Chapter 18
Maren
Idon’t know what I was expecting when I went to his apartment.
Part of me wanted him to push me up against the wall and finish what he started, and the other part of my brain, trying desperately to scream above the throb between my legs, wanted me to let go.
But Ozzie is like an onion. The more layers I peel back the more I find myself liking him. He’s an acquired taste.
I walk out onto the field for rehearsals, even though today would be a much better fit for the studio. I’ve been trying to stay clear of it for him until they have time to renovate the room.
As if he’s reading my mind, Rikki’s voice yells across the dugout as I come up the stairs, “This is a small group today. Why are we out here?”
I give him a pointed look not wanting to answer his question honestly in front of Ozzie who is standing with his back to me digging in his bag.
“I wanted a little sunshine,” I answered in half truth. I love being outside.
Ozzie looks at me over his shoulder and offers me a soft smile and a wink before continuing to rifle through his bag, and then looks at a message on his phone.
That’s it, just one small glance full of affection and he didn’t really say much else the entire rehearsal.
He was quiet and almost too accommodating to each of my requests, but the way his eyes stayed on me had me heating from the inside out.
I thought for sure he’d follow me to the small room just off the locker room that has become my game-day office, complete with a small chair and desk, but he didn’t.
Instead he went straight to the locker room, and when I walked by a few minutes later and peeked my head in after I heard a bunch of the players leave, I found it empty. He left too.
Why that upset me, I don’t know. We exchanged numbers last night before I left, so I glanced down at my phone hoping he’d at least sent a text, and the ache in my heart only grew when I came up empty.
He was so ready to put Horner in his place, so sure this was turning into something last night that I assumed he’d be less cagey today. Boy was I wrong.
“You are so fucking stupid,” I whisper to myself as I walk down the long cement hallway to the stairs leading to the parking lot.
I might as well go grab something to eat before I have to meet with the team for the parade choreography.
I fling the door open and the contrast from the dimly lit hallway to the bright sun in the parking lot has my eyes doing a double take, because I can’t possibly be seeing the scene playing out in front of me.
Ozzie and his ex tangled in a kiss.
My heart hammers and hot tears threaten to spill from just behind my eyelids as I also realize my car is parked right next to hers. Her passenger door is open blocking my driver side door, and the two of them are standing just inside the small space, bodies so close it makes my skin crawl.
Against my better judgement, I keep moving in the direction of my car—it feels immature to turn and run in the opposite direction—when her eyes lock with mine.
She doesn’t even know who I am, so there’s no reason to run.
My perspective shifts as I get closer to them and take in what’s actually going on.
“What the fuck Tatum?” he shouts in frustration. “You can’t text me that you have a box of my shit to lure me out here and then pull this shit. You lost the privilege of kissing me when you fucked my best friend.”
His words have me pausing, debating if I really should run in the other direction.
“You don’t understand.” She starts crying.
“What a fucking joke, Tatum,” he says matter-of-factly, but not in a funny way.
His voice is cold and firm. “I told you the other night, I don’t miss you.
Just give me— No, you know what? Keep it all.
I don’t need it. Whatever you have in there probably smells like you, and I don’t want it.
Burn it all. And lose my number,” he says, turning in my direction.
I slowly start moving to my car as she slams the door.
The startled look on his face only flashes for a second before his expression flattens and he moves past me, and around my car, to the passenger side.
He doesn’t say a word when I unlock it to get in, he just opens the door and climbs in beside me.
When I take a side glance out the window as I start the engine, the look on her face is like nothing I’ve ever seen.
The fucking audacity. She looks gutted, hurt with tears rolling down her face like she wasn’t the one to slice his heart wide open.
“What are we getting for lunch?” he asks as if nothing happened.
I put the car in reverse and slowly pull out of the parking space all while trying to unscramble the thoughts clanking around in my brain like shattered little pieces of glass.
After a few seconds of silence I ask, “Are you ok?”
“Just hungry.” He smiles, picking up my hand and placing a soft kiss across my knuckles.
“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” I ask, clearly annoyed.
“There’s nothing to talk about. She texted me that she was at the field to bring me a box of my shit. I came out to get it, and she took advantage of my proximity when I went to get the box out of her car. You saw the rest.”
“How do you know I saw the rest?” I scoff.
“I saw your reflection in the car as you walked up. I couldn’t tell it was you, but I knew someone was there.”
“So that’s it. You just had it out with your ex in the parking lot and now we’re getting lunch?”
“Yes,” he says confidently.
I huff in annoyance, prompting him to turn off the radio.
“There’s nothing to talk about because nothing important happened. Other than the fact that when her lips touched mine it didn’t feel right. Not like it used to. When she used to kiss me, fuck, even when she looked at me, it was the best feeling in the worl—”
I turn the radio back on and turn it up, signaling to him that I don’t want to hear this.
“Don’t do that,” he scolds, turning the music off again. “Can we be adults for a second and have an honest conversation?”
“Oz, I don’t want to hear about all the warm feelings she used to give you.”
He just continues as if he didn’t hear me. “It didn’t feel right because she broke my trust, and for me that’s the most important thing in a relationship. But more than that, her lips were not soft, coated with gloss that tastes like sweet mint.”
I lick my lips, tasting the hint of mint on them as he continues, “She hurt me.”
It’s not a declaration of love, it’s not even really a confirmation of a future for us, but it is confirmation that what I walked up on was the end.
So I let it be and continue driving, but it doesn’t keep the rapid fire of worst case scenarios from sweeping through my brain before his hand is back on mine and it immediately quiets the noise.