Page 17 of Magic or Madness

“Introduce me to them. I’ll charm them, make sure they know you’re safe with me,” he teases, and I’m mentally weighing the options, not sure how to approach a situation like this.

On one hand, I just met this guy, and it’s probably too soon to introduce him to my friends, but, Ozzy isn’t just a random guy, or a one-night stand.

“Okay, that’s fair. I met your friends, you might as well meet mine.” He’s always touching me, whether it be a full body hug, or tracing small circles on my skin, and I love every second where our bodies are connected.

“I’ll pick you up after work?”

“I work at Keith’s shop downtown,” I laugh, realizing we skipped over that pleasantry, and he digs around until he finds something suitable for me to wear home.

Ozzy helps me get dressed, his t-shirt nearly reaching my knees, and leads me out into the main area. All his roommates are sitting in the same places they were last night, all eyes on us.

The cheering starts, the boys chanting Ozzy’s name, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I’m surprised she can walk after all that fucking you two did!” Max shouts, and I can’tbelieveI was that loud.

I’m terrified that I’ve left a terrible impression, so much so that it makes my stomach turn. They probably think I’m a slut, or I was just an easy fuck, and I’m not used to people thinking things like that about me.

“She’s a screamer!” The quiet one laughs, and Ozzy’s hand squeezes mine so hard, it starts to hurt.

“You’re all just jealous that you slept alone last night,” I say, shutting them up before Ozzy loses his mind.

He bends down, kissing me on the cheek, and with that, the boys go back to minding their own business. A few of them are scrolling on their phones, while the one who was driving last night abruptly stands, and heads toward what I can assume is his office-turned-room.

“You amaze me,” he says, squeezing my hand a little tighter, leading me into their makeshift kitchen, which was likely an employee break room before they arrived.

“How do you take your coffee?” I ask, grabbing us each a mug from the cabinet.

“I don’t drink coffee, actually. But let me make yours.”

“Such a gentleman. A little sugar and whatever cream is in the fridge are fine. Thank you, Ozzy,” I smile, watching him work in the kitchen, his body like a perfectly sculpted work of fucking art.

His hair is tangled and messy from my hands being in it for most of the night, and his back muscles flex as he fixes my coffee, but I’m fixated on his tattoos.

They're intricate, all intertwined to form what looks like a dragon, and I want to trace every line with my fingers, memorizing each detail of the design.

The morning eventually passes, and although breakfast with the guys was fun, I have to get back to my apartment. I wave goodbye to everyone, thanking them for letting me keep them up all night, and Ozzy’s cheeks turn a shade of bright pink I haven’t yet seen.

I love seeing him flustered, it’s a completely welcome change from the tough, muscle man façade he seems to put on for his friends.

Our time is running out, but Ozzy drives me home in his truck, holding my hand the entire time as I give him directions and we keep learning more facts about one another.

“Wait, you live here?” He whips his head in my direction so fast I’m afraid he’s torn a muscle, a seriousness in his voice that wasn’t there two seconds ago.

“Yeah, third floor, apartment three, the three girls. A triple threat,” I laugh, but he doesn’t think I’m so funny.

“Fucking Christ,” he mutters, slamming his fist on the steering wheel.

Involuntarily, I jump at his outburst, my guard immediately going up as I wait for an explanation, but it doesn’t come so easily. Yelling and slamming things don’t impress me whatsoever, so maybe I’m seeing the sides of him that I need to, before whatever this is, goes too far.

“What is it, Ozzy?” He sighs deeply, like he’s debating if he should be honest with me, and I wait until his somber eyes meet mine, the uncertainty he’s carrying taking center stage.

“We pulled a job here last night. That’s how I ended up running into you at the coffee shop,” he confesses, and my heart drops into my stomach.

“Did you hurt someone?”

“No, absolutely not, Bambi. It was just a simple recovery for a client, and we may have trashed the apartment a bit, but we didn’t hurt anyone, I promise.” He looks into my eyes, and even though I probably shouldn’t, I believe him.

I heard a quote somewhere, something like,it’s what’s behind the eyes that counts, and at this moment, I can see every sin this man has ever committed, but lying to me isn’t one of those things.

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