Page 58 of O Goalie Night
“So,” I say, glancing at my watch and seeing we still have time to make it to the rink. “Feeling up for another skating lesson? Unless, that is, you’re too tired?”
Her ponytail falls across her shoulder as she tilts her head to the side and gives me an innocent smile. “Why would I be tired?”
I grin, eager to play along. “I worked you pretty hard yesterday.” I bite my lip as her cheeks turn pink. “On the ice, that is. I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for another round.”
“Absolutely,” she answers without hesitation. “I can take more.”
I’m so fucked.
CHAPTER 23
BETH
“Look 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 himselfand 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?”
