Chapter 22
Maren
Iknow Oz can be a little cagey at times, but something seriously crawled up his ass today. Over the past few weeks we have spent enough time together that I can usually read his moods, but this one is a new one.
Pissed, hurt, annoyed… whatever it is I can’t read it, and he’s more quiet and distant than usual.
“You ok there, Grouch?” I tease as I walk past him to tell Rikki his next direction just behind where Ozzie stands.
He takes in a long breath and gives me a slow once over and then runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I just really want to get out of here.”
I can’t tell what he intended by that comment, but regardless of what it was—it stung.
For the next hour we finish up last minute adjustments to Rikki’s walk up, make one little change to the new “Dance With Me” game for the 7th inning stretch, and also record what might be my favorite post yet.
It was a video of the guys reenacting a little floating air walk lift from a Dancing with the Stars routine that is going absolutely viral.
The best part by far—watching Rikki lift Jax so he was laying parallel to the floor effortlessly, as “Ain’t No Sunshine” by Bill Withers plays through the phone, only to have him face plant as he starts to air walk.
It took more takes than I could count to get it right, but the bloopers at the end are what has it popping off on all platforms right now.
This is what inspired the “Dance With Me” game for tonight’s game. 7 lucky fans will be randomly selected by Orbit to come down to the field and participate in an air walk lift competition with one of the players.
Ozzie and I have been pretty nonchalant with whatever this is around Horner, so he had no idea Ozzie’s fingers on me would do deliciously dirty things to my insides when he insisted that we demonstrate it for the crowd tonight.
Or that his little request would lead to the first time Ozzie and I have been back in the studio together all season… not to mention alone.
As we walk up to the door, I can’t help but apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t realize he’d request this, and the field is being used for other baseball related things right now.”
“You don’t have to keep me out of the studio,” he deadpans. “I can handle it.”
“I’m not,” I lie. I didn’t know he picked up on that.
He doesn’t even entertain me with an answer, he just gives me a sideways glance and holds the door open for me to walk in.
Surprisingly, he wants to get right to work, not wasting any time.
I turn the music on, and as it fills the room through the speakers, the mixture of the cool air, his hands wrapping around my hips, and his breath on my neck before he lifts me slightly off the floor has me covered in goosebumps and dampness starting to pool between my legs.
Not to my surprise, I find myself horizontally hovering over the floor the first time. His muscles are not just an impressive show, he’s insanely strong.
But when I start moving my legs in a walking motion, things get a little dicey, and my face plummets towards the floor from the imbalance of my weight.
He quickly reaches around me to keep me from hitting the hardwood, and when his hand gets tangled in my loose tank top and slides underneath the fabric, he groans.
“What the hell was that noise?” I laugh.
“Do you have a lace bra on, Mare?”
“Maybe,” I tease.
He closes his eyes, licks his lips, and turns away from me for a second. When he turns back around, I see his hard length starting to stretch across the fabric of his gym shorts and lick my own lips in return.
“I think if I hold you a little higher on your waist, that won’t happen.” I’m surprised, not only by his accurate assessment of how to correct the lift, but also by his response in general. If I said I wasn’t expecting this private dance session to get a little heated, I’d be lying.
Disappointed, I get back in position and as soon as he lifts me off the ground, I lay out flat. When I start moving my legs, I wobble a bit, but we execute it correctly this time.
When he sets me back down on my feet, a small smile pulls at his lips. It’s so subtle I almost miss it.
We continue to practice it until it starts feeling effortless, his erection at full mast by the time we finish.
“Want to come back to my office and I can take care of that?” I offer, but his answer is interrupted by Jax walking in.
“Horner wants the team to meet in the locker room in 5 for a quick meeting before some of us go out to greet fans.” He’s in and out, clearly unsure of what he’d be walking in on.
There have been a few heated makeout sessions he’s walked in on at their apartment, and while he’s getting used to it, he enters rooms a little more cautiously the more time that passes.
Guess I’m not the only one that is waiting for the tension on the invisible thread mirroring both our restraint to snap.
Ozzie places a soft kiss on my forehead and walks out of the room.
The games usually fly by, but this one dragged on like a Monday with no caffeine, until the 7th inning stretch. This idea of Horner’s was magic, and he knows it as he dances across the field in his mango colored suit, complete with a matching top hat, smiling like a little kid.
The crowd’s excitement is palpable as he explains the directions.
As he does so, Ozzie and I demonstrate the lift with precision three times facing various directions so everyone is sure to see. But again, he’s off. His body is rigid and his demeanor cold as he sets me back down on the ground the last time.
I know I said I don’t want Horner to know about us yet, but this distance is a hard pill to swallow.
We stand silently next to each other as we watch the competition, and the laughter filling the stands as one fan after another topples over onto the cushy mats below them.
Rikki and his partner are standing close by with her daughter in an astronaut costume and cute bouncy pigtails.
It’s not until Jax convinces the little girl to join him that someone finally lands the lift.
When Horner announces her the winner and crowns her the dance champion, complete with a tiara and a real mango, the crowd goes wild.
I look over at Ozzie, because watching him when he’s watching little kids have a good time at the games is my favorite.
He almost appears love-drunk and doe-eyed.
It’s the purest affection in the world, but tonight when I look at him, he seems blind to the scene playing out in front of him because his eyes are not on the little girl at all.
They are staring intently at me with that damn expression I can’t read.
The next two innings are tense, and his emotions are on his sleeve every time he comes back to the dugout. Every once in a while I catch him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, but that’s it.
“I’m going to shower at home,” he says at the end of the game, and puzzled doesn’t even begin to explain how I feel. “Finish your post game review with Horner, and meet me at my house.”
I don’t even have time to process his words, his tone, or the look on his face before he strides out onto the field, shirtless with a sheen of sweat illuminating each ink covered curve of his muscles.
He’s ending this.
I reluctantly drive to Ozzie’s apartment bracing myself for “the conversation.”
“It’s ok, we never even talked about this being a long term thing.” I practice my response to the imaginary conversation all the way there.
“I’m sorry.” I picture this being his response. I assume even though he can be an asshole, he’d be sorry. He’s actually really sweet beneath the armor he’s built since Tatum broke his heart.
“You don’t have to be sorry, Oz. You’ve been through a lot.”
This short mini conversation with myself is on repeat the entire drive. I restart it, and change it up a little each time.
Why?
Why would I have my radio off practicing both sides of an imaginary conversation?
Anxiety, that’s why. Because my entire life I’ve felt the need to rehearse difficult and even sometimes exciting conversations until I feel prepared to have them so I don’t sound like a babbling idiot.
I know that to anyone else, it sounds insane.
Sadie has walked in on said conversations many times over the years, and never gets used to it.
I just assumed it’s something everyone does, because when I don’t see the conversation coming and I say things the wrong way—it haunts me for days while I play out all the things I could have said instead.
Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it, like right now when he opens the door to his apartment and gives me a questioning look.
He peeks his head out the door and looks curiously up and down the hallway. “Who are you talking to?”
“Huh?” I ask, pulling myself out of the conversation.
Shit. He thinks you’re insane. If he wasn’t going to break things off before he—
My thoughts are interrupted by his lips on mine.
He scoops me into his arms and kicks the door closed, catching me off guard.
“What—” I try to ask him what he’s doing through the heated embrace, but my body doesn’t let me and my legs snake around his waist as he carries me down the dark hallway.
He moves to my neck and the only word I can manage to get out as I look towards the other bedroom door in the hall is, “Jax?” It comes out as a question I can’t seem to finish.
“He’s on a date with Sloan.” Is all he says as he kicks his bedroom door closed as well. Only this time he shifts his grip around me so he can click the lock.
He sits me on the edge of his bed and hands me a little black bag with gold tissue paper.
“What’s this?” I ask, trying to align our current interaction with the conversation I spent the last 45 minutes trying to prepare for.
“A surprise.” He smiles, and the way his lips curl in a seductive way has heat radiating through me, even though I hate surprises. My reactions never match my emotion. “But, I don’t want you to open it in front of me.”
Thank fuck. I think I just fell in love with him.
“I’m going to go get us some snacks and wine while you open it, ok?” he looks unsure.
“Yeah,” I reassure him, shaking my head, despite my confusion.
As soon as he unlocks the door and clicks it closed, I start pulling the tissue paper out of the bag.
Why did he lock the door the first time? I wonder.
“Not important,” I tell myself as I pull out the last piece of tissue.
The room is dark, only lit by a few candles scattered around the room.
I pause, taking in the romantic scene around me.
There are three candles in sleek black glass placed around the room.
One on the nightstand next to his bed, one on the dresser, and one on a small table in the corner.
Each one is surrounded by tiny, little fairy lights and greenery, and then I notice another string of fairy lights draped on the wall above his bed where a headboard would sit.
I reach my hand into the bag, and it only adds to the growing ache in the pit of my stomach. I was so far off in my assumptions. He’s not ending things. He’s starting something between us.
I look down at the lingerie I just pulled out of the bag, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s the set I’ve had on hold at Second Base for months. I’ve made a few small payments on this, and had another one I was going to make this week, meaning this would be mine soon.
Inside the bag is a small hand written note:
All of your payments on this piece have been transferred to store credit for a future purchase, enjoy.
—Sara