After the national anthem, Oz gives me a kiss on the cheek and whispers in my ear.
“Sit tight, baby. I’ll be right back.”
He walks over to the side of the dugout, where there’s a small door, and security opens it for him. My jaw nearly hits the ground as I see him walk onto the field and the Rodriguez guy gives him the baseball. There’s a second of teasing between the two of them before they do a man hug of slaps on the back. After that, Oz takes the pitcher’s mound and the arena claps and cheers.
“Holy shit.” I cup both hands over my mouth. Suddenly I’m so nervous and excited all at once. I can’t believe he’s about to throw out the first pitch at a Yankees game and he never told me.
I watch as he stretches his long muscular arms and the catcher moves into place. The crowd starts to cheer, and Oz looks to me and winks before taking his stance. I hold my breath as he winds up and releases the ball. It’s like time stands still as I watch the ball slowly leave his hand and make its way across home plate and into the catcher’s glove.
My man is good at everything. And throwing out the first pitch at a baseball game is no exception. His form is worthy of any major league team, and the speed and precision are perfect. I could say I’m shocked, but I’m not.
I jump up and down, throwing my arms in the air and cheer the loudest I can. If I’m not mistaken, I see a blush on his cheeks as he leaves the pitcher’s mound, and the Yankees take the field. He stops and poses for a few pictures with some staff, and then makes his way back up to the arena and over to where I’m sitting.
I leap into his arms and wrap myself around him in pure excitement, like he won the World Series, instead of throwing a single pitch. He kisses my neck and hugs me back before putting me in my seat and taking his beside me.
“You were incredible. How could you not tell me?” I playfully slap his arm and he reaches over, squeezing my thigh.
“Didn’t want to jinx it.” He kisses my neck and I catch his warm amber scent. It makes my toes curl, and my heart flutter, but all too soon he’s moving back. “Besides, I like surprising you.”
“So it seems.”
We watch the game for several innings, ordering beers and having a great time. I never thought I could have so much fun at a baseball game, but being with Oz does that to me.
“Okay, where’s the bathroom?” I ask, looking around.
“At the top of the stairs on the left.” Oz points. “Hang on a second and I’ll go with you.”
Just then a reporter comes over and asks for a quick interview with Oz. I see the look on his face and he begins to tell them no, but I squeeze his arm and let him know it’s okay. He looks longingly at me for a moment, and I laugh, leaving him talking to the reporter, while I slip off to the restroom.
Once at the top of the stairs I see Captain. It’s like he pops out of nowhere. I give him a small wave, then spot the restroom right away. I take a step without looking and run straight into someone.
“Oh, sorry—” I stop suddenly when I look to see it’s Joel. I haven’t seen him since the night of the club when Oz came in and punched him in the face. It takes him a second to recognize me, but when he does he throws his hands up and takes a step back.
I want to explain about that night, and apologize. “Hey, Joel. I didn’t get a chance to—”
“Mallory. You’re a nice person, but I’m not getting in the middle of you and your boyfriend.” He takes another step back. “I don’t need your drama.”
“My drama?” I take offense at his insinuation. Like his trying to grope me without my permission was totally okay.
“Yeah, I don’t need your man chasing me down”
He turns, walking away, and I think about yelling something to his retreating back, but then I think about how it’s probably best to let it go. Oz will always protect me and keep me safe, and as much as I liked Joel as a professor, I never had any feelings beyond professional for him. Walking to the bathroom, I decide that I have no guilt about what went down that night, and I’m glad to be done with him.
After I finish, I walk out and see Oz leaning against the wall. He looks so hot in his low-hanging jeans, tight shirt and down-turned baseball cap. Something about the way he’s leaning makes him look cocky, and I can’t help but like it a little more.