Chapter Seventeen Maren
Chapter Seventeen
Maren
“This is stupid.” I stare at Ozzy’s house from across the street. It’s nine fifteen on Sunday night, and the main level of his house is dark. With a shallow breath of courage and a lapse in common sense, I climb out of my RAV and sneak around to the south side of the house, loose rocks along the hill threatening my footing. There are two windows, but one is small, like a bathroom window, so I choose the bigger window, with light behind the drawn shades. Before I tap on it, I play it safe and text Ozzy.
Maren: Hey
Ozzy: Hey! U back in Missoula?
Maren: Yes. What are you doing?
Ozzy: Staring at the TV
Maren: Want to stare at me instead?
My phone vibrates with a FaceTime from Ozzy. I bite my lower lip and shake my head while answering it.
He squints at the screen. “Where are you? I can barely see you.”
“Sorry. I’m outside.”
“What are you doing outside at this time of night?”
“I think I’m on a booty call of sorts that’s not going as planned,” I say.
He blinks several times before he stands up from his bed. “Are you ...” He opens his blinds, and I wave.
The etched confusion on his face softens, and his lips curl into a killer smile. He ends the call and opens the window.
“Is this okay?”
He helps me inside. “It’s definitely okay.”
I glance around his room while unzipping my hoodie. My curiosity about his space takes a back seat to his bare chest.
Ozzy’s lips twitch when I tear my gaze away from his chest and focus on his face.
I blush with a slight laugh. “Sorry. I, uh ...” I cross my arms.
Uncross them.
Look for back pockets that I don’t have with these lounge pants.
Finally, I manage to shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie.
“You, uh what?” He cocks his head to the side.
Ozzy has abs. I don’t know why I expected a dad bod beneath his shirt, but I did. He also has tool tattoos below his right ribs.
“I wanted to see you,” I murmur.
He nods slowly, wetting his lips. “It’s nice to be seen.”
I wet my lips. “I underestimated things.”
“Oh?”
Again, I make a slow inspection of his bare chest. “Yeah. I, uh, didn’t know you had all of this.”
“All of what?”
I nod toward him. “Muscles and tattoos.” I clear my throat, meeting his gaze. “I would have worn something sexier.”
He chuckles. “Maren, you don’t have to try to be sexy. You just are.” He steps past me and locks his bedroom door.
My heart takes off, rattling my nerves.
“So, how was your day?” I step toward his black desk in the corner. Beside his laptop, there’s a silver-framed picture of Lola and a blond woman I assume is Brynn.
“Today hasn’t been the best day, but now that you’ve crawled through my window, I believe the anguish was worth it.” He rests his hands on my hips and kisses my neck.
I turn toward him because I can’t let him touch me with his wife watching. I think every woman should set that minimum standard, whether said wife is dead or alive.
“Sounds cryptic,” I whisper.
He slides my unzipped hoodie off my shoulders until it releases from my arms and falls to the floor.
“Parenting is challenging.” His fingers weave into my hair, and an ambush of nerves tingles my skin.
I visibly shiver.
Ozzy’s dark eyes narrow. “Cold?”
“Nervous,” I whisper with an equally shaky laugh.
“I’ve touched you before.” His mischievous expression doesn’t help my situation.
“I was high on adrenaline.”
“Then let’s wait for your nerves to trigger a little adrenaline.” He takes a step backward and sits on the edge of his bed.
My gaze flits to the television. He’s watching something with Jason Statham.
“Take off your clothes,” he says.
My attention jerks back to him. He rests his hands behind him.
My god, he’s sexy.
“Wh-what?” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to do with my hands.
“Strip for me.”
My nervous laugh returns, and I decide it’s best to watch Jason Statham instead of Ozzy. “For the record”—I risk a glance at Ozzy, and he wets his lips just to torture me a little more—“I’m not usually this nervous. But your ex-in-laws are upstairs, and I assume your daughter is not far from this room. And I’m afraid I might be too ...” I twist my lips, rethinking the wisdom of confessing my fear.
This was a terrible idea. Grown-ass adults don’t sneak around like this. I meet a guy at a bar, and we do it at his place. No sneaking. No awkward moments like this.
“Too what?” Ozzy prods.
“Are they sound sleepers?” I chew the corner of my lower lip.
“Who?”
“Everyone else in the house.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Are you a screamer, Maren?”
I don’t know what I am other than every shade of red imaginable, pitting out profusely.
“I’ll stop before you scream.”
I cough a laugh, refocusing on him. “That sounds like an excuse not to”—I shake my head several times—“satisfy me.” The words come out like a croak as my bravery disintegrates.
“Well, it is my turn.” Ozzy’s head angles to the side while he sizes me up like prey.
I cross my arms over my chest, but it feels unnatural. I thought it would feel more confident, but Ozzy has claimed all the confidence in this room tonight, and I’m grasping for something short of a puddle at his feet. “You have other responsibilities. I shouldn’t be here.”
He chuckles, which flexes his abs even tighter. “Now you sound like Brynn’s mom.”
“How so?”
“I’m pretty sure she thinks I don’t deserve any pleasure.”
“Why?”
His expression falls off his face, replaced with regret, while he averts his gaze. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
Ozzy eyes me. “You specifically said booty call.”
“My booty can wait.”
“I really need you to take off your clothes.” Tension fills his brow.
I only make him wait a few seconds before removing my shirt and tossing it aside, along with my nerves. Realization smacks me upside the head. It’s his confidence. I need the upper hand. I’m a competitor. Confident Ozzy makes me weak in the knees and jittery as hell, but somber Ozzy makes me want to give him pleasure.
I discard my shoes and pants, standing idle momentarily while his gaze roves along my body. It stops at my breasts when I reach behind me to unhook my bra.
I pause for a second to feel the high.
My adrenaline surges, feeding off the fact that he’s waiting for me to show him the parts of my body that he’s touched but never seen. And suddenly, I don’t want to strip anymore. I want to be a poster he pins to his ceiling.
I want those rich brown eyes on me forever.
I want to drown in this warm anticipation until it kills me.
My hands drop to my sides, bra still in place.
Ozzy drags his gaze to mine. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I whisper, taking a step closer to him.
He sits up straight, pulling me to stand between his spread legs. My breath hitches from the heat of his hands on my hips.
I swallow hard. “I like the way you look at me.”
He kisses the swell of my breast. “How do I look at you?”
My eyes drift shut, hands threading through his hair. “Like the sun after forty days and forty nights of rain.”
“Sounds about right,” he murmurs before skating his mouth to my other breast, kissing only the exposed flesh. “So why are you making me wait?”
I curl my fingers into his hair, tipping his head back to brush my lips against his. “Because the sun rises slowly.”
“No.” Ozzy pulls my hands from his hair, planting them at my sides, and he smiles, stealing my control. “That’s just an illusion.” He unhooks my bra. “The sun doesn’t move.”
I bite back my moan when he cups my breast and sucks my nipple into his mouth.
Lola can hear. Lola can hear ...
My black bra lands at my feet as Ozzy’s other hand slides into the back of my matching hipster underwear, squeezing my flesh while his teeth tease my nipple.
I can’t get enough of his strong, calloused hands on my body. And while I’ve loved our slow dance, it’s been brutal.
“D-do ... you ...” I might wake Lola up just from breathing so hard. I couldn’t possibly sound more aroused and desperate.
“Do I want to do this?” He guides my legs to straddle his lap. “Yes.” His jeans feel like an extension of his rough hands, teasing my sensitive skin. “I’ve been patiently waiting to see your cat .”
I laugh as he lies back, my hair brushing his face when I gaze down at him with my hands on either side of his head. My lips descend to his, and he unbuttons his jeans while we kiss.
Lifting my head, I rub my lips together. “Do you have a condom?”
He narrows his eyes a fraction, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a devilish smirk. “Yeah, I’ve got a whole fucking box.”
His words, tone, and facial expression nag at my curiosity. Why did he say it like that?
Is he mad that I want him to wear one?
Before I can ask, he cups my face and kisses me. My hips sink until his erection slides between my legs, two layers of cotton gatekeeping until he gets into his whole fucking box of condoms.
He rolls us to our sides, hiking my leg over his hip without breaking the kiss. I moan as he skates his fingers along the back of my leg until they reach the edge of my underwear and slide beneath the material.
I rock my pelvis into his familiar touch.
Tiny noises work their way up my throat, and Ozzy kisses me harder, swallowing each one. It’s no longer just my hips moving. Every time I hum into the kiss, he thrusts his pelvis, and his restrained cock fights to share space with his fingers between my legs.
Then, despite my silent chants to God, thanking Him for this moment, He demonstrates His absolute power by allowing three tiny knocks at the bedroom door.
I help save lives. That’s my job.
I rescued an abandoned kitten.
I volunteer in my spare time.
What more does a girl have to do to get laid?
We freeze, waiting as if the knocks didn’t happen.
“Dad? Why is your door locked?”
I fly. That’s my specialty. I fly fast. But never have I flown as fast as I am now, out of bed and gathering my clothes. Of course, my shirt is inside out, and I’m a fumble-finger trying to hook my bra.
Ozzy has it easy. He stands, buttons and zips his jeans.
“Dad? I’m going to be sick.”
Ozzy’s eyes widen, shooting me a panicked look while jerking his head toward the closet and opening the bifold doors. With my clothes and shoes hugged to my chest, I wedge into the corner of his closet. A pair of his boots dig into my ass when I squat to keep from knocking clothes off hangers.
I’m sorry, he mouths just before closing the doors.
I’m rethinking my decision to come here tonight.
“I didn’t make it,” Lola says and sniffles past a tiny sob.
“It’s okay, baby. I’ll clean it up. Let’s get you in the bathroom.”
It only takes a few seconds before the sour stench of vomit makes its way to me.
Don’t puke! I pinch my nose and breathe through my mouth.
Minutes later, Ozzy opens the closet doors. “She’s in the shower. I hate to do this but—”
“Don’t apologize.” I stumble, getting past the minefield of shoes, and he grabs my arms to help me. I take one look at the vomit outside his open bedroom door, and I cover my mouth and turn away.
“You don’t do vomit?” He chuckles.
I quickly shake my head while he hooks my bra, rights my shirt, and helps me put it over my head. Then he holds my pants while I step into them. Ozzy completely dresses me, including tying my shoes.
He’s a good man—the best.
“I’ll make this right. I promise.” He cups my face and kisses me, keeping my back to the doorway. Then he opens the window.
I stare at it for a second, shaking my head. “This is so messed up.”
He laces his hands behind his head and sighs. “I’m really sorry. And I have no flowers or notes for you.”
I grab the edge of the window and hike myself up while he grabs my hips to support me. “I think a messy life is a good one.” When I’m outside, I slide on my hoodie and zip it. “And the fact that not having flowers and a note for me bums you out, well, that puts you in an untouchable class of your own, Ozzy Laster.” I blow him a kiss. “Hope Lola feels better.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says in defeat.
“Yep.” I can’t hide my chuckle or my headshake. “Good night.” I take a few steps and glance back as he shuts the window.
Anguish paints his face in sad lines.
I don’t know what we’re doing, where we’re going, or if there’s a real chance for us. But damn! I hope we can figure it out.