O Goalie Night (The Ottawa Otters #1)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

FOSTER

I t’s after two in the morning on Sunday when I silently enter my house. It’s always good to be home after a string of away games and I’m particularly eager to get back tonight.

I tell myself that it’s because I'm looking forward to relaxing and getting back to my routine, but the real reason I’m so happy to come home is my new roommate.

I’ve never had a house guest. Sure, a few times Ben and Will came over and crashed after one too many beers, but this is different.

Beth has told me that she’s fine and has everything she needs, but I’ll feel better seeing her and knowing that she’s settled.

Her brother made such a fuss about me letting her stay until the holidays. Forget just being his best friend, this one gesture made me the greatest man that ever walked the Earth. He all but promised to name the first child Valentina bears him after me.

I’m not sure what the big deal is. It’s not like having her here inconveniences me in any way. Besides, I didn’t do it for him; I did it for Beth. Her texts have been the highlight of my week, including my shutout in Florida.

Setting my suitcase down in the foyer, I slip out of my shoes before treading into the living room. I survey the dark space. It looks exactly the same as it did when I left a week ago, but it feels different.

I stifle a yawn. The post-game adrenaline has worn off and I am ready to get reacquainted with my bed. Making as little noise as possible, I walk down the hallway past Beth’s room. Just as I reach my bedroom, the door to hers opens.

Jesus.

All the air leaves my body as my eyes greedily take her in. She’s wearing a t-shirt that falls at her mid-thigh showing off long, toned legs. Two pert and perky nipples are visible through the thin cotton. Her long hair is mussed, making me wish more than anything I’d been responsible for that.

“Hi. You’re back,” she says in a hushed voice. A deep pillow creese is visible on her cheek as she gives me a sleepy smile and makes my heart thud.

I don’t move. I don’t even blink because that would mean losing sight of her and that is out of the question.

Devastating. The woman is absolutely devastating.

And Ben’s sister. In other words, completely off limits.

“Hey.” My voice cracks as I answer. Probably because my mouth has gone bone dry at the sight of her. “It’s late. You should get back to bed.”

She brings a hand up to cover her yawning mouth and her t-shirt raises another inch higher on her pale thighs. “Okay. I’m glad you’re back.” She gives me a little wave, her eyes barely open, before retreating back into her room and closing a door.

I lie in bed for a long time making a mental list of all the reasons I can’t and won’t act on this attraction. Eventually, I drift off thinking about messy hair and whiskey eyes.

Morning comes, like it always does and I’m shocked when I look at my phone and see it’s after ten. Sure, I was up later than usual convincing myself that sleeping with my best friend’s sister is a terrible idea, but still. My internal clock rarely lets me sleep past eight regardless of what time I go to bed. At least it’s Sunday and I’ve got nowhere to be.

After throwing some clothes on, I make my way to my kitchen to brew coffee, giving myself a pep talk along the way.

My reaction to Beth appearing like a vision last night was due to a combination of exhaustion and not getting laid in months. My body would have reacted the same way to any attractive woman standing half-naked in my dimly lit hallway.

Maybe it’s time I take Austin up on his frequent offers to be my wingman the next time we’re on the road for a long stretch. A one-night stand really doesn’t appeal to me like it used to, but it might be the reset I need.

As I walk downstairs, I hear music coming from below and I frown as I recognize the familiar melody.

When I come around the corner, I freeze mid-step at the sight of Beth dancing in my kitchen. At least, that’s what I think she’s doing. Her limbs flail wildly, completely out of sync with the rhythm of the song as she quietly sings along.

She doesn’t notice my presence. At least, I can’t imagine she does the way she’s moving. She’s stringing together so many combinations of different moves it’s almost as though she’s having some sort of a fit.

I mean, wow. She is a terrible dancer.

I have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Because not only is she dancing like no one’s watching in her oversized sweatshirt, tights, and ridiculous slipper socks, she’s doing it to the worst Christmas song of all time.

When she starts to strum an imaginary guitar, my resolve breaks and I laugh.

At the sound, Beth spins around to face me, hitting her elbow hard on the refrigerator door. Her face distorts with pain as she winces and grabs her arm. My laughter forgotten, I rush to her side, reaching forward, but stopping before I touch her.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“For my arm? Or for laughing at my sweet dance moves?” she jokes, but I can tell she’s hurting.

“Both. May I?”

She offers me her injured arm and I gently slide up the sleeve of her sweater, feeling around her elbow joint to assess if anything is broken. I try not to notice how soft her skin is or that she smells faintly like cinnamon. When I’m certain she’s not seriously hurt, I release her, saying, “Your elbow is likely just bruised and should be fine in a day or two. As for your dance moves, I'm not sure anything can be done. And your taste in music is atrocious.”

She gives me a gentle shove, using her good arm, eyes widening as she gapes at me in mock horror. “I beg your pardon? Taking Care Of Christmas is a Canadian classic.”

“No. Taking Care of Business is a Canadian classic. Taking Care Of Christmas is an embarrassment to our nation.”

“That’s unpatriotic, Foster. Randy Bachman is rolling over in his grave.”

“I don’t think he’s died yet.”

“Well, he will someday and when he does, he’ll be rolling.”

I laugh again at the sheer ridiculousness of this conversation and she joins in, but grimaces when she straightens her arm.

“Do you need ice?” I ask when I see that it’s already starting to develop a dark purple bruise. The sudden urge to lean forward and press my lips to it has me taking a huge step back.

Pull yourself together, man.

“No, I’m fine,” she answers, tugging the sleeve back in place and giving her arm a little shake. “Though if you’re going to maim me again, at least make a useful injury like a sprained ankle or a few broken toes. Coffee?”

Confused by her statement, I answer, “Okay.”

“Okay, you’ll aim for my feet next time? Or okay, you’d like some coffee?” She squints up at me, coffee pot in hand and I notice that her left eye gets the tiniest bit smaller than the other when she smiles.

It’s fucking adorable.

“Yes to coffee. No to injuring you again. ”

“Pity,” is her only response as she fills the mug almost to the top and passes it to me.

“Great game last night!” She walks back to the counter and starts to add pre-measured ingredients into a large mixing bowl. “The commentators were practically drooling over how well you were tracking the puck.”

I don’t want to talk about hockey right now. “Can we go back to the part about you wanting to be on the injured list?”

She’s still smiling, but her shoulders sag a bit. “You don’t want to hear about it. It’s silly.”

I join her at the counter and give her my most serious face before answering, “I’m very silly.”

Her laugh might be the most joyful one I’ve ever heard in my life. It brightens the already bright room and floods it with warmth.

“It’s not a big deal, really. There’s a skating field trip for my class on the last day of school.”

“And?”

“And I never learned how to skate.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting her to say, but it wasn’t that. Most of the kids I grew up with learned to skate before they learned how to tie their shoes.

“Oh.” It’s literally all I can think of to say.

“I actually have a big favour to ask of you.” She’s abandoned her mixing and has turned to face me.

“Yeah?” I already know whatever it is, I’m going to say yes.

“I had planned on inviting Ben over to my apartment for a late birthday dinner since we didn’t get to celebrate with him this year. I’ve got all the ingredients to make my mom’s lasagna – it’s his favourite. Would it be OK if I invited him here tonight?”

“Of course.”

“Really?” She gives me a smile that could bring a grown man to his knees.

This grown man, anyway.

“Thank you so much! You’re going to love your first Michaels family birthday dinner. Mom’s lasagna has four different kinds of cheese and three different kinds of meat. It will take years off your life, but it’s totally worth it.”

“It’s cheat day anyway.” As glad as I am to have made her so happy by granting such a simple request, I can’t deny it’s bittersweet. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a family dinner and I can’t help thinking about Cody and wondering if he’s okay.

“I’m going to text Ben.” As she skips out of the kitchen, the pompoms on her slipper socks bounce around her ankles. “Another fun fact about our family birthdays? We wear party hats.”

I frown at her retreating form. “I’m not really a party hat person.”

“Don’t worry—you will be!”