AN: Bear with me, here. I don't EVER write about sports, or players or anything like this. I literally dreamed this crazy story last night. Er...a portion of it that'll come in later chapters. A very steamy...window fogging scene. It's rattled around in my head most of the day and I figured this would be a good place to get it out. It's light a fluffy for the most part, very different from my story Rebirth.
Since I don't make it a habit to follow individual players, please anyone that finds any discrepancies in Ozil's life that don't make sense, let me know. I'll happily correct my errors.
Enjoy. ;)
2010
Mesut slammed his hand down on the counter, frustrated and angry. The language barrier was irritating enough, but this clerk was ostentatiously unbearable. He muttered a string of curses under his breath in German.
"Sir," the bleach blonde curly-haired woman addressed him in her deep south twang, "There just ain't nothing I can do for ya, now I'm sorry." She blew out a large pink bubble, popping her gum before she continued and clacking her shiny red fake nails on a keyboard. "If you maybe could have learned to speak American neither of us would be upset right now, bless your heart," she haughtily grumbled.
"English is the language of your country. I am an international footballer, what I can say that will give me an auto so that I may just leave?" he all but seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose. At six foot, he towered over the seated woman, glowering. Wasn't southern America supposed to have "southern charm?" So far, all Mesut could see was ignorance, incompetence, and laziness. He had been flying over the US when his flight had been rerouted due to storms. He needed to be in Madrid tonight, and he was stuck in Paducah, KY. At this point, he'd rather drive a car than deal with anyone else in the United States. It was already dusk, he knew he wouldn't make it far, and was in a hurry to just get away.
His phone rang for the twentieth time, and he silenced it again. After producing identification, credit cards, and signing many forms, he was given keys and a car. After practically running away from the ticket counter, he stepped through the automatic doors into a covered pavilion, searching for the number matching the car on his key ring. Climbing inside, he set the GPS and sped away, desperate to get into the Kentucky storms and away from the people.
It was bad enough that he had left his team to go see his girlfriend, Anna, and she had ripped his heart out. Things had been rocky since the move to Madrid, but she was getting cold feet on their finding a place together. He could feel the end coming, and he wasn't sure if he was grateful for it, or dreading it. His coach was going to be furious that he'd be behind schedule. His phone rang, and slamming his hand on the steering wheel, he cursed again, launching his phone at the dashboard. Seeing it shatter, he suddenly realized how rash of a mistake that was.
'Oh well,' he thought, 'I'll just drive until I get tired. Tomorrow will be better."
Jess had had a less than thrilling day. The toilet had overrun in room six, the blinds committed suicide in room nine, and room two had three small children that brought noise complaints from rooms one and four.
'At least the air conditioning hasn't crapped out,' she thought, looking outside at the muggy September night. The storms had left the air outside absolutely oppressive.
She leaned against the front counter of her bed and breakfast and sighed, running her hand through her thick, layered shoulder length light brown hair. The summer had kissed several blonde highlights into her locks, and the freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out against her dark tanned skin. She had run her B&B for three years, now, it was left to her in her grandmother's will and she had dropped everything in her life to come to the sticks of Lone Oak, Kentucky.
Dropping everything also meant dropping her soon to be ex-husband, who currently occupied room three. The establishment had originally been left to them both, and he had wanted nothing to do with it. She was already looking for an out in their marriage, she stupidly married at eighteen, and this was the perfect opportunity. He'd ignored it at first, and that had been fine by her. She had more important things to worry about, like reviving her grandmother's legacy. At the time, the place was a run down 11 bedroom Victorian mansion off Starr Hill Road, sitting on six acres of lush green land. Jess had sunk her entire life into reviving the place, and with extensive online promoting she had carved out a small name for herself. She was only 28, and she was running a successful little place to call home.
Her ex had lost his job, and then his house had burned down while he was drunk at the bar one night. Without her to keep him on track, he had reverted back to that teenage boy she had married. Of course he came crawling back, looking for a way out of the divorce, and excited for her success. The schmuck had stayed at the B&B for about a month now, and Jess didn't have the heart to turn him out. Sure, he made things a little awkward sometimes, but she wasn't heartless.
Swooping her bangs out of her bright green eyes, she looked up from the divorce papers in front of her as the front door chimed. Before her stood a very tall and slender man, every bit of six feet with a faded haircut of almost black hair. He had a long wide nose, a broad forehead, and an oval face with a strong square jaw. Black track pants, a white T-shirt underneath his black Adidas jacket, and a bag over his shoulder, she couldn't help but feel he looked familiar. He had large brown eyes, long limbs, and wore black, flat round stud earrings in each ear. He looked weary and worn, but then again, most patrons did when they walked into her door at 9pm. Jess straightened, and greeted the man.
"Hey there," her mild drawl came out. Living away from the south for so long had softened her accent. "Can I help you?"
Mesut stepped through the door of a charming, massive Victorian. His GPS had failed him terribly, and he was turned around on winding scenic back roads somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Frustration seeming to be the theme of his day, he pulled over at the first sign of lodging for the night. The walls were a muted pale green, with scarlet oriental rugs covering the dark wood floors. Ornate antique lamps softly lit the dim foyer-turned-reception area. Stairs to the right curved into the place, and a small grey reception desk filled the space.
The woman behind the counter was like a breath of fresh air. She was light, and natural, and pretty; compared to the woman from the airport, anyway. Her smile was bright, as were her vivid eyes that were offset by her simple heather grey t-shirt that hugged her short curvy upper body, her lower half was obscured by the counter. Anna was tall and sultry, dark eyes and hair, always glittering with jewelry and make-up. Mesut stopped short of the counter, suddenly at a loss for what to say.
"Do you need a room? Directions?" She raised an arched brow in question. He watched her clasp her hands in front of her, noticing her unpainted nails. She wore no jewelry. She had a heart shaped face, a small nose, and a full mouth with a natural pout. He stared at her mouth a beat too long.
Gathering his wits, he thought for a moment to formulate an English response, "Please, a bed. I am afraid that I am lost, and need of rest." He watched her eyes widen at his accent, and was equal amounts relieved and surprised to hear her respond.
"I'm sorry, but your accent? Sprechen se Deutsch?"
He could have cried from relief. Immediately switching over to German, he eagerly replied to her, resting his forearms on the counter, "You speak German? Oh, that is wonderful! I'm traveling, and I'm so lost. My plane was rerouted, then I was stranded, and I couldn't get another flight out until tomorrow. The people were terrible, at that point, I didn't care anymore and rented a car, and you speak German?!" His words rushed out, and he watched her face colour crimson clear down to her neck and beneath the collar of her shirt. He gulped, fleetingly imagining what else was blushing beneath her shirt.
"Wait, wait!" she responded nervously, "Ein Bisschen, ein bisschen. Langsam, bitte," she pleaded, laughing. A little, a little! Slowly, please. Mesut laughed loudly, his eyes crinkling at the corners, incredibly happy to have a small amount of familiarity. They continued on in German, him speaking slowly and with long vowels and small words. He was delighted with this small, beautiful woman. She had him sign into a log book, took his credit card information, and grabbed a key attached to a purple piece of yarn. She came around the counter, brushing past him to show him to his room for the evening, his stomach tingling where her shoulder brushed past. She was short, her head coming to his sternum. He couldn't complain at all about walking behind her, her curves continued past her top and he wasn't at all displeased to follow her denim-shorts clad lower half up the stairs. Mesut discreetly glanced to her shapely legs, and admired her calves, noticing that she was barefoot.
She stopped at a door that was almost at the end of the second floor, before another set of stairs that led to what he presumed to be the fourth floor. Not paying the least bit of attention to anything besides her legs, Mesut was embarrassed to crash into her softly. He jumped back apologizing profusely, but secretly enjoyed how she stammered and coloured a deeper shade of red than the first time she had blushed. Perhaps he wasn't the only one with stars in his tired eyes.
"I-I'm at the top of those stairs, a-at the end of the hall. I figured that if you needed anything, you'd need to be able to find me easily. As far as I know, I'm the only one on the property that speaks - um - German," she spoke to the door, and thrust the key into the lock, cracking the door to his room. He watched her whirl quickly, her dark golden hair the colour of honey in the dim light spinning to her left shoulder, and before he could stop himself, he caught her small right wrist in his large right hand. She was clearly flustered, and he thought to himself just how attractive she was.
"Thank you -" he furrowed his brow, "What is your name?" He asked her in English.
"Oh! I'm so-I'm sorry. Jess. Uh, Jessica. Is, um, me." She smiled a shy, close lipped smile.
Mesut released her wrist, and moved to go into the room, "Thank you, Jezz," he said her name softly with his thick accent. He smiled at her, and closed the door with a quiet click. The room was simple; dark hardwood floors, a queen sized four poster bed in dark mahogany facing him from the far wall with a fluffy white down comforter and equally fluffy white pillows. There was a plush red rug beneath the bed, a long low dark chest to the right of the bed near the window with six drawers and bronze handles with a tall rectangular mirror atop it. To the left was a bathroom with white and black tile and a glass shower, with red rugs and towels to match the rug beneath the bed.
Before he could stop himself, his mind filled with thoughts of the innkeeper in that shower, pressed against the glass, him behind her...He groaned and shook his head, dropping his bag and quickly moving across the room to the shower. He stripped quickly and let the icy blast of water hit him in the chest, he never moved to heat the water.
Jess practically flew up the stairs to her bedroom, taking them two at a time. Once inside, she slid down to the floor against the door, her chest heaving with her rapid breathing, heart hammering.
"Oh, what the hell?!" She muttered at herself angrily. Since leaving her husband, she had poured herself into the B&B, never once stopping to notice if her patrons were attractive or not. This tall, dark eyed German was different. She could still feel his long fingers clasped firmly around both of her shoulders, him pressed against her back. His smooth, soft voice had a soothing quality to it; and the way he said her name...she shook her head to snap out of it.
"I need a shower...a long, cold shower," she groaned, running her hands over her face. Her bedroom was all dark woods and stained glass; a black wrought iron canopy bed against the far wall had cream coloured sheer drapes, she had splurged on an expensive pillow top mattress with soft rose-petal pink satin sheets and a pale yellow down comforter. Right next to the door was her long antique white dresser, that always held fresh flowers from the grounds. The bay window seat on the right wall had the same pillow tones as her bed linens, and her bathroom across from it had a cast iron tub with a waterfall shower head above. Muted greys, metallic silvers, and soft lavenders made up her bathroom. Her room was her safe haven.
Emerging from her less than warm shower, Jess wrapped herself up in a fluffy robe and a towel on her head. She sat at the window seat and parted the cream coloured drapes, the moon was high and she sighed at the breathtaking view from the top of her home. She had just pulled on a pair of navy blue satin pants and a loose grey sleep shirt when there was a knock on her door. Instantly blushing at who it could be, she wrapped her hair back up into the towel, and cracked the door, colour from her face quickly draining to normal and standing taller.
"What do you need, Jake?" Jess' ex stood outside her door, well, more leaned, and she could smell the Jack Daniels on his breath. He was tall at 5'8, but she had always been able to handle him. His drunk brown eyes swimming in his pale, pudgy face. Black hair mussed and greasy, sticking out at all angles. His white t-shirt was grungy, his black basketball shorts wrinkled. He looked down at her, and breathed into her face. It took everything she had not to puke.
"Want to come downstairs? Have a beer?" He leered at her, and she suddenly realised her open neck sleep shirt was draped haphazardly with one of her shoulders exposed. She indignantly adjusted herself and moved to close the door.
"You look and smell like you've had enough, Jake," she shut the door with a thud.
Removing the towel again, she brushed her hair out, only to hear knocking again. She rolled her eyes and opened the door again. There he stood, in all of his greasy glory, once again.
"Jake, I'm going to bed," she tried to keep her voice from rising, and failed.
"Hey, sound s'like a good ideas to me," he slurred and pushed her door open, moving towards her bed. Appalled, Jess all but shrieked, "Get out of my room!" She wrenched him back by his shirt collar, flung him out the door, and closed and locked it in a huff. She was positively fuming.
Mesut had been laying in the bed, trying to sleep, when he thought he heard something outside of his room. Putting his ear to the door, he heard the innkeeper, "Get out of my room!" followed by a commotion. Without thinking, he raced out the door and up the stairs. He passed a far-gone drunken man that was stumbling down the stairs, glanced down at him and kept moving. There was a door at the top of the landing, and he knocked swiftly.
What answered the door was breathtaking. It was the innkeeper, but she was clearly furious. Her cheeks were red, her eyes sparkled like angry emeralds, her hair was wild and half wet. She wore satin pajamas that hugged hips and hid her legs, and a long sleeved oversized top that exposed her throat, collar bone, and one shoulder down to almost the elbow. When she yanked the door open, she looked like she was about to punch him, he stepped back quickly. Her eyes widened in surprise, and that crimson colour spread quickly from her cheeks down her neck and disappeared beneath the shirt again.
"Mesut, I-" she started.
"Jezz, I-" he started. "Are you ok?" He asked her. She nodded, looking at the floor, and clearly self conscious. "I could hear yelling," he prompted. She sighed, leaning on the open door, and halfway hiding her body behind it. She curled her hand nervously around the sleeve of her shirt, he inwardly frowned at that.
"Yeah, it's a long story, and he's a real jerk. I had it," she said, still looking at the floor.
An awkward silence ensued, Mesut began to turn away, when he heard her softly say, "Hey, thanks for checking on me." His only response was to turn his head and glance over his shoulder, smiling at her as he walked back down to his room.
Shirtless. Black cotton pants, and shirtless. Jess bit her lip as she lay in her bed in the dark. Mesut had come to check on her, and he was shirtless. And sculpted. And she was fairly certain her grandmother would have tossed him into the antique wooden wash barrels out back and used his abs to scrub stains out of the laundry. Her sleep was fitful that night, filled with images and sensations of dark eyes and hair, a tan sculpted torso, and long slender hands.
The next morning was rough for Jess, her fitful and heated dreams hadn't allowed her much sleep. She threw on a pale blue knitted sweater that hit at her hips and dark jeans, slipping her feet into cozy socks and boots, she put her hair up into a loose braid and walked downstairs to the kitchens. Her staff was already up and preparing breakfast, she greeted them as she poured a steaming cup of coffee. She sat at her desk behind the counter in the entrance, and quickly wrote out the checks she needed to mail off that day. Scooping up the freshly sealed envelopes, she took her coffee with her down the steps of the wrap around porch and out the long driveway to the mailbox.
Taking her time to breath in the crisp morning air, she shoved her right hand in her pocket, sipping from her mug in her left hand. Hearing a car door open, she looked over to the parking lot to see Mesut tossing his bag into the back seat of his rental car. He leaned on the top of the car's door and looked at her, large dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, and he smiled languidly at her. If she found him attractive in the dim lighting of the B&B, he was dazzlingly handsome in the sunlight. Jess felt her heart stutter, it shouldn't have been possible for such a pretty man to exist.
Instead of blurting that out, she gestured to the car with her coffee cup, "Leaving already, huh?"
Mesut replied in German, "I am. I have to catch that flight," he closed the car door and closed the short distance between them. "I have the key to my room," he dangled the purple yarn in front of him.
Jess opened her right hand beneath it, "You should stay with us again, have a better experience than the one you had yesterday," she laughed, a bit nervous.
After dropping the key into her palm, she was shocked that Mesut then covered her hand in both of his. He turned her hand palm down, and lifted it to his face. Placing a delicate kiss on her knuckles, he said, "I'd like that very much, we can speak more German to one another." He dropped her hand, walked back to his rental and drove off.
Jess couldn't believe it.
She was swooning.