Page 28 of Tackle

She laughed, looking down at herself and then him. “We’re dressed kind of fancy for baseball, don’t you think?”

He shrugged then put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. “So we’ll be the best dressed people there.”

“Not to put a damper on your enthusiasm but won’t that make you stand out? You hate the attention.”

“Don’t worry, I have a disguise.”

Emerson hugged her stomach and bit her bottom lip in an attempt not to laugh. Oz’sdisguisewas a baseball cap with the brim pulled down low and his hair tucked inside. He’d also taken off his jacket, tossing it into the back of the SUV, and rolled the sleeves of his shirt.

“Wow, you’re right, I hardly recognize you.” It was hard to miss her sarcasm.

Oz didn’t.

“You joke, but you’d be surprised how often I get away with it. This disguise is foolproof.” He clicked the button for the hatch then took her hand, leading her through the parking lot.

Emerson found it hard to believe, but Oz had been right. He wasn’t recognized. Sure, she noticed he got a few double takes, but no one approached him.

Standing in line, waiting to pay, she leaned into him. “My mind is blown. Clark Kent’s glasses really were a disguise. No wonder nobody knew he was Superman.”

“I’m sensing your sarcasm again.” Oz wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to his side.

Emerson snuggled close and heard his stomach growl. “Maybe we should get those chili dogs first.”

He looked down at her. “Why? Are you hungry?”

“I can wait, but I’m not sure you can.” She poked his side. “Your stomach growled.”

She saw his cheeks pinken, and she kicked herself for mentioning it. “I don’t want us hitting on a full stomach. We’ll only go for a half hour. I’m pretty sure I won’t wither away to nothing before then.”

She chuckled but didn’t argue. He was right, exercise after eating chili dogs did not sound like a good idea.

Once in the cage, Oz handed her a helmet, throwing his baseball cap on the ground to put his on. He stood by the switch. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

She stepped up to the plate and swung the bat a few times to get used to the feel. She nodded at Oz. “Ready.”

He pushed the green button and Emerson watched the machine, waiting for the ball to pop out. She swung and connected but the ball hit the side net. She swung again. That time the ball hit the top of the bat, popping up. “Time out!”

Oz hit the red button and Emerson dropped her bat. She bent down and unbuckled her shoes, kicking them off to the side. “Fine for walking but not batting,” she said when Oz raised a brow. “Okay, I’m ready.”

She swung and made good contact, the ball sailing to the back net.

“You’re a far superior batter than bowler,” Oz said, stopping the machine after about forty pitches.

Emerson shook out her arms. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow. I haven’t done that for a long time.”

They switched places, and Emerson said, “Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Let’s see if I can break in these shoes.” Oz tapped the tip of his bat on the ground then got into a hitting stance.

She didn’t even attempt to move her gaze when her eyes landed on his ass as it wiggled back and forth. “You can always take yours off like I did,” she said distractedly.

“If I fall on my ass, I just might. Okay, I’m ready.”

Snapping to attention, Emerson hit the switch.

Watching Oz swing a bat was a thing of beauty. All of his well-honed muscles came into play, stretching the fine material of his dress shirt. She was so distracted watching him, she didn’t realize she’d let the machine run until they were out of time.

Oz took off his helmet, snatching his cap from the ground. “Okay, now I’m starved.”

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