O Goalie Night (The Ottawa Otters #1)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

BETH

H ere’s the thing: when people start drinking at four o’clock, they’re usually trashed by seven. And tonight is no exception.

I’ve made a conscious effort to pace myself, slowly sipping my wine over the evening. The last thing I want is to wind up sloppy drunk and dancing on a table.

When school teachers let their hair down, they let it all the way down.

The VP’s home is a lovely two-story, modern but very tastefully decorated. When I arrived, the first thing I saw was a towering Christmas tree adorned in shimmering silver and navy ornaments, twinkling lights, and delicate snowflake garland. After handing my coat to my gracious host, I was directed to the sleek kitchen where the scent of freshly baked gingerbread cookies immediately brought me back to my annual cookie baking days with my mom and grandmother.

Now, sitting in the spacious living room with a crackling fireplace that casts a warm glow over the room, I’m drunk on nostalgia rather than rum and eggnog and very homesick for my family.

But I have gotten to know some of the staff better and made some new connections. I met a Kindergarten teacher originally from Nova Scotia who invited me to join her book club and I made plans with a sixth grade teacher to go to a Christmas craft fair next weekend.

As the night goes on, however, the room keeps getting louder as my colleagues get rowdier. I narrowly avoid getting dragged into a conga line and am hiding near the fireplace when Jacob finds me.

“Hey,” he opens with as he sidles up to me. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a plaid shirt. There’s a necklace of flashing Christmas lights around his neck.

“Hey. You look festive.”

Jacob laughs, lifting the blinking lights from his chest before dropping them again. “When Principal LeBlanc gives you lights, you wear them.”

“Well, you’re pulling them off.”

“Thank you. Are you having fun?” He moves a bit closer and suddenly our arms are touching as we stand leaning against the wall.

“Definitely, but,” I have to pause to yawn, “it’s getting a bit late.” It’s only nine o’clock, but the party seems to be trending from festive to feral and I think it would be in my best interest to leave sooner rather than later.

“Yeah,” Jacob agrees as he straightens and looks at his watch. “I could drive you home if you’re ready to leave.”

“Tamara is driving me home, remember?”

He looks around doubtfully. “Are you sure about that?”

Before I can answer, Tamara appears. She’s looking very…merry. She staggers towards me throwing her arms around me and spilling her drink on my dress.

“Sorry!” she slurs before looking into her now empty red plastic cup. “How did that happen?”

“That’s okay. I, uh, thought you were going to give me a drive home?” I’m not sure why I even say it. Right now she’s not fit to operate a mechanical pencil, let alone heavy machinery.

“Ohhh, no love. I drive here, I don’t drive home.” She cradles my cheek in her hand. “Your skin is soft, like my cat. Have you tried the punch?” She raises her cup to take a drink and seems legitimately confused to find it’s empty. “I’m going to go get some more. Looooove you!”

Now what?

I suppose when Tamara offered to drive me, I should have confirmed that meant both ways.

As I watch her disappear into the kitchen I evaluate my options. The simplest thing to do would be to order an Uber. I haven’t done it yet, but it can’t be that complicated.

Let me know if you need me to pick you up.

Despite the kind offer, I am not calling Foster. The man is not my personal chauffeur and I refuse to take advantage of his generosity more than I already have.

Pulling out my phone, I open the Uber app and enter my location and destination. A driver accepts my ride, but they're coming from Centrepoint and are more than 20 minutes away. I waver on what to do, not sure I want to be here for that much longer.

“So, how about that drive?” Jacob asks. “I’m heading out now anyway, if you’re ready to go.”

While I want to go back to Foster’s sooner rather than later, I definitely don’t want to give Jacob the wrong idea by letting him drive me home.

Just then the sound of breaking glass followed by raucous laughter comes from the kitchen and I make up my mind.

Wincing up at Jacob, I say, “I’m definitely ready.”

“Tamara will get home safely, I promise,” Jacob assures me, patting me on the knee. His hand lingers a moment too long and I stiffen. We’ve been sitting in awkward silence since we got in the car.

“Hmm? Oh, of course. I know that.” I tried to convince Tamara to come with us, but she was enjoying herself too much. While I felt confident that she wouldn’t attempt to drive in her condition, selfishly I would have loved to have her as a buffer for this car ride.

It’s becoming clear to me that her assessment of Jacob was correct. He seems to be interested in me. I’ve noticed the way his entire face lights up when he sees me and when he insisted on helping me put on my coat as we were leaving, I could have sworn he smelled my hair.

Even though my feelings are not reciprocated, I’m hopeful we can still be friends. After all, he’s a really nice guy and we seem to have a lot in common.

I mean, we’re both teachers, approximately the same age, and Otters fans.

But if we have any hope of being friends, I need to shut down any idea on his part that we will become anything more .

“Did you watch the hockey game last night?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Yes! Great game. Heron’s goal late in the third was beautiful. I thought for sure we were going into overtime.”

“Same,” he nods as he pulls onto Foster’s street. “James should have stopped that goal in the second. He’s really been off his game lately.”

I scrunch up my face but say nothing. What games has Jacob been watching? Foster’s been on fire this season and anyone who says otherwise doesn’t know their ass from their elbow.

“It doesn’t help that their defence has been a joke so far this season.”

Deep breaths, Beth.

Look. I realise that it’s common practice to talk shit about athletes. They make millions of dollars a year and because of that, fans feel like they’re owed perfect performances. But the fact is, professional athletes are still human. They’re out there working their asses off under unbelievable pressure and constant scrutiny. So when people who’ve never played the game anywhere near that level offer up their couch commentary, I get a little defensive.

Furthermore, Jacob is wrong. Foster’s advanced stats have been excellent and Ben and the rest of the defence have been solid. Yes, they’ve lost a few games they probably shouldn’t have, but that’s hockey.

Foster’s property comes into view and I point to his driveway. “This is me here. You can just pull over.”

He doesn’t listen and pulls into the entrance. “Wow,” he says as he drives up the long driveway. Wow is right. Foster’s place is impressive. “Who did you say you’re staying with?”

“A friend,” is all I offer him. He puts the car in park and I say, “Thanks again for the ride.”

“My pleasure.”

I climb out of the car, intending to tell him that I’ll see him at work, but to my absolute horror he gets out of the car and starts to walk towards the house. I’m frozen in place next to the car.

He smiles and motions me towards the house. “This is a door-to-door car service,” he jokes.

“That’s really not necessary,” I insist, keeping at least five feet between us as I make my way up the steps. There doesn’t appear to be any lights on in the house and I wonder if Foster has turned in for the night.

He could be out with friends. Or on a date.

I punch the security code into the keypad as I attempt to say goodnight once more to Jacob. “I really appreciate the drive home.”

“Like I said, it was my pleasure.” He stands in front of me, his hands in the pockets of his coat. “We should hang out sometime.”

I open my mouth to respond, but can’t decide on the right thing to say. Jacob takes the opportunity to focus his gaze on my parted lips.

Oh God, he wants to kiss me.

Is this what I look like when my eyes wander to Foster’s mouth?

Jacob leans forward ever so slightly and I’m about to gently break it to him that I’m not interested in him that way when the front door opens. We both turn to gawk at the man who takes up the entire doorway .

“Hey,” Foster says, his eyes sweeping over me as though he wants to make sure I’m in one piece. His gaze softens when it settles on my face and he leans a shoulder on the door frame. “How was the party?”

I stare into his eyes, unable to look away. “Good.” Illuminated by the light of the moon, his skin almost glows. “Are you good?”

There’s a glint in his eyes as he smirks at me. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He tears his gaze away from me and looks at my companion who I momentarily had forgotten was there.

“This is my coworker, Jacob,” I offer, lamely. “He gave me a ride.”

Foster nods. “Thanks for getting her home safely.”

Jacob’s eyes bounce between the two of us. It’s obvious that he recognizes him, because of course he does. “Uh…yeah. No…no problem. Um…I’ll see you Monday, Beth.” He looks starstruck as he nods at Foster and then heads down the steps. When he reaches his car, he looks back up at us.

Foster waves at him and Jacob awkwardly waves back before climbing in and driving away.

I watch him go, certain that the anonymity I’ve enjoyed at Stittsville Elementary is leaving with him.

“He seems nice,” Foster says as he moves out of the doorway so I can step in.

I roll my eyes as I push past him, pausing just long enough to slip out of my snow-covered boots on my way to my room.

“What?” He trails behind me down the hall. “Did I say something to upset you?”

I turn on my heel and walk back toward him, crowding him in the dim confined space. I’m so frustrated with him that I don’t even allow myself to enjoy his fresh, manly scent. Much.

“Do you remember me saying I didn’t want everyone I work with knowing my brother plays for the Otters?”

“Yes, but?—”

“Well, I don’t particularly want them thinking I’m sleeping with their goalie either.”

His mouth forms that sexy straight line that’s not quite a frown and his jaw flexes.

“Why did you come to the door, Foster?”

He rests his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath. Then another one. He looks up at the ceiling, avoiding my gaze before finally answering. “Because it looked like he was about to kiss you. And, unless I was reading the situation wrong, I didn’t think you wanted him to.”

I cross my arms over my chest, unimpressed. “Why were you reading the situation to begin with? Were you lurking by the door?”

“I wasn’t lurking. I heard the car and I happened to look out the window.”

“And instead of letting me handle it, you decided to jump in and do it for me?”

“I didn’t think–”

“You didn’t think I could take care of myself.” What really hurts is that Foster has never made me feel like I need adult supervision. All the times that he’s helped me, I knew he was doing it because he wanted to, not because I needed saving.

Foster blanches as he blinks at me. “No, Beth– ”

“It’s fine,” I sigh. “You’re not alone. Everyone seems to think they know what I’m capable of and what’s best for me. There are things I can’t do. I can’t complain at a restaurant, even if the food is awful or they get my order wrong. I can’t sew. My mother has tried to teach me several times and it never goes well. I can’t even skate, but you already know that and come the field trip, everyone at school will too.” I run my hands roughly through my hair. “I can’t do any of those things, but do you know what I can do? I can tell a guy I work with that I’m not interested in him, romantically.”

“I’m really sorry, Beth.” Genuine regret is written all over his face.

I pause before entering my temporary room. “Thank you. And thanks for making sure I got home safe. Goodnight, Foster.” With that, I close the door.