Page 25 of Tackle

He got her beautiful smile. “I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

Oz brushed a lock of her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. “Then it’s a date.” And the thought of it didn’t fill him with anxiety.

Personal growth, thy name is Oz.

Oz pulled into a visitor’s spot in front of Emerson’s apartment complex and got out of his Escalade, slamming the driver’s side door. Immediately, one of his feet connected with some loose gravel and he almost fell on his ass. Arms flying out, he saved himself at the last minute. Lord, save him from slippery, fancy-ass dress shoes. Give him sneakers any day of the week. But it was all part of thelook. Knowing Emerson’s love of food and wanting to treat her, he’d made reservations at one of Portland’s swankiest restaurants. So swanky, they had a dress code stricter than his coach’s. So he’d slicked his hair back into a low ponytail, put on a suit, and dug his Italian loafers from the back of his closet.

All in an effort to impress Emerson.

Oz scanned the complex as he followed the sidewalk path through the greenbelts to Emerson’s apartment. He’d never been to her place when it was still light out. Usually it was close to midnight when he followed her home after she closed up the pub. Now, nearly six, it was still bright enough to see that, while it looked as though the owners did their best to maintain it, the whole place was in dire need of repair. The roof was sagging. The walls were in need of stucco patches followed by an all-over fresh coat of paint. The fence around the pool had chips in the enamel coating which had left the exposed metal to rust, and the bottom of the pool itself was in need of resurfacing. But looking past the wear from age, the general appearance of the place was tidy. The water in the pool was clean—except for a few leaves floating on the surface—the greenbelts were mowed and the bushes were trimmed and there was no litter lying around.

The place was old, not a shithole, but that still didn’t stop him from wanting Emerson out of there. Security was nonexistent and that worried him. The more time they spent together, the likelier it became the press would get wind of their relationship. He wanted a better barrier between her and the public. He just wasn’t sure how to broach such a delicate subject. She wouldn’t take lightly to his interfering, especially if it was followed by the demand that she move. He didn’t see a conversation like that ending well, at least not while their relationship was so new.

The stairs had free access to anyone who cared to use them, and he grumbled with each step he took to the second-floor breezeway. Her unit was four doors down. He knew because he walked her to it most nights.

He knocked on the door and heard a deadbolt click and a chain rattle before the door was thrown wide. Emerson stood before him in a blue, clingy, wrap dress made from some stretchy material that hugged all her curves and high-heel sandals that made her legs look like they went on for miles. Her hair was down, brushed to a shine, and red coated her lips. She didn’t usually wear a lot of makeup but tonight she’d gone all out, with stuff coating her lashes making them three times as long, and shadow dusting her lids. She always looked beautiful, but right there and then, she took his breath away.

“Wow, you look great.” He’d been so busy gawking, Emerson had beat him to the punch. “I’ve never seen you in a suit.”

“You look… fantastic.” That was the best he could do, too busy staring to come up with anything more eloquent.

She opened the door wider, bringing with it the scent of her floral perfume. “Do you want to come in a minute?”

The offer was tempting, more than, actually. It seemed like months since he'd had a taste of her lips and his body was reminding him of that fact. If he stepped into her space, alone with her, he wasn't sure he'd want to leave. “Better not. Don’t want to miss our reservation.”

“Oh, okay.” There was a hint of disappointment in her tone. He knew the feeling well. “Just give me a minute to grab my purse.” She was gone less than that. “Ready,” she said, a bit breathless as she stepped out, her hip brushing against him as she turned to lock the door. His dick, which had just settled, sprang back to life, happy with the contact. Oz gritted his teeth, ignoring it.

With a tight grip on her hand, he eyed her heels as they went down the stairs. He thought his slippery-as-fuck Italian loafers were scary, what Emerson had on her feet made his shoes look like child’s play to walk in.

“I’m dying to know where we’re going. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me now?” She gave a flirty bat of her eyelashes and it was impossible to deny her.

“Chevalier's.”

Her step faltered, nearly giving him a heart attack as he envisioned her taking a header down the stairs. “Get out of town,” she exclaimed, somehow miraculously keeping her balance. “My parents tried to get a reservation for their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary and they were booked for six months. And I have a friend in the business that was lucky enough to get an invite to their tasting menu. I've been jealous ever since.”

“I will admit, being a celebrity did help to get a reservation.” Oz never liked to name drop but for Emerson he’d made the exception.

He walked her to the passenger side of his Escalade, opened the door, and planted his hands around her waist to help her up. He needed to look into getting smaller tires, or maybe even a smaller car. One that wasn’t so difficult for Emerson to get in and out of.

“It felt weird leaving the pub today while it was still light out,” she said once he was settled in the driver’s seat.

Her legs crossed, drawing his eyes. The material of her skirt had bunched, exposing a good portion of her thighs. The skin was smooth, leaving his fingers itching to touch it and see if it was as silky soft as it looked. He bet it was.

Tearing his gaze away, he gave her a small smile. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, I have no doubt I will. Do you know, I actually had time to indulge in a bath before getting ready tonight? I even added bubbles and drank a glass of wine.”

Fuck. Now he was picturing her in the tub. Translucent bubbles giving him a teasing glimpse of her nipples. Her hair piled on top of her head with loose tendrils sticking to the damp skin of her neck. He gritted his teeth, throwing the gearshift into reverse, trying to think of anything but Emerson naked. He needed to get a grip or he’d never make it through their date.

“Tell me something,” she said, saving him from his thoughts.

“Anything.” He quickly jumped at a reason to think about something else.

She chuckled. “No, I mean, tell me something about you.” She twisted in her seat to face him. “Tell me about your childhood. What was little Oz like?”

Lonely. With his mom gone most of the time, he’d had to fend for himself. Not that Oz blamed her for that. Rita Turney had been nothing if not dedicated to the wellbeing of her son. “I remember things being pretty normal before Dad left, but after, I grew up fast. Mom was gone a lot, and when she was home, she was always busy cleaning or cooking meals that could be stored in the fridge for me to eat later.” They came to a red light and he turned to her. “She’s the reason I went pro.” At Emerson’s widening eyes he explained, “Don’t get me wrong, I love football and I’m damn good at it. I’m grateful I played well enough to get a scholarship for a good education. But if someone had asked young Oz what he wanted to do with his life, football wouldn’t have been at the top of the list. Funny thing about money though. When you don’t have it, it’s mighty tempting. And when the drafts came and I got first round pick, there was no way in hell I could say no to so much of it. Not when my mom was working her fingers to the bone. It was a fast and easy way to fix her situation. And I did. She still works because she says she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she didn’t, but she doesn’t have to. I’m where I am today because of her hard work. I’d gladly repay that a thousand times over.”

The light turned green and he stepped on the gas.

---