Page 52 of O Goalie Night
You. Are. Beautiful.
It wasn’t the first time a man told me I was beautiful, but it was the first time one made me believe it. I felt it when he looked at me. The sureness of the words as he spoke them matched with the sincerity shining in his eyes.
Those same eyes are even more hooded with lust, never leaving me as he stands and pushes his jeans and boxers briefs to the floor.
Now I’m the one gawking. Granted, I haven’t seen that many penises in the flesh–literally and figuratively. But the sculpted God of a man that’s crawling towards me on the bed appears to be larger than average…everywhere.
Laying back on the bed, he positions himself over me, bracing his weight on his forearms and my mind chooses this moment to fracture, a million thought fragments swirling around in my brain like a tornado of doubts.
Foster has already exceeded my expectations, but what if I don’t meet his? What if this changes things between us? The effortless friendship we’ve spent the last month developing has meant a lot to me and after tonight it won’t ever be the same.
Or what if it is? What if we wake up and act like nothing happened? Can I handle that? Hookups might bepar for the course for Foster, but I don’t think I’m going to pretend that I feel nothing after feeling so much.
Foster’s green eyes almost glow in the dimly lit room. “I have a confession to make.”
Here we go. He’s got a wife in every NHL province and state. I fucking knew it.
“Oh?” I try to keep my tone neutral, which is difficult considering a large, naked man is on top of me about to tell me something I probably won’t like.
He clears his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s been a while.”
I narrow my eyes as if seeing him clearer will make me understand.
“What’s been a while?”
“Since I’ve…since I’ve been with anyone.”
I stare up at him, not sure how to react. He’s a professional athlete. I’m sure his idea of a drought is a lot different than the rest of the population. “How long?”
He swallows. “Eight months.”
“Bullshit.”
“I swear.”
I search his face for deception and find none. Not that he’d have a reason to lie to me, but still. He’s Foster James. There are Tik Tok thirst trap reels of him that have gone beyond viral. I’ve got a couple saved on my phone. Given the man’s options, why would he abstain for so long?
He looks nervous as he awaits my response.
“Foster,” I hedge, attempting my best deadpan. “Are you bad at sex?”
His face breaks into the most beautiful grin as he lets out a bark of laughter.
“It’s okay if you are,” I fight to keep a straight face ashe buries his face in my neck. “You’re good at lots of other things.”
When he finally manages to stop shaking with laughter, he speaks again. “I hooked up plenty during the first few years of my career. I just got tired.”
“Of sex?”
“Of the scene. Forcing conversations with women I didn’t care about. Women who didn’t care about me. There were no feelings involved. No trust.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
His intense gaze holds mine and I can’t look away. “I care about you, Beth. A lot. I need you to know that before we go any further.”
My heart pounds in my chest and it’s beating only for him. He’s made me feel beautiful and now so special and cared for.
“I care about you, too,” I breathe. “And I trust you.”
