Chapter 7
Oscar
Cleat chasers… the bane of my existence.
But regardless of how much I hate them, after all the shit I’ve been through, I need to drown my pitiful heart in self tanner and perfume.
Right now, they’re everything I need and nothing I want, wrapped in sexy jean shorts and Moonshot jerseys as far as the eye can see.
I just wrapped up my interview with Sloan, and tried to convince myself that if I was flirty enough, maybe I wouldn’t appear as pathetic as I feel. Note to self—it worked. There is a sea of prospects waiting for me outside. According to Rikki, they keep chanting my name.
Being the only shirtless player on the roster, this is not a new occurrence, but the crowd sounds a little bigger now I made it obvious I am back on the market and ready for a good time.
Guess the plan worked.
Just then the redhead I walked home stands on the ledge and waves calling my name, and it narrows the crowd of women screaming my name down to one.
When I saw her waving at me, feeling like shit this morning was not the plan.
“Fuck,” I groan, reaching for the water I set on my nightstand last night. Why do I keep doing this to myself?
“Ozzie, we have to fuckin—” Jax’s words are cut short as the sound of him bursting through the door startled the redhead next to me.
I turn my head to look at her.
Hmm. How many times will she suck my dick before she wants more or moves on?
“What up Pips?” Jax calls to her as he throws me a bottle of aspirin. “Are you two a thing now?”
“No.” The word comes out quick and harsh, and my stomach turns in reaction to the hurt expression that flashes across her face before she wraps the blanket around her naked body and walks into the bathroom.
Shit. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
She is gorgeous from head to toe, flawless, and someday she is going to make someone feel like the luckiest bastard on the planet. That guy just isn’t me.
When she comes out of the bathroom fully dressed, I try to make it better, only to make things worse.
“Hey…” My voice fades as I realize I have no fucking clue what her name is. “I um… I have to head to the field. Are you about ready…?” My voice trails off.
“Ronnie.” She fills in her name for me with a hint of distance in her voice.
I told myself I wouldn’t ever bring a cleat chaser back here, but she seems genuine. It will be ok, I try to convince myself, but send Jax a text telling him we should have the locks changed just in case.
Instead of responding, she opens the door and offers me a weak smile. I smile back and escort her out the door before making my way to the car.
The ride to the field was quiet, probably because my head was pounding so hard, I couldn’t bring myself to listen to music.
“Look who decided to peel himself off his latest fling to play some ball,” Rikki jokes as I walk into the locker room.
“Shut the fuck up, Rikki,” I huff as I storm past him to my locker, where there is a familiar envelope taped with Orbit’s smiling face on the front. The telltale sign that I will be a part of the special choreography for tonight’s game.
You + Jax= smooth like mango salsa.
Meet the aspiring Mango Maestro in the Juicy Beat Studio at 10 am sharp.
-Orbit.
Usually I would be over the moon, no pun intended, to go to the studio to learn the choreography, but I haven’t stepped foot in there since everything happened, and I dread it with each step I take in that direction.
Days… that’s all it’s been. And fucking upper management expects me to just pretend my girlfriend was not fucking one of my best friends the last time I walked in here.
Jax swings the door open and my fucking heart stops because everything is the same. In my head I knew it would be, why would it have changed?
Tatum’s favorite air freshener still permeates through the air.
The same one filling her apartment. Cherry Blossom.
She couldn’t stand the smell of sweat. The little flower push pins I bought her to hold up her plans for upcoming routines are still stuck in the drywall around the room. She hated how tacky tape looked.
I scan the rest of the room and my insides recoil when I see a quilted duffle bag on the floor by the speaker.
Its cream fabric decorated with small blue and green flowers makes the speaker that Tatum was leaning over getting railed seem so innocent.
But the sight of it makes my stomach turn.
Not the speaker… the bag. The wrong bag.
Tatum’s bag is black… apparently to match her soul.
I quickly scan the room to see if the owner of the new bag has discarded Tatum’s in the corner, but come up empty.
She had enough time post orgasm to collect her shit before she left.
That revelation stung, and I’m not sure why.
Movement in the mirror catches my eye as a tall, slender figure appears from inside the music booth behind the divider in the corner.
“It is the chick from Ruby’s,” I whisper to Jax and he confirms with a nod.
“Shit, hi. Sorry. I was just getting the music cued up,” she says in a startled tone.
“We’ve got nothing but time,” Jax says with a seductive tone, and I want to fucking throat punch him.
“Since when do you try to act all smooth and shit?” I ask, knowing my voice is loud enough for her to hear.
Judging by the flush creeping across her face, she’s liking it, and the last fucking thing I want is to be stuck in this room, watching them flirt.
She clears her throat nervously, “I like to ease into things and feel like repetition is the best way to learn new choreography, so just try to keep up at first, and once I get the feel for your learning style I’ll make adjustments as needed.”
“Are you going to tell us anything about what we’re doing?” I ask with clear irritation. Tatum always told us where each bit fit into the game, if we were in the stands, on the field, or doing a walkup. This chick has no fucking clue what she’s doing. She’s already doing it all wrong.
“You were on the email. Didn’t you read it?” Now her voice is the one laced with irritation.
“What the fuck? What email? Did you get an email?” I turn to Jax.
“We always get an email.” He smiles at her.
“What’s your name, Twitch?” I shake my head dismissing Jax’s comment.
“Twitch?” She looks at me confused, and then rolls her eyes. Her hackles are up.
“Well you’ve been nothing but twitchy since we walked in here, and you failed to introduce yourself,” I jab back.
Apparently I’m looking for a fight.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot you are an arrogant asshole who probably can’t be bothered to remember other people’s names.
Oscar, right?” she asks, holding her hand out to shake mine.
I reluctantly place my hand in hers with an eye roll.
“I’m Maren, the one who catered to your every need a few nights ago at Ruby’s. ”
“Not every need,” I scoff, playing into my newfound asshole persona. “Had a redhead for that.”
“Well as interesting as your night must have been, that’s not my concern.” She turns and starts to walk over to the main part of the floor.
Jax, the dick he can be sometimes, pulls out his phone and starts reading off what I’m assuming is part of the email. “Song, ‘Bright Lights Bigger City slash Magic’ from Pitch Perfect. 1 minute 30 seconds start time. Props to include, tandem bike and cell phone lights.”
I want to wipe that smug ass grin off his perfect little face. Especially when I see her smiling at him with that flush pink of her cheeks creeping back in. I am barely holding my shit together and he’s over here trying to make a move.
Dick.
“Are you all caught up there, Oscar? Can we get to work now?” Her tone is sarcastic as she glares at me through hooded eyes.
She walks over to the speaker and picks up the remote and starts the song, and fuck, if I was in a better mood, this would be the exact vibe I love to have on the field.
“Are you going to put any effort into this, or are we both about to take this really cool idea with a lot of potential and fuck it up?” Jax asks.
“I mean that would make it mighty hard for you to get your dick wet, right?” I snap back as we walk down the tunnel to the field.
Jax immediately fires back, “You know that is not how I am, asshole. I’m just trying to make her feel comfortable.”
“Yeah, to come home with us and fall in your bed.” My words have more bite than I intended.
“Jealous? Maren’s a sweet—”
Horner cuts in before Jax can finish. “I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but we are not trading one scandal for another.” His words are hushed as he sneers them through clinched teeth. “Get the fuck out there and do your goddamn job.”
Horner is never pissed, so it threw us both off at first.
Surprisingly, Jax and I were able to recover, and are playing a hell of a game. The crowd is on fire tonight, and I didn’t realize how much I needed their energy.
It’s the top of the seventh inning, and the “Bright Lights Bigger City Magic” remix from Pitch Perfect fills the stadium.
Right on cue, Jax and I hop on the tandem bicycle just as all the lights go out and a spot light follows us.
Jax starts lip syncing the words and a group of girls from the stands come rolling in on an equipment flat bed beside us illuminating us with their waving cellphone flashlights.
Just then, the crowd prompter directs everyone in attendance to pull out their phones and light up the field.
Seeing the lights fill the stands makes my heart skip a beat. White lights fill every seat, just as the music picks up, and the feeling is electric.
I’m not gonna lie, learning to lip sync the rap portion of the song with a playful swagger and confidence while riding a bike was hard as fuck. Adding the emotion from the lights and thousands of people have me a little rattled at the moment.
Then she catches my eye. She’s standing there next to Orbit, and soon her eyes lock with mine.
I continue moving, but lose track of everything happening around me.
All of a sudden it’s me and her, and my nerves settle just enough to breathe.
It’s not until I approach the mound with Jax that I look away.
Thankfully, all eyes shift to Jax as he throws the first pitch.
“Fuck yeah!” he yells as the music fades away. He looks over his right shoulder at me and mouths, “Threw that strike without a warmup.”
Sometimes he is such a cocky motherfucker.
I glance over at the dugout again, and the look on Maren’s face is priceless. Her big eyes are welling with tears and pride, and I can’t help it, I find myself feeling proud of her too. She choreographed a hell of a routine.
Maybe I should tell her that after the game.