Page 39 of Foster

“Why?”

Why? Is he kidding? How can he even ask why this is wrong?

I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin. “You’re my employer.”

Foster shrugs and grunts from the pain of lifting his shoulder. “Didn’t stop Brienne and Drake. If ever there was a more forbidden employer/employee relationship, that worked out just fine.”

“And that’s what you want… a relationship?” I ask, astounded how cavalier he’s being.

“I just wanted a kiss and figured I’d see where it went from there,” he replies with a mischievous grin.

My arms drop and I hold them out, shaking my head in confusion. “But… why? I mean, what is prompting all this?”

Foster chuckles and shakes his head in amusement whereas I’m befuddled as fuck. “Seriously, Mazzy. Have you even looked at yourself?”

For some odd reason, my head turns toward the bathroom mirror as if I’ll see the answer. It’s just… me.

“I’m not just talking about your physical beauty,” Foster says, and my gaze moves back to him in the mirror’s reflection. He stands there half-naked and sexy as hell, and it’s so disconcerting, I barely hear his next words. “I’m talking about the package. You’re smart, funny, trustworthy, genuine, and you have had such a positive impact on my daughter—”

“That’s why it’s wrong,” I blurt out, and Foster blinks in surprise. “We can’t do anything or… whatever because of Bowie Jane. It would be too confusing.”

And that penetrates. Foster’s lips flatten as he processes what I’ve said, and just like that, the magical spell is broken. “Bowie Jane,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to the vanity for a moment before coming back up to meet mine through the mirror. “Yeah… you’re right. We have Bowie Jane to consider.”

CHAPTER 15

Foster

Forty-five minutes still stretch out ahead of me, a slow drip of time before the clash of blades against ice signals the start of the first game of the regular season. I’m in the heart of the locker room, echoes of anticipation hanging thick in the air as my teammates get dressed. My own pregame ritual begins. The base layer goes on first, followed by a second, breathable armor, contouring tightly against my muscles. I secure my shin guards, each click of the straps a familiar sound of comfort, and then pull on my socks.

I work my way into my hockey pants, the durable fabric embracing foam padding that provides further protection. I draw the traditional laces tight and throw in a double knot before cinching the adjustable buckle. I don’t bother with my shoulder or elbow pads yet as it will be easier to get my skates on without them.

Lowering myself onto the wooden bench in front of my cubby, my blades await their call to action. I pull them on, laces weaving through my fingers with practiced ease. It’s a monotonous movement and each piece of gear is more than just protection. They represent fragments of my identity as a hockey player and once that jersey of white, purple and gray goes on, I will be transformed into a warrior ready to step onto a frozen battleground.

Usually at this point, my mind is thoroughly immersed in the game to come. I’m thinking of strategies and envisioning plays I’ve worked on all week with my line mates. Our second line is cobbled together—a mixture of old and new. My defensemen remain the same, Camden and Hendrix, and we have a season and a half under our belts. That’s countless hours on the ice together, learning each other’s moves and how to anticipate a pass just from the twitch of a shoulder.

But new to our line is Atlas Karolak at left wing and North Paquette at right wing. We worked hard this week doing drills together and then watched footage of those drills, discussing things we would change or explaining our reasons for certain moves. We developed and solidified a sort of language by which we will communicate on ice and we took all our meals together during the day.

Learning to work as a fluid unit is more than just practicing together. It’s about building trust, and I have really good vibes coming from the new guys, as I know Camden and Hendrix do too.

As I finish lacing up my second skate, I try to think of the game and focus on the job I need to do. But instead, visions of a beautiful redhead keep popping in. It’s annoying as fuck and this has been going on for the past three days—or rather, since that almost-kiss in my bathroom.

Mazzy wisely stopped us from making what could have been a huge mistake. But part of my annoyance in these continual thoughts and analysis of that moment is that it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like I was on the verge of doing something right and I don’t know why. It wasn’t even an actual kiss and is nothing that should be mourned.

And yet… I feel like I missed out on something monumental. It’s been bugging the shit out of me ever since she poured the metaphorical bucket of ice water on me.

She said it would be too confusing for Bowie Jane and that brought me to my senses. It would probably be confusing for me and Mazzy as well, so it was a good thing it didn’t happen.

Except… fuck… I really wish it had.

I cannot shake the feeling that it could have been the start of something really good. I mean, in my mind, Bowie Jane is a mature ten-year-old and I think she would understand and possibly even approve. She wants her parents to be happy. On occasion, she’ll ask me why I don’t date or why I don’t have a girlfriend. I always blow her off, telling her that she’s the only lady I need in my life. In my mind, I’ve just come out of a bad marriage and am not keen on starting up anything new anytime soon.

But Mazzy has certainly changed that.

And I likely can’t rid myself of these thoughts because my kid is crazy about Mazzy. I trust my child implicitly and she has judged Mazzy worthy of her adoration. I know I’ve certainly got my own thoughts on that because these last few weeks, I’ve learned enough about the woman to realize I want to know her better than just as Bowie Jane’s caretaker.

But… it’s probably too much confusion. It’s a bad idea for me to get involved with Mazzy, especially on the heels of Bowie Jane’s mom flaking out.

You’d think that after us almost kissing, things might be stilted and awkward between us the last few days, but on the contrary. Mazzy has acted like nothing happened. She’s been her bright, sunny self with both me and Bowie Jane. She mixes in her Mary Poppins, no-nonsense expressions, which are fucking adorable, and has engaged in conversation with me without a hint of unease.

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