Page 40 of On the Line

JAMES

It’s been almost a week since the farmer’s market, and although Ozzy and I haven’t had the chance to see each other outside of work again, Orso has become a flirty playground for us. Ozzy managing to find me in dark, hidden corners every chance he gets.

It’s a slow Sunday night when I flounce down the stairs into the basement of Orso. The bar was out of Rioja so I offered to run down and grab it from the booze room.

My feet have barely hit the bottom step when I hear another pair of feet clamber down after me. Whipping around, I barely have time to register Ozzy before he takes my hand and drags me into the unlocked keg room.

He pushes my back against the cold brick wall, his name leaving my lips in a shocked whisper. Without a word, he buries his face in the crook of my neck and takes a large inhale. I break out in goosebumps, his hands roaming over my hips heightening the sensation. He lets out a long, hungry hum; the vibration dancing over my skin.

“All I want is to consume every little piece of you untilthere’s nothing left but the taste of you on my tongue,” he says,muchtoo seriously.

I giggle. “You’re so weird,” I say, a little breathless, giving him a playful tap on the shoulder. Still, I tilt my head to the side to give him more space for the kisses he’s now peppering all over my throat. Molten heat spikes low in my stomach. The thrill of seeing Ozzy this undone is undeniably sexy.

“Oh, princess,” he growls, his mouth finding a path up to my jaw. “You don’t know howweirdI can get.”

Catching my bottom lip with his teeth, he tugs on it hard while he presses his hips into mine. For a few blissful seconds, while his mouth is on mine, I forget where we are—forget why I was down here in the first place. His hands find my breasts, squeezing and groping hungrily over my black satin shirt. I moan softly and the sound spurs him on.

When his tongue in my mouth starts to feel like me wanting to fall to my knees and do a lot more than just kiss, I manage to come back to my senses and break away. The flush on his cheeks makes my stomach dip but the petulant look he gives me while still trying to hold on to me has me snickering.

“I need to get back,” I say playfully, shooing him away. “And you probably do too.”

He presses his lips together, straightening his shoulders and closing his eyes as if collecting himself. Smoothing his tattooed hand over his face, his gaze snaps back to mine. “Just you wait ‘till I get my hands on you again,” he declares, giving me a head-to-toe stare while slowly walking backward before exiting the keg room.

A thrilling shiver skitters down my spine, every fiber of my body now anticipating what will come next.

About an hour later,Michelle and I are leaning against the service bar as subtly as we can, waiting for our tables to need us. It’s a slow night. I put my weight on one foot, idly tapping the tip of my toes on the floor with the other. Now that Ozzy and I are … whatever this is, I have trouble focusing on anything but that.

As usual, my attention is on the kitchen, staring at Ozzy who’s milling around close to the pass, his crystalline eyes fixed on me while talking to Itzel beside him.

“Wait,” Michelle says slowly, following my gaze, then back at me.

My attention snaps back to her, now sporting a wide-open smile on her face.

“Is something going on between you and Ozzy?” she asks, low and conspiratorial.

“What? No.” My voice is much too high for her to believe my lousy lie.

“Please.” She laughs. “You wouldn’t be the first one to fall for his cocky bad boy bit. It’s a rite of passage really.”

I know she doesn’t mean it maliciously, and I’m not the one to care about someone’s sexual history but something about her comment still stings. My mind drifts back to when the hostess warned me about the kitchen staff—especially that slut Ozzy.

My mood sours. Maybe this is a mistake.

“Have you?” I blurt out.

Michelle looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Gay, remember?”

“Right,” I say, shaking my head. “Duh.”

She shoots me a sly smile. Since she already knows about the break-up between me and Zachary, she says, “Maybe fucking a slutty line cook is exactly what you need.” She snickers, waggling her fingers at me. “What’s that expression again? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else?”

I burst out laughing, but don’t bother correcting her.

In truth, breaking up with Zachary was a relief.

As if I was finally able to take a proper breath for the first time in over three years.

Only … well.

---