Page 99 of On the Line

I think everyone here knows why Michelle would be asking me that question.

“The guy has been in a foul mood all night, all week actually,” she exclaims, pulling out her ponytail while she speaks. “More than foul—rotten. Nearly tore me a new one when I forgot to punch in that niçoise for table 12.”

I sigh, not really knowing what to say. Even I wasn’t impervious to Ozzy’s barks and snarls, albeit a lot more subdued. I chalked it up to the kitchen being slammed but it still left a bad taste in my mouth. “I’ll talk to him. Somethingmustbe up with him.”

“Too late.”

“What do you mean too late?” I say finishing another rolled-up cutlery.

“I saw him get in his car about five minutes ago.”

“Are you shitting me?” I say a little too loudly, suddenly at my wits end with him.

What is he thinking? That he can just avoid me and I’ll sit there and take it?

Absolutely not.

I give Michelle a sheepish look. “Do you mind finishing up alone?”

“Of course not,” she says, shooing me away. “Go.”

“Thanks, you’re the best.” I give her a quick hug and run to get changed.

I bangon Ozzy’s door, not caring how late it is. I know he’s in there, I saw his car parked on the street when the taxi dropped me off. I didn’t bother texting or calling, convinced he would have left my messages unanswered.

I hear his muffled voice from inside. “Who the fuck is banging on?—”

The door swings open and Ozzy stops in his tracks. “James?”

“Remember me?” I say haughtily, my hip cocked and arms crossed.

Clipping my shoulder with his, I push him to the side and walk in.

“You shouldn't have come here,” he says, his tone laced with bitter defeat.

“And why is that?” I say, swinging back around to face him, my arms up in exasperation. “Care to explain why you’ve been ignoring me for the past week?”

“I haven’t been ignor?—”

I cut him off. “Please, Ozzy. I’m not stupid.”

“Fine,” he says, the muscles of his jaw pulsing. He holds up his hand toward his room, and I hold his gaze for a long beat before turning on my heels, walking into his bedroom.

I face him as soon as he follows me in.

“Did I do something wrong? What is it?” I press harder.

“Not everything is about you, James,” Ozzy snaps.

I fall silent, an uncomfortable but painfully familiar feeling settling in my gut.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly adds. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“So whatdoyou mean?” I say, impatience pushing me on.

“I mean …” Ozzy trails off, both hands swiping over his curls, then cradling his palms on the back of his head as he looks up at the ceiling.

“What?” I urge. “Spit it out.”

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