O Goalie Night (The Ottawa Otters #1)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

BETH

I have a proposition for you.

There have been several times over the past couple of weeks where I have thought about my new roommate/friend in less than co-habitable, friendly ways. I don’t feel badly for thinking these thoughts. After all, he’s an attractive man who’s been exceedingly good to me and as long as I keep these secret sexy thoughts locked up in the brain vault, no one will get embarrassed or hurt.

But hearing him say those words to me in that gravelly baritone sent a jolt of want between my thighs that made me forget all about timeless films with heartfelt messages.

Those words, spoken in that exact order, had my heart trying to flee my body by breaking itself out of my chest cavity. Suddenly I was wide awake and the farthest thing from weepy.

Foster James was propositioning me.

Okay, it was to go to a nightclub with him and twenty-two other men, one of whom is my brother, but still.

Leaping from the couch with a newfound eagerness, I jog to my bedroom .

My leggings and t-shirt are discarded in record speed, replaced by a simple cream-coloured, fitted sweater and a tight pair of jeans. My hair, freshly washed after my skating lesson, hardly needs any effort. I give it a quick comb through before pulling it back into a high ponytail.

It’s my face that needs the most time and help. After several minutes of crying, I look like I’m having a severe allergic reaction. I run a facecloth under the freezing tap before ringing it out and draping it over my face. After a minute, I remove it and repeat the process again. In the end, I’m still a bit puffy, but it’s a definite improvement.

Digging through my sparse makeup bag, I pull out my would-be saviours, the concealer and foundation.

“Don’t fail me now, ladies,” I say, applying liberal amounts of each to my face and blending them as best I can. I add a few swipes of mascara and give myself a final once over in the mirror.

Not bad, really. Hopefully, in a dimly lit bar, people won’t be able to tell I was crying over a beloved holiday classic.

I grab my purse and rummage in it until I find the lipstick I bought on a whim this week. I don’t usually wear bold colours on my lips, but the deep red hue made me feel festive. I wasn’t brave enough to wear it to my staff party, but I’m feeling more courageous tonight. Maybe conquering my fear of skating has bolstered my confidence.

I’m fetching my coat from the hall closet when Foster comes through the door. His eyes light up when they meet mine. They lower then, taking in the rest of me, and when they return to my face again, I could swear they’re three shades darker .

“I’m ready.” I’m not sure how I manage to get the words past the lump that formed in my throat when he came in looking like an Adonis in his dark coat and jeans. I wonder briefly if he needs to get his clothes from retailers who specialise in outfitting men of his stature and girth.

Stop thinking about his girth.

“Yes,” his words break me out of my internal monologue. “Yes, you are.” With a final appreciative nod, he takes a step forward, relieving me of my coat. He holds it open for me and I turn and slip my arms in as he raises it up to my shoulders.

“Wow,” I laugh as I nervously button it closed. “A chauffeur who helps you get dressed?”

I turn and find his heated gaze seemingly locked on my mouth. I don’t know if I could breathe if I tried.

“It’s a full-service operation,” he states matter of factly. “Satisfaction guaranteed.”

You don’t belong here.

That’s what goes through my head as the valet opens my door for me. I think it as the bouncer takes one look at Foster and motions us towards a private entrance and as the gorgeous hostess leads us up a set of winding stairs to the VIP section of the club.

You don’t belong here.

When we reach the top of the stairs, Foster reaches his hand back to me and I take it gratefully. Giving it a squeeze, he pulls me in front of him, forcing me to enter the roped off room first. His hand lightly touches the small of my back as I step through the entrance and I feel branded.

“Bug!” The room is noisy, but anyone within a kilometre of this bar can probably hear Ben calling out my childhood nickname. Every set of eyes in the room land on me, some more welcoming than others.

He weaves through the sea of bodies with a dumb grin on his face and scoops me up in a rib-fracturing hug.

“I’m so glad you came,” he says over the bass-filled music as he sets me down. “I’m sorry I haven’t seen you much since you got here. Do you want to hang out tomorrow? Catch up?”

Oh God, I think I’m going to start crying again.

I can count on one hand the number of times my brother has asked me to hang out with him. I’ve never resented him for this. He’s been an elite athlete my entire life. But the combination of him wanting to spend time with me and me missing our parents and sisters has me choking up.

“I’d love that,” I say with a watery smile, not even minding that he ruffles my hair with his hand.

Ben leads me around the room, introducing me to hockey players young and old as his “baby sister.” The implication is clear: Do not attempt to sleep with her.

His teammates all seem friendly and in excellent moods. As well they should be. They’re having a great season and had a positively stellar week on the ice.

Not to mention that many of them have gorgeous young women by their sides or, in some cases, in their laps. I thought I looked nice leaving the house, but now I feel somewhat dressed-down surrounded by model-like women in skimpy dresses .

Foster is nowhere to be seen when I scan the dimly lit room and I wonder if he’s found a private corner to share with his own female companion. Not that it’s any of my business what he does with whom, but I do wonder where he’s gotten off to.

Not that I’m thinking about him getting off. Oh god. Now I am.

The sensible part of me knows that I’m being foolish. After all, Foster is so far out of my league, we’re barely the same species. Still, the thought of him with another woman is almost too much to bear. It’s like how I felt when I realised that I wasn’t going to marry Uncle Jesse from Full House because he was thirty some years older than me and already married to a supermodel. Only take that disillusion and heartbreak and multiply it by ten.

Soon I find myself settled on a plush sofa with a forward named Alexei and his very pregnant wife, Kim. Ben, satisfied that I can’t get into any trouble here, leaves to go to the restroom.

“How are you enjoying Ottawa?” Kim asks, leaning towards me to be heard over the noise. She pushes her long blonde hair over her shoulder with one hand as the other rests on her stomach.

“Good, so far. I’ve only been here for a few weeks.”

She nods. “This is our second winter here. Alexei played in Florida for eight years before signing with the Otters.”

I smile and nod like this is new information, but anyone who follows hockey knows Alexei Pavlov. He’s been in the league for almost two decades and his career is the stuff of legends.

“I’m from Newfoundland, originally, but my family moved to New Brunswick when I was fifteen,” she continues. “I met him when he was in junior league. I’ve been following him around ever since.” Her husband, though engaged in a conversation with a teammate, seems to sense his wife talking about him. When his eyes meet hers, his face softens and he winks before turning back to his conversation.

Such a brief look, but so much transpired between them.

“This is our fourth,” she says, rubbing her larger-than-life belly. “Our oldest is twelve and our youngest is six, so she came as a bit of a surprise to both of us.”

“When are you due?”

“December twenty-fifth,” she answers with a smirk. “But I’m hoping she’ll come a bit earlier.”

Alexei stands and asks her “Can I get you something to drink, love?”

“Another sparkling water, please.”

He nods at me, politely. “And you, Beth?”

I’m about to answer when a shadow falls over me.

“I’ve got her,” Foster says, holding a tall frosted glass out to me. It’s filled with liquid that’s even brighter red than my lipstick. There are cranberries floating in the glass and the rim is coated in sparkling sugar crystals.

My eyes widen. “What on Earth is in this?”

He sits down dangerously close to me, draping an arm around the back of my seat. “No idea. But it’s called a Holly Jolly, so I thought you’d like it.”

I feel heat rush to my cheeks and pray to Santa and all his reindeers that no one can see me blushing in the low light of the club .

“Thank you.” I bring the glass to my lips and take a small sip. Damn. That is jolly. And strong.

“How is it?” Foster asks.

“Brimming with Christmas cheer,” I reply before taking another small drink. It goes down easier this time.

I look back up at Foster to find him once again staring at my mouth and immediately wonder if I’ve smudged my lipstick.

“You, uh… you have a bit of sugar on your lips,” he says, his voice low.

Without thinking, I run my tongue over my top lip and his jaw immediately hardens. He’s looking at me in a way I’m sure no one has ever before and it robs my body of breath. The heat from my cheeks spreads like wildfire through my entire body as though I’m being consumed.

He wants to kiss me , a tiny voice inside my head says.

It’s completely illogical. So far-fetched that I dare not give the thought another moment of consideration except that Foster is staring at me like he wants me. Logic be damned.

I imagine what his lips would feel like on mine. Soft and tender or firm and demanding? Would he take my lower lip between his, marking me as his own? Would he pull me onto his lap? Place one strong hand on my hip, holding me to him while the other skated up my neck to get tangled up in my hair?

I feel myself getting wet, that dull and unmistakable throb of arousal pooling between my legs and I know that I’d only need the smallest amount of friction to come apart.

The song changes to something more upbeat and I’m suddenly very aware of where we are. Not in a hidden corner far from prying eyes, but a crowded bar with Ben nearby.

“Good?” A voice that sounds remarkably like mine says, though I didn’t intend to say it.

“Good.” His response is strained.

With great difficulty, I tear my gaze from his, looking back at Kim. To be honest, I’d quite forgotten she was here.

Her mouth is slightly agape as her eyes bounce from me to Foster, and back to me again, blinking rapidly.

“I have to pee,” she states bluntly, struggling to stand. “You know, pregnant bladder.”

“Me too.” I jump up to assist her, almost spilling my drink. “The peeing thing. Not the pregnancy part. I’m not pregnant.” I laugh loudly, like an awkward person at a funeral. I stare into Kim’s amused face with a look that I hope says “for the love of God, please take me with you.”

“Right,” she says, prying the drink from my hands and placing it on the table. “Follow me, not-pregnant new friend.”

Without so much as a glance at Foster, I let her lead me away. Sweat prickles at the base of my scalp. My heart pounds so hard that I swear I hear it over the deafening club music. Kim parts the sea like Moses with her giant belly leading the way. People are practically diving in the opposite direction as though her water is breaking.

“Okay, folks. Out of the way. Sacred vessel, coming through,” she says as we weave our way through the masses.

I see my brother talking to one of his teammates. Ben spots me and waves me over, but I shake my head and mouth “bathroom” as I point at Kim. He nods and gives me a thumbs up, completely unaware that I was moments from mounting his best friend twenty feet away.

What was I thinking?

You weren’t, you horny little minx.

Finally, we make it into the ladies’ room. When the two women scrutinising themselves in the mirror spot us, they promptly collect their purses and leave, giving us a wide berth on their way out.

“I swear, some of these girls think pregnancy is contagious,” Kim sighs as she checks the stalls. When she’s satisfied we’re the only one’s here, she asks, “What was that all about?”

“What do you mean?” I am a horrible liar, but I’ve got to at least try to deny it.

“Are you sleeping with Foster? Or are you just thinking about it? And does your brother know that you’re sleeping/thinking about sleeping with Foster? I’m guessing not, seeing as he’s still breathing. Forgive me if I’m out of line, but sweet Jesus, the sexual tension between the two of you nearly put me into labour.” Her Newfoundland accent is much stronger than before.

“I don’t…I mean, he wouldn’t…we can’t…it’s just…” Panic takes over and every moment that’s transpired between us over the last three weeks comes out of me like verbal lava.

I tell her about the airport, the non-existent apartment, and the offer to stay with him. The text messages, the winter tires, the run in with Jacob and the skating lessons. Kim gobbles it up like my life is a trashy soap opera, hanging on my every word until I get to tonight.

“I feel like you’ve just recapped the first half of a Hallmark movie,” she sighs, resting her hands on her chest. “What are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do about what?”

“About the rising price of gasoline.” She rolls her eyes. “About the fact that you and your new roommate want to play a lot more than tonsil hockey.”

Forget what I wished for earlier, Santa. All I want for Christmas is a black hole to disappear into.

“We don’t! Okay, maybe, under different circumstances, I might…but I assure you, he doesn’t want that.”

Kim puts her hands on where I assume her hips would be if she weren’t more belly than woman and regards me through narrowed eyes. “Beth, I realise I don’t know you. To be honest, I don’t know Foster very well either. But I know what I saw and what I saw is a man who wants to rearrange your insides with his mini-stick.”

As I open my mouth to protest, the bathroom door swings open and another long-legged stunner saunters in. Kim smiles at her and then waddles into the nearest stall as the woman goes into a separate one. I walk to the sink, turn the faucet to the coldest setting and hold my hands under the frigid water until they ache.

Closing my eyes, I replay all my recent interactions with Foster in my mind. The casual touches that felt less than casual. The long, appreciative looks I was so certain I was reading into. The fact that since I got off that plane, he has gone out of his way to make sure I’m happy, cared for, and safe.

What if he is interested in me? What exactly would he be interested in? A casual fling? A roommates with benefits situation? Something more ?

My head spins with uncertainty and I close my eyes tightly in an attempt to quiet my racing thoughts.

When I can no longer feel my fingers, I remove them from the cold water and dry them with a paper towel. I take a long, deep breath and try to look at this thing logically.

What is it I always tell my students? The first step to finding answers is asking questions.

I need to have an honest conversation with Foster. The only way to know what he wants is to ask him. It might be embarrassing and I might get my feelings hurt, but we’re both adults and we’ll just have to deal.

I wait for Kim to emerge from the stall and watch as she washes her hands before leaving the bathroom with her. I don’t get very far before I run into Ben.

“There you are,” he says, wrapping me in a quick hug. “I’m heading out. Valentina wants me to meet her at some director’s penthouse.”

Am I imagining it, or does he seem less than enthused to leave his team party and join my supposed “future-sister-in-law”?

“I already talked to Fozz and he’ll take you home. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” I give him an eager nod. “Tell Valentina that I’m really looking forward to meeting her.”

His face clouds for a brief moment before clearing up again. “Will do.”

I watch him leave, exchanging high-fives and one-armed hugs to almost every person he passes. He’s always been the golden boy that everyone gravitates towards and I guess some things never change.

“Hey. ”

I turn and look up at Foster’s expectant face. He looks as nervous as I feel.

“Did you want another drink? Or…” He trails off.

Shaking my head, I say, “No. I’m good.”

He nods, solemnly. “I’m ready to go when you are. Just let me know when you want to leave.”

“I’m ready.” At least I hope I am.