“I’ve got something planned.”

Oz winks at me, pulling me closer, and we get into the back of his limo parked out front. When we get inside he hands me a small duffel bag. I look at it skeptically, but he smiles and tells me to unzip it. Inside, I see a change of clothes, and my suspicions are up.

“Are you wanting to watch me undress?” I ask, giving him a rueful smile.

He takes his tie off, pulling out his own bag. He opens it and takes out a gray T-shirt. He unbuttons his dress shirt, removing it, and my eyes trail down his chest and hard abs. There has to be some kind of law against looking this good, but I ogle him as he tugs on the fitted shirt. It hugs his body in all the right places and he winks at me because he knows I’m getting distracted.

“We’re having a date night, baby. Keep your hands to yourself.”

I roll my eyes at his cocky, yet accurate request, and watch as he pulls out a blue baseball cap. It’s then I see the Yankees logo on it, and on his shirt. Taking out my own clothes, I see we have matching hats and shirts.

“A Yankees game?” The excitement is clear in my voice.

“Hope you like baseball.” Oz slips off his slacks and puts on a pair of jeans and tennis shoes.

I look down in my bag and pull out a pair of jean shorts and blue cork wedges. The man thinks of everything. I turn my back to him so he can unzip my dress, and he places a soft kiss on my spine as I slip it off. When I look back at him he pulls his cap down low, making him look even sexier. He stretches back in the limo seat and gives me that earth-shattering smile of his.

I take off my dress and put on the shirt and shorts. “Not really a fan, but I love hot dogs and beer. I went to a couple of games in college, but never to a professional one. I’m not sure I get what all the initials mean, but I understand the basics. More importantly, I hear the Yankees put on a spread.”

He laughs at me, and then proceeds to tell me everything he knows about the team. His favorite players growing up, and about the few times he was able to go. As he talks, his face lights up with excitement, and I can picture him as a young man and it melts my heart. It makes me happy to know that even through all the shit with his father and growing up, that there were good times for him to look back on and be able to share with me. By the time the car pulls up in front of the stadium Oz is happily grabbing my hand and tugging me behind him. His own enthusiasm is driving mine, and I’m nearly giggling as we reach the gate.

As is usually the case when we go somewhere, the security guard at the gate looks at him and smiles, opens the rope and allows us unobstructed access. Oz gets the VIP treatment everywhere we go, and it’s still a little dizzying to get used to. I’ve never had the best of everything, and sometimes on this kind of scale it’s overwhelming, but at the same time, kind of badass.

We make our way to the concessions stand first, grabbing beer, hot dogs and soft pretzels. After that we walk to our seats, right behind home plate. The view of the stadium is incredible, and my simple college experience can’t compare to something on this grand scale. Even if you’re not into baseball, or the Yankees, there’s something to be said about the magic of it all. Being surrounded by this many fans of a sport they love, and seeing top athletes compete is a thrill. But the best part is being with Oz. I think he could take me to clean toilets and we’d still end up having the best time together. He’s become my other half, and as long as he’s with me, I’m good to go.

We sit and chat for a few minutes and he points out players and coaches as they warm up. To my surprise one of the pitchers he pointed out earlier sees him and calls him out by his last name.

“Osbourne! Who’s your girl?”

The player looks over at me and throws his hand up, waving. I begin to wave back, but Oz grabs my wrist and puts my hand back on my thigh, gripping it possessively.

“Mind your business, Rodriguez.”

I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing as Oz practically shoves over in front of me to block me from view. Sitting back in my seat, I rub his broad shoulders, hoping that helps the jealous streak pass.

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