#penguin week

When you get to the event and Oz has pulled away, safely out of earshot, you gently touch Sofia’s wrist to pause her from walking in, “He’s cute.” 

“Who?” She looks at where the car had been before Oz pulled off. “My drive’a?” 

“Yeah. You don’t think so?” 

Sofia laughs softly, shrugging, “I guess I just don’t see him like that.” 

The event is an afternoon tea party, which you’d been delighted to dress for but you’re not exactly thrilled to eat at. It’s nice enough all the same, though. 

Oz meets up with you both afterward, taking Sofia’s bag and walking you to the car. He looks at Sofia, “You need a cigarette?” 

“Desperately, I feel like they took a drill to my temple.” 

“I dunno, it wasn’t that bad,” you smile, linking arms with Sofia as Oz lights her a cig. She rolls her eyes and you shrug, “Except the food, oh my God. Rich people don’t know how to eat.” 

“Who’s gonna tell Alicia that scones and cucumber sandwiches aren’t a real meal,” Sofia says wryly, taking another puff. 

“It looked beautiful but everything was just. So dry, so bland. She’s richer than God, why am I still hungry?” 

That earns a snort from Oz. Sofia looks at you, “You want somethin’ to eat?” You nod. “What?” 

You give it a thought. “Don’t judge me. Cinnabon.” 

Sofia laughs softly, shrugging, “Sure, why not. I think there’s one in that mall – the one with the Sephora?” 

You sigh happily, “This almost makes the scones worth it.” 

Oz takes you to the mall, letting you both know that he’ll pull around to pick you up when you’re ready. You offer to get him a cinnamon roll and he refuses, though there’s something in his voice that sounds like it might be more for duty than lack of a desire. The idea of getting him one anyway whispers through your mind, but Sofia ends up ordering for you and paying so you don’t get the chance to. When you have your order, you look at her, “Should we get one for Oz?” 

“He said he didn’t want one.” 

“Yeah, but…” 

Sofia hums, “We gotta take him at his word. You know how guys can be.” 

You don’t want to argue, especially when Oz is your ride home, though your mind can’t help but go to that look in his eyes when he was looking at you and when he was walking back with you to the car, that anxiety. “You’re right,” you say, but you don’t really believe it.

[%%%]

“You have someone you can call?” 

It’s about three months since the tea party and you can barely hear the bartender. You look up, eyes glassed, eyeshadow a mess, and pull out your phone. 

You mean to click on your contacts but instead pull up your text threads and scroll past every name that would either get you in trouble for damaging the family reputation or would be a bad idea to be alone with while this intoxicated. (You need better friends.) 

Your eyes linger on Oz’s thread. “That could work,” you murmur, pressing the call button. 

It rings three times. “Hello? Who’s this?” 

“You don’t have my number saved?” Oz says your name, a confused lilt to his voice and a smile tugs at your lips, “Bingo, and good evening to you too.” 

“Everything alright?” 

“Can’t I just call? My good friend? Best friend?” You chuckle, “I’m full of shit, I need a favor real bad, are you busy?” 

“What’s goin’ on?” 

“I’m at the bar and don’t tell the bartender – “ a laugh because he’s right beside you “ – but I’m super fucked up, unbecoming of a fine young lady or whatever the fuck, you know I don’t subscribe to–” 

“I gotcha, Doll, where are you?” It takes a moment to remember where you are but you tell him and he says, “I’ll be there in fifteen, alright, don’t go anywhere.” 

“I owe you my life,” you smile, hanging up. 

Oz comes in record time, walking into the bar and you forget why you’re even upset. You smile despite the fact that he looks super concerned, “Hey, hey,” he says as he comes over to you. “You alright? Doin’ okay?” 

You nod, “Better now I think.” 

“Good, good.” He pulls back to look at your feet, “Alright, you’re in some very tall shoes so hold onto me when you stand up, Sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay, I can do kung fu in these,” you say smiling as you hop off the barstool. 

You do stumble just slightly but he’s sturdy and strong, putting an arm around you, “I’m sure. You got everything, bag and coat?” 

“Just need bag,” you hold it up. 

“Perfect, let’s get’cha home.” 

You feel fine walking out of the bar but a wave of nausea hits you as soon as you walk into the parking lot. “Gimme, ah, gimme like one second,” you say and he’s looking at you with that concerned face again until you step away from him and proceed to vomit right next to a trash can. 

“Fuck,” you groan. “That…was not very demure, sorry.” 

Oz laughs which makes you feel better. You spit and then open your bag to fish out a napkin, wiping your face (and tossing it properly into the trash.) You go back over to him and he puts his arm around you like you didn’t just puke three appetizer plates in front of him. “You got a hair thing on you? I can help you pull it back just in case it happens again.” 

“You’re always so nice to me,” you murmur, opening your bag. You dig around a bit until you find a scrunchie, handing it to him. 

When you arrive at the car, he has you brace yourself on it as he, very carefully, puts your hair in a ponytail. He smiles when he looks at you, opening the back door and gesturing for you to get in. 

“I’m gonna go nice and slow,” he says as he starts the car up. “It’s alright if you need me to pull off. I’d, uh, appreciate it if you didn’t throw up in here.”

You nod, “Got it, yeah, of course. Thank you again, I…I didn’t really know who else to call.” 

“It’s all good, Sweetheart.” He pulls out of the parking lot, slowly as promised. “You don’t gotta speak on this but I couldn’t help but notice you’re a little…” 

“Shitfaced.” 

“Yeah.” Oz shrugs, “Happens to the best of us, of course. Though – drinkin’ like that is usually because you’re celebratin’ or ‘cause it’s been a real bad night. And you didn’t exactly look like you were poppin’ Champagne.” 

You snort, “It was vodka Red Bull.” 

“Jesus.” 

“I got stood up,” you say, answering his not-quite-unasked question. You clear your throat, the reality of it only bringing more tears to your eyes. “Got stood up by a guy I really liked, ate my body weight in mozzarella sticks and shitty bar nachos about it, which you, uh…probably saw.” 

“I’m real sorry about that, Sweetheart. That’s such shit, can’t even give you the dignity of an excuse ah’somethin’? Ain't right.” He looks at you in the rear view mirror. “You okay?” 

“I just feel like an idiot, I don't know,” your voice cracks when you say it and that kind of only makes you feel more pathetic. 

“No, no, c'mon, yer not an idiot. You're smart, funny. Beautiful. You're a catch, Sweetheart.” 

You manage a little smile, “Thank you, that really means a lot.” 

“Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. And frankly, if someone like you’s gettin’ stood up, there ain't no hope fa'the rest of us.”

You giggle and then sniffle, “These stupid guys are just…they don't wanna date, certainly not new money like me.” 

“They care about that kinda thing? Ain’t money just…money?” 

You shake your head, “It's all – you know. They're like the Falcones, no disrespect. Generational, they all know each other, all that. My dad's only been this rich for like seven years. He's richer than some'a their dads but we didn't come from it so it doesn't matter even though I took all the same classes at the same university and go to the same fucking luncheons.” You rub your temple. “Bullshit problems, sorry.” 

“Nah, nah, you're allowed to be upset. Sounds exhaustin’.” 

“That's why I like you.” 

“Hm?” 

You smile to yourself, sweetly. All things considered, it could be much worse. Oz is here, after all, saying all these kind things about you. “This stuff is why I called, I don’t have a lot of people who would pick up the phone.” 

“Sorry to hear that too, Doll.”

You shrug. “It’s okay. I’m just…grateful for Sofia, she’s always been a real friend. And knowing her means I had someone to call.” You chuckle softly, looking out the window. 

Soon enough, he pulls up to your house. “Alright, Doll, we’re here. You need help inside?” 

“Please?” 

“I gotcha. Lemme get your door.” 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your bag. Oz holds his hand out for you and you take it, carefully getting out of his car. “Mm, oh this sucks,” you laugh, trying not to stumble. 

“Almost there. Are we goin’ in through the front?” 

You shake your head, pointing to the right, toward the pool. “My suite is over here, I have my own entrance.” 

Oz nods, “Don’t wanna wake your parents?” 

You scoff and it comes out more bitter than you really mean. “They’re – I don’t even know, maybe it’s the Maldives this week? Or it might’ve been…Austria.” Not that they’d give a shit anyway. “Doesn’t matter, sorry this is how you’re seeing my place for the first time.” 

Oz laughs, “I never exactly expected an invitation to any of your events.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’m just a driver, I don’t do that kinda thing.” 

“Hm. Not even at the Falcone estate?” Oz shakes his head. “Well that seems kinda fucked.” 

“‘S just how things’a done.” 

You walk in silence until you reach your French doors, right by the pool. You nod to it with a smile, “You wanna dip before you go?” 

Oz laughs, “Nah, nah, didn’t bring my swimsuit.” 

You snort, “Who said anything about swimsuits?” 

That makes Oz laugh again and while the lighting is very low, you’re almost sure you see a little blush on his cheeks. You dig for your keys and he clears his throat, “If you’re all set, I should be takin’ off.” 

“No, no, can I at least offer you a drink? As a thank you for coming to my rescue.” 

“I…probably shouldn’t but – “ he cuts himself off when the lock clicks and you open the door. “Alright. I mean, I oughta make sure you get t’bed okay, right?” 

You smile, closing the door and turning the lights on. The lighting change makes everything not feel quite real so you dim them. Better. Oz stands awkwardly in your suite and you smile, coming over to hold onto him while you take your shoes off, sighing happily, “Much better.”

“You’re, uh, a little smaller than I would’ve thought.” 

That makes you giggle, “I guess you’ve only seen me all dressed up.” You both share a soft laugh and that’s when you catch your reflection in the mirror behind him, “Oh, God, is that what my makeup looked like all night?” 

Oz smiles sympathetically, “You look beautiful.” 

“I look like I’ve been crying so much.” 

“To your credit, it wasn’t as obvious before you, uh, tossed your cookies.” Oz shrugs, “Y’had a rough night, happens to everyone.” 

“Oh!” You say as a thought strikes you, “Oh, oh I know exactly – exactly how to repay you.” 

He raises an eyebrow as you go to your dresser, selecting one of the bottles on top – the only bottle of whiskey, “I got it in one of those douchey convention swag bags. I don't really know anyone else who drinks it and I don't drink this stuff by myself. So here, it's yours.” 

Oz takes the bottle, looking at it and looking at you, “I can't – I can't accept this.” 

“You don't have to drink it now.” 

“No, nah, I mean, this is like a $200 bottle of whiskey. Tha’s too much. For me.” 

You shrug, “All the more reason it goes to someone who'll actually enjoy it, right?” 

“Jesus…” 

You chuckle, taking out one of your makeup remover wipes and working on your eyes in the mirror, “Tell you what, I'll help you drink it, if it'll make you feel better. But not tonight.” 

He laughs softly, “Alright. Maybe.” 

“Though you are invited to stay. If you wanted to stay.” You finish your other eye and turn to look at him. “Bed's plenty big and all.” 

“I appreciate the invitation but I…I wouldn't feel right about it, Doll. I know y'ain't in a good headspace right now, I'm not – I'm not that kinda guy.” 

You want to tell him that it's his conscience that makes you want to pull him closer but you also know he's right. And, of course, you also don't want to make him uncomfortable. You give him another smile, “Okay. But I do think you're cute when I'm sober too, Sofia can attest.” 

“Tha's sweet of ya,” he says with another little smile. “I should probably – took the Family car. Carmine’s. Don’ want him lookin’ for it.” 

You smile, “Risky just for me.” 

Oz shrugs, “You needed – uh. Help.” He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, “Flattered that you called, really. But mostly I’m glad I could be here.” 

You smile again, reaching for his hand to kiss it gently. Oz tenses like he doesn’t really know what to do with that and it makes you giggle softly, “Thank you for it. Have a good rest of your night, Oz.” 

He nods, finding his voice, “Yeah. You too, ‘m sure I’ll see ya soon.” He turns to leave, opening the door that leads to outside before he pauses, looking back at you, “Take care’a yourself, Sweetheart. Don’t let’em get ta’yah.”