Page 52 of On the Line

Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.

“Just got back,” he rasps, his disheveled and ragged look confirmation enough. Nothing about his demeanor seems at all fazed to see me here, and I’m too frazzled to question whether that’s a good or bad thing. He stretches his arms high above his head, yawning long and loud. “Anyway, goodnight.”

It’s two in the afternoon but I mutter a softgoodnightback as I watch him slink into his bedroom. Hearing the patio door open and shut behind me, I turn around just in time to catch Ozzy taking me in. His gaze is slow and full of gluttonous hunger and I forget all about the awkward run-in I just had with our coworker.

Ozzy clears his throat. “Ready, Jimbo?”

When we getto the diner, Ozzy is greeted like a celebrity. The interior is outdated but charming, the whole place decorated in chrome and baby blue, with two rows of booths lining opposite walls. He waves to the staff with familiarity and warmth while we walk to a booth facing the window, making a point to introduce me to everyone as if it’s the most important thing he’s ever done.

“Alec and I come here a lot,” Ozzy says with a smirk, instructing me to sit down first. Sliding into the booth, I expect Ozzy to sit in front of me, but instead, he follows me in, nestling against my side.

“What are you doing?” I say with a giggle.

“What?” he asks me all too innocently. A lock of brown hair falls into his piercing blue-green eyes, and he brushes it away with a quick head flick.

“Usually people face each other,” I tease.

He pushes himself even tighter against me, whispering in my ear. “It’s much easier for me to keep my hands on you if you’re next to me, baby.” Proving his point, he slips his hand in between my thighs under the table. “I know you’re not wearing anything under that dress.”

A small gasp escapes me. But inside I'm ablaze with his hand burning up my thigh. “How would you even know that?”

His voice lowers, like soft silk to my ear. “I have your panties in my pocket, princess.”

I slap him away, chiding him because I can’t think of how else to react. “Ozzy! Where’s your sense of decorum?”

His chuckle is low as he straightens in his seat. “What made you think I had any.”

I return his laugh, my gaze lingering on the curves of his face, and the small scar on his lip that somehow just enhances his appeal.

I never knew playfulness could be so sexy, that laughter could be such an aphrodisiac.

When the server comes up to our table to fill our mugs full of hot coffee, she’s just as friendly to Ozzy as everyone else. His presence seems to make people light up, like the entire world is simply grateful to have him around. Just being a simple bystander, and witnessing what I can only describe as theOzzy effect, touches me deeper than expected.

I suddenly feel like crying. But this feeling isn’t full of melancholy, no, it tastes like relief. Like I never knew someone like Ozzy even existed.

I clear my throat.Crap.

“The usual?” the server asks.

When Ozzy turns to me, I force an easy smile, trying to hide the emotions I’m sure are lingering in my gaze.

“You trust me? I promise you won’t be disappointed,” he says.

There’s a pause before my answer. Recalling how many times people have called me a picky eater because of my food aversions. But there’s a gentleness to his gaze that keeps me hopeful. “Of course,” I answer.

His eyes brighten, then he turns to the server and nods enthusiastically. “Two of the usual, please Diana, thank you.”

She returns the nod, with a closed-lipped but warm smile and walks to the next table.

“So, what did you order for us?”

Ozzy’s smile widens, andmy god, if I could spend the entire day watching him smile I would. “That’s a surprise,”he says, taking my hand in his, the small stick and poke smiley face tattooed on his thumb mirroring the man himself. He kisses the top of my knuckles as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” I reply, making no effort to remove my hand from his.

I feel Ozzy stiffen beside me. But I don’t have time to ask him what’s wrong before his arm flies out of the booth, intercepting the young-looking guy walking past us. Ozzy’s fingers lock around his wrist.

“Shouldn’t you be in summer school?” Ozzy’s question is practically a growl.

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