O Goalie Night (The Ottawa Otters #1)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

BETH

“ A ww, fuck off,” Ben says when he sees what I’m holding. “You added too many candles on purpose. There’s no way I’m that old.”

My brother looks like an overgrown toddler who didn’t get his nap as he pouts at the five-layer chocolate cake I place in front of him. His cardboard party hat is slightly askew completing the look perfectly.

“Hate to break it to you, Benny-boy, but you are that old.” I pull out my phone and start taking rapid fire pictures. “Oh! You look really miserable in this one. That’s going on this year’s Christmas card.”

Foster laughs from the end of the table and I pivot to take a picture of him, too. I’m not surprised it turns out beautiful because, well, Foster is beautiful. Especially on the rare occasions when he laughs.

He scowls at me when he realises I took his picture, but I can tell his heart’s not in it. There’s such softness in his eyes sometimes.

Turning back to my brother, I say, “If you take a nice one for Mom, I promise not to sing to you. ”

His sour expression immediately transforms into a boyish grin and I take a few more pictures.

“Wow,” Will says, still snacking on leftover garlic bread, as he observes my brother's rapid change from asshole to angel as he poses for me. “You really don’t want to hear her sing.”

“You don’t either,” he laughs.

“Hey, I’m not that bad.”

“Beth,” Ben says in a patronising tone before turning back to Will. “When she joined her elementary school choir, her music teacher told her just to mouth the words while the other kids sang.”

My cheeks heat even as I try to laugh along with him and Will, but the truth is that Mrs. Doiron really hurt my feelings when she’d said that to me. I was only nine and I just wanted to sing with my friends.

Foster is the only one at the table not laughing. “Blow out your damn candles before you burn my fucking house down, Old Man.”

“You’re older than I am,” Ben retorts.

“Smarter and better-looking too,” Foster adds.

“He’s got you there,” Will agrees.

No arguments here, I think to myself.

I’m so glad that my brother has friends like these two. Real ones that will have his back, but also put him in his place if his head gets too big for his shoulders.

Ben blows out all twenty-nine candles with one breath and we all applaud.

“All that conditioning really paid off.” He smirks as he starts to cut the cake into enormous portions and putting them on the plates I’ve given him .

Will eyes the dessert as it’s passed to him. “Well, there goes my girlish figure.”

I can’t help but snort as I hand him a fork. He is the largest man I’ve ever met in real life, yet somehow the least intimidating. He’s always got a smile and a kind word.

Right now, I watch him take a large bite of cake and chew it slowly. When he finally swallows, he looks me straight in the eye. “Beth, I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to really think about it before answering, okay?”

“Okay,” I answer, hesitantly, bracing myself to hear that something is wrong with the cake.

“Will you marry me?”

Ben and I laugh and Will joins in, looking like he’d rather marry the cake he’s devouring than me.

Foster chokes on the water he’s drinking and I catch him glaring at an earnest-looking Will.

He can’t actually think that Will is making a pass at me and even if he did, why would it bother him?

Not even Ben seems upset. If he thought Will was actually propositioning me, I’m sure he would challenge him to pistols at dawn, but he can obviously tell his friend is just being playful.

I wonder why that’s lost on Foster.

I come to the conclusion that he must be concerned that Will is making me uncomfortable, though he needn’t worry; I know the big lug thinks with his stomach.

Turning back to a seemingly oblivious Will, I smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he replies. “And my dad’s a pastry chef. ”

“For real though, Bug. This is incredible. Better than Mom’s.” Ben shovels another forkful into his mouth and I beam with pride.

“You’re not having any?” Foster still hasn’t touched his dessert, like he was waiting for all of us to be served.

That’s sweet.

“Beth doesn’t like chocolate,” Ben answers with his mouth full of food. “Which is crazy.”

Foster says nothing as he picks up his fork and starts eating.

After inhaling their desserts, Ben drags Will to the living room to play some sort of online video game and I get to work on the dishes. I expect Foster will join the guys when he finishes, but instead he gathers up everyone’s plates and meets me at the sink.

“I can take care of these.” I’ve been cleaning up after myself as I go all day, so there’s only plates and utensils to wash now.

He shakes his head as he grabs a dishtowel. “That was the best meal I’ve had in years. The least I can do is help with cleaning up.”

I look away, hoping I’m not blushing as hard as I think I am. I’ve never been very confident in my culinary skills, but after Will’s proposal and Ben and Fosters’ praise, I might be more talented than I thought.

Plunging my hands in the warm water, I grab a plate and start scrubbing, trying not to notice how close Foster is standing to me and how good he smells. I know he’s done advertisements for athletic clothing and sports drinks, but someone should design a cologne line for him, because the man smells amazing. Like clean, mountain air at sunrise; rugged and fresh .

“So what do you like?”

Foster’s deep voice startles me from my thoughts about how great he smells.

“Wh-what?” The oven has been off for hours, but suddenly it’s stifling in this kitchen.

“If you don't like chocolate, what do you like?”

Calm down, Beth . The man is just making conversation.

“It’s not that I don’t like chocolate; I just don’t like chocolate as a base.” Vanilla ice cream with chocolate swirl? Great. A chocolate chip cookie? Wonderful. Chocolate cake with chocolate icing? No thank you.

He nods as he carefully dries the plate and I can’t help but stare at his large hands and thick forearms.

“If you were to pick any dessert, what wou–”

“Lemon meringue pie.” I answer without pause. “It’s been my favourite since I was little. My mom makes it from scratch every year on my birthday.” I may have mastered her chocolate cake recipe according to Ben, but I’m nowhere near close to replicating her pie crust. “I’ve always preferred tart desserts. Lemon meringue, strawberry-rhubarb, apple.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Good to know.”

“What about you?”

He rolls his lips together and I’m mesmerised by the movement. “That was the first dessert I’ve eaten in six years.”

My jaw drops. “That’s a tragedy. I would die.”

His lips twitch as he scans my face. “Now that would be a tragedy.”

“Come on. There has to be something you crave.”

“Like I said: I follow the team dietician’s recommendations pretty closely, with the exception of bacon. My mom used to make sticky date pudding a lot, though. It was one of my favourites.”

“Oh, my grandmother makes that every Christmas. It’s amazing.” Just thinking about it is making my mouth water. I look forward to it every year. “Speaking of Christmas, when do you usually decorate?”

“I don’t.”

The slippery plate I’m holding almost drops from my hands, but I manage to hold on to it. “I beg your pardon?”

He looks almost sheepish, which, considering he’s a rather large man wearing a cardboard party hat, is saying something.

“I don’t really celebrate Christmas. I enjoy the days off we get, but that’s it.”

He goes back to his chore, clearly done with the conversation. I keep my eyes on him as I slip my hands back into the soapy water wondering what it would take to get him to open up to me more. I’m clearly not paying attention to what I’m doing because my finger scrapes against something sharp and I jump.

“Ouch!” I pull my hands out of the water, my finger stinging. Before I’m able to inspect the damage, Foster is by my side taking my hands in his.

“Where does it hurt?” His hoarse voice combined with the nearness of him makes me forget all about my hand.

He’s close enough that his warm breath caresses my skin causing a shiver to run through me.

When his green eyes search mine I realise I never answered his question.

“I’m fine,” I croak. “My finger must have grazed the knife I cut the cake with. ”

“Are you sure?” He’s still holding my soapy hands in his.

“Positive. It’s not even bleeding. It just surprised me.”

Foster nods but doesn’t move away. He looks positively stricken at the thought of me being hurt. Our faces are mere inches apart. All I’d have to do to close the distance is?—

“Fozzie! We need you!”

We both react to Ben’s voice like a jump scare. Stepping back from each other like we were caught doing something wrong.

“Go ahead,” I tell him. “I’m almost done.

He dries his hands off on the dish towel and starts to leave.

“Beth?”

“Yes?”

He hovers in the entrance to the kitchen, watching me.

“Thank you for tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve had a family dinner.”

There are too many things I want to say back. I want to ask him what happened with his family. I want to thank him for everything he’s done for me over the last couple of weeks. Most of all, I want to get inside his beautiful head and find out what he’s thinking when he looks at me so intensely like he is right now.

“You’re welcome.”

His only response is a faint nod before he disappears around the corner, leaving me with sudsy hands and a smitten heart.