was an understatement. Sure she saw him practically every day at the pub, but she had to work. It would be nice to spend time where she could give him her full, undivided attention.

She sent up a little prayer of thanks that Leslie had agreed to fill in for her again. Being a single parent, Emerson knew the extra money came in handy, but the extra hours away from her daughter were tough, and Emerson didn’t want to ask too often. As it was, she felt as though she were taking advantage. But even that couldn’t dim her excitement. Oz was taking her, not back to his place or hers, but out-out. He hadn’t said where they were going, only that she didn’t need to dress up. Which made getting ready easy—well, easier—considering he was picking her up at work. And that would be happening in—she tapped the screen of her phone to check the time—shoot, fifteen minutes. She needed to get a move on.

Collecting her junk off the counter, she tossed everything into her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. She stepped out of the bathroom and crashed into Leslie.

“Shit, sorry.” Emerson grabbed Leslie’s arms to steady her.

“I was just coming to get you. Oz is here.”

“Already? He’s early.”

“Better early than late is my motto. It shows he cares enough to be on time,” Leslie said, following Emerson down the hall that led to the dining room. “And if Charlie had cared like that, we’d probably still be married.”

Emerson knew a little of Leslie’s history. A teen pregnancy had led to her marriage, and a teen marriage had led to her divorce. From all accounts, Charlie was lazy and self-centered and the two had constantly fought. Leslie had explained, though tough at times, it was less frustrating making it on her own. Emerson could only imagine how hard being a single parent must be—scary as hell too. But she also had to agree, a loveless marriage wasn’t an option either.

Emerson spotted Oz right away, sitting at the bar. He looked positively mouthwatering in dark-black jeans and a distressed-washed Henley. The sleeves were pushed up, revealing his tanned, muscled forearms and the tight material emphasized his biceps. He didn’t even need to flex and those suckers bulged. He’d left his hair down, the honey-gold tresses framing his face and scraping his shoulders.

He watched her the whole way as she approached. She liked that his eyes never strayed from her, not even to Leslie who walked at her side. She’d never been the focus of someone’s undivided attention before. And though it might sound cliché, it really did make her heart go pitter-patter.

“Hi.” She sounded slightly breathless once she reached him and it wasn’t because she’d made a trek from the restrooms.

He stood, taking her hand, and brought it to his lips—also a first. Cheeks on fire, she marveled at the feather-soft brush on the back of her hand.

“You look… breathtaking.”

He stole the words right out of her mouth. “Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself.” Hopefully, she carried off sounding nonchalant because not bad was the least of what Oz Olson was.

He gave her a small smile. “You ready?”

“Yep.” It was only five so there was still an hour until the dinner rush. She turned to Leslie. “You good? Anything you need before I leave?”

“I’m all set. You two crazy kids get out of here and have a good time.”

“Be sure to call me if there’s a problem. I’ll have my phone on.”

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