Page 46 of Tackle

A line formed between her brows and her lips pursed. “No. Not really. I mean, he doesn’t hate the sport but he doesn’t exactly follow it either.”

Great, he didn’t even havethatgoing for him.

She laughed as though reading his mind. “Stop worrying.”

Easier said than done.

“If it helps, my brother is a huge football fan and is dying to meet you.” She got to her tiptoes and kissed his jaw. “I’m going to go get dressed. Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready.”

“Take your time.” He was innorush.

“I wish Linc had accepted your offer to come over for dessert after we’re through at my parents’,” Emerson said from the passenger seat as they drove the fifteen miles to her parents’ house.

“Me too. I hate the thought of him spending the holiday alone. I’m worried about him.” He made a right and quickly flipped the visor down when the setting sun nearly blinded him.

Emerson solved the same dilemma by turning toward him in her seat. “It’s only been a few weeks since the funeral. Give him time.”

He glanced at her when he came to a red light. “I keep telling myself that, but he’s like a completely different person.”

“Not only did he recently lose his sister but he’s also now responsible for a four-year-old little girl. That’s a lot of weight on his shoulders. I’d be surprised if hewasn’tacting differently.”

Oz knew she was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to see his friend struggling.

“Make a right at the next corner.” He followed her direction, slowing when she pointed. “It’s the gray house, there, on the left.

Oz passed the house, used a driveway to make a U-turn, then parked at the curb. He put the SUV in park but didn’t make a move to take off his seatbelt.

Noticing, Emerson said, “I’m not bringing a plate of food out to you.” Her smirk told him she was teasing.

“I didn’t know that was an option.”

“It’s not.” She pushed the button and his seatbelt disengaged.

“Before we go in, can we go over it one more time.”

“Sure.” She got comfortable in her seat, her sweater dress hiking up her thighs, leaving a bigger gap of creamy skin between the tops of her knee-high leather boots and the hem of the soft wool knit.

It was distracting as hell. He shifted his eyes to the dash to better concentrate. “Okay, your father, Mike, is the site manager at Global Steel Mill and spends his weekends fishing.”

“And hiking.”

Oz nodded, committing that to memory. “Your mom, Jill, is a high school English teacher who does pottery when your dad is fishing.”

“Don’t forget Chewy and Sulley.”

“Right, your mom’s Pomeranians who I shouldn’t be surprised if they sit at the dinner table.”

She pointed a finger. “Not if, when.”

Oz had a hard time picturing that but didn’t comment. “Then there’s your brother, Will, who’s into comic books, and is an IT guy for Sinclair Health Centers.”

“Yes, and probably the only person in the house who will understand you if you talk about football.”

He made a mental note—no football talk. “And last, your sister, Mia, who’s the oldest and married to…” Oz snapped his fingers.

“Garrett. And they don’t have children, which is why Mom has Pomeranians."

"Workaholics. I remember. Both in real estate.”

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