Page 9 of Tackle

And he stayed worry free until later that night when he realized he still needed to invite her out after the game.

That’s when his anxiety came back full force.

Well, fuck.

Chapter Four

Sitting in her car, hands fisting the steering wheel and staring at the parking lot sign that told her she was in section G1 of the Phantoms’ stadium, Emerson wondered what the hell she was doing there. She had no idea what had possessed her to come to a football game.

Scratch that, she did know.

Oz.

Because he’d asked.

And she didn’t want to say no.

In fact, knew she’d move heaven and earth to make it happen. Which was basically what she’d done, promising triple pay to one of her waitresses if she’d cover for her.

So Oz was the reason she was at a sporting event she knew nothing about to sit in the hot sun all by herself.

It was official. She was either crazy for Oz or bat-shit crazy.

Or maybe she was bat-shit crazy for thinking she was crazy for Oz.

Either way she sliced it, she was crazy.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head back with a sigh. She wasn’t sure what was happening between them, but she was more than happy to pay the price of admission to find out.

Peeling one eye open, she looked at the clock on her dash. Welp, her curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied in the next few hours.

It was game time.

Ticket in hand, Emerson read aisle numbers as she descended the stairs into the cordoned off section for friends and family. When she came to her row, she spied a familiar face she never in a million years expected to see. “Ivy?”

The pixie-cute woman turned in her seat at the sound of her name. “Emerson?”

Relief hit Emerson full force. “Oh, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see a friendly face.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m here for Colt.”

“P. Colton? I didn’t know you two were dating.” She also hadn’t known who P. Colton was before she’d done a little Googling to get the low down on the team in preparation for game day. That she’d spent most of her time on Oz’s bio and photo pages, well, that would be her little secret.

Ivy shook her head. “We’re just friends. What about you? Who on the team do you know?”

“Oz Olson invited me.” She held up a hand. “And before you ask, we’re just friends too.”

Maybe she had a tone or an expression on her face, she wasn’t sure but Ivy changed the subject and she was more than happy for the switch up. “How’s business?”

Emerson had met Ivy when she’d hired her to do the promotional package for the grand opening of The Parting Glass. Not only had Ivy’s company, IV Technologies, taken care of all the advertising, but she’d also created the pub’s website and designed the logo.

“It’s great.” Emerson sat in the seat next to her and got situated, tucking her bag under her chair and sticking her soda—that she’d waited in line twenty minutes for at the concession stand—in the cup holder. “We’re so busy, at times there’s more than an hour wait to be seated. I guess having the news spread that a pro football player visits your establishment on a daily basis will really fill the seats.” Her eyes bugged at what she’d implied, and quickly added, “And I’m sure your media campaign is doing wonders too.”

Ivy laughed. “Oh no, I’m sure it’s all Oz. I built a rockin’ website, but I’m not so arrogant I can’t give credit where credit is due.”

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