O Goalie Night (The Ottawa Otters #1)

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

BETH

“ L ook at me! Foster, are you looking at me?”

I know I sound like a little kid insisting that their mom watch their fiftieth consecutive cartwheel, but I don’t care. I’m skating!

I’m sure I still look like an old lady out here, but I feel like Tessa Virtue. I’m gliding across the ice with a rhythm that feels almost natural. My feet are aching a bit in these skates that don’t fit perfectly, but I don’t even mind the burn as I reach one side of the rink and start another lap.

I am graceful. I am powerful. I am alive.

“I haven’t been able to stop looking at you.” Foster skates backwards past me giving my body a look of frank appreciation. His movements are so smooth. He doesn’t even look where he’s going; his body just knows. It’s beautiful to watch.

“Have you been trying, though?”

“Not at all.”

I roll my eyes at him and he grins.

“How do you feel?” he asks, skating alongside me. “About the skating,” he adds hurriedly .

Aside from a few vague references, we still haven’t discussed last night and I’m hesitant to initiate the conversation. Not that I don’t have a lot of say on the matter; I could write a dissertation on the events that took place for future generations to study.

“I feel great. Maybe a little sad that I didn’t make myself learn a long time ago. I missed a lot of class trips and birthday parties. Oh, and this one time this huge winter carnival came to Charlottetown when I was nine. They turned a soccer field into an outdoor rink where there were games and balloon animals and cotton candy. I stayed home with my mom and was so sad when my sister told me about everything they’d done that I promised myself that if they had it again, I would learn to skate. But it never came back.”

Foster takes my hand in his and gives it a squeeze and the disappointment I was feeling melts away.

Last night was a huge deal to me. Not only because it was the best sex I’ve ever had, but because I initiated it. I told Foster he could kiss me.

And, damn, did he ever kiss me.

It was so much more than physical pleasure, though. I’ve never felt so desired and it gave me the confidence to ask for what I wanted. And he gave it to me.

But the reality of the morning after came hard and swift. Having to act like nothing happened for Ben’s sake sucked. And Foster played his part well.

I think back to him telling me how long it had been since he’d been with anyone and while it’s just as hard a concept to wrap my head around today, I have no reason to doubt him.

Foster likes me. He cares about me, he said so himself and I believe him. But what does that mean going forward?

I make a sudden, and perhaps rash decision. Directness worked last night, right?

“How are you feeling?” I ask in a conversational tone. “About the sex?”

Foster almost loses his footing, but recovers quickly. He runs his hands roughly over his face. “Great…The sex was great. I thought so, anyway…so I feel great about it?”

It’s so hard not to laugh watching this giant of a man stumble over his words.

He clears his throat. “And you?”

“It was okay, I guess.” I manage to say with a straight face before skating away from him towards the glass as fast as I can. I don’t get very far; Foster skates up behind me, catching me around the waist and lifting me off the ice as I squeal.

“Okay?” His voice is a low growl, but I can feel him smiling against my ear.

“Yup,” I gasp, struggling to breathe and not laugh. “Solid six out of ten.”

He sets me down against the boards and spins me to face him, cupping my face. I tilt forward hoping he’ll kiss me, but he doesn’t. His eyes study mine, looking from one to the other, his expression grave.

“What are you doing?” I sound as breathless as I feel.

“Looking for signs of a concussion. You may have gotten one by hitting your head on my headboard so many times last night. Or maybe it happened during round three in my shower. You said you couldn’t remember your own name after that.”

My jaw goes slack and before I can respond, he kisses me, hard and fast. My hands find his back, grasping at his sweater. I’m trying to pull him closer to me and, at the same time, holding on for dear life.

His lips are firm and sure as he makes a meal out of my willing mouth. I whimper as he runs his tongue over mine.

“Did you have something to say?” He hovers just above my desperate lips.

“Umm…I don’t remember.” I try to stand on my tip toes, but it’s impossible on skates.

“Mmm…Might be more serious than a concussion. Maybe you’ve got amnesia. Can you remember anything?”

I’m running purely on lust and endorphins, but if he wants to play the teasing game, that’s fine by me.

I place my hand on his stomach and let it travel south. “I remember you liking this.” I press against his growing erection, cupping him through his jeans.

“Jesus, Beth,” he groans against my mouth. “You win. I’ll cancel the CAT scan.”

There’s no more talking. Just taste and touch and feel.

Someone bangs on the glass and I scream as Foster hugs me to him protectively.

“Sorry, Foster.” A middle-aged man stands on the other side on the glass looking anywhere but us. “I’m about to open the doors for the family skate. And I figured you’d probably want to…anyway, sorry.”

“Thanks, Danny. We appreciate it.” Foster’s hold tightens on me like he thinks I might run away and the moment Danny turns around, he presses his lips to the top of my head, shaking with amusement. “You good?”

I nod. “Good.” I start to skate towards the exit .

“Look at you.” He’s positively beaming at me. “You’re skating like a pro. I must be a great teacher.”

“Solid six out of ten.”

He laughs and looks like he might chase me again, but dozens of people are starting to fill the ice that was our private skating pond just moments ago. We’re almost to the exit when I hear my name.

“Ms. Michaels! Ms. Michaels!”

A pink blur comes barreling towards me on the ice. I realise too late that she’s not slowing down and is going to crash into me or the boards. On instinct, I widen my stance and prepare to take the blow, when Foster steps forward and catches her.

“Whoa, Speed Racer,” he laughs, steadying my student on her feet.

“Sorry!” The girl looks up at me with a grin that’s missing both incisors.

“Amelia!” I exclaim. “You’re so fast!”

“I know!” She beams. Her head looks impossibly big in her pink helmet. “My dad says I need to learn to stop, though.”

“That might be a good idea.” I look up to find Foster studying her with an unreadable expression.

“Dad! Daaaaaad! It’s Ms. Michaels!”

A tall man skates over to us slowly, but he’s not looking at me or even Amelia; he’s staring at Foster, whose eyes are fixed right back at him.

“Ms. Michaels, this is my Dad!”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say as I look nervously between the two men.

“Same.” Her father nods at me before returning to his staring match with Foster. “Hey, Foster.”

Foster looks like he’s seen a ghost. He swallows hard. “Cody.”