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Okay, not true. I’m pumped for that, but I really just want some alone time with her. This week has shown how limited we’re going to be because when I’m in town and have free time, Mazzy is taking well-deserved time off, not to mention, I want all that time with Bowie Jane. It’s definitely going to be difficult navigating it all, but tonight we’ll talk about it.

Figure it out.

CHAPTER 23

Mazzy

I wait for Foster in the family lounge. The mood is jubilant, given that the Titans trounced the Washington Breakers, 7–1. I’m buzzing still from a sweet goal that Foster scored from an almost just as sweet pass from his new left-winger, Atlas Karolak. I screamed so loud when that red light came on as I jumped out of my seat, my throat feels a little shredded.

Kiera introduces me to some of the other SO’s as we wait, and it feels a little disingenuous as I shake hands and answer questions. I’m introduced as Bowie Jane’s nanny, which is accurate, but it’s not the reason I am in the family lounge tonight. I’m here because Foster and I are going out after for what is technically our second date. I don’t point that out though, and not one person seems to think it odd that I’m here and Bowie Jane is not.

Maybe they assume hockey tickets are just a job perk… or maybe Foster told everyone we’re dating. Maybe no one gives a damn one way or the other, but everyone makes me feel welcome. A few of the wives with kids reiterate offers to help with Bowie Jane on my days off as well as promise to set up playdates. It’s all very sweet, a nice way to spend the time waiting, but it doesn’t exactly quell the nerves swirling in my belly about what will happen when Foster walks into the room.

As it turns out, my nerves go haywire when I finally spot him, talking to who look to be the parents of one of his teammates. As he converses, his eyes casually move around the room and when they land on me, he motions for me to join him. He’s wearing the suit he left the house in—a hip, light blue plaid pattern that’s just a bit ostentatious. Foster admitted it’s custom-made and that he has a few like it that he wears sometimes when he’s feeling the vibe. His hair is damp from his postgame shower and his stubble is thick with a few days’ growth.

I move toward him, clutching tight to my purse over my shoulder. I get no more than halfway across the room when he exits the conversation with the older couple and walks in my direction.

We meet near a cluster of furniture occupied by a group of older men and I don’t know if they’re family members or VIP visitors, but they’re not paying any attention to us.

We don’t touch, but stand staring at each other.

“What do you want to do?” he asks casually. “Are you hungry? Want to grab something to eat?”

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry, but if you are—”

“I’m not. Want to grab a drink with the team? It’s tradition to celebrate over at Mario’s after a win.”

“If you want to—”

Foster gives a slight shake of his head. “I want to do what you want to do. I made plans for the first date. You choose the second.”

I chew on my bottom lip as I consider options and while I don’t know the specifics of what will or should happen, I do know one thing. “I don’t want to go to Mario’s. We’re just… too new and I don’t want to face scrutiny while we’re still figuring things out. How do you feel about going home? Maybe just talk.”

“We can do that.” His words are carefree and I don’t sense any disappointment we’re not going to hang out with friends. I also don’t sense any lecherous excitement that I chose to go to his home… where there’s a bed and the potential for the sex I begged for after our first date. In my mind, that’s a given. We both want it and frankly, I don’t care if we talk first. We talk all the time and I’ve gotten to know so much about him the past five weeks that I’m confident in my choices. There’s no risk in being intimate with him because the feelings are already solid and I’m as confident in this path as I can be.

I caught an Uber to the game knowing Foster would have his truck. He leads me out of the family lounge, through the basement floor of the arena to the players’ parking garage. He opens the door and I climb up into his truck.

On the drive to his house, he holds my hand the entire way, his elbow resting on the center console, his left hand on the wheel. Occasionally, his thumb glides over my knuckles as we chat… an affectionate gesture that stirs the butterflies in my belly. I’ve observed him enough with Bowie Jane to know that tenderness and touch are important to him as expressions of care.

The butterflies go a little crazy when we get home. My heart thuds as we walk into the kitchen and nerves make me start to second-guess. I put my purse on the island and hear Foster’s heavy gear bag hit the tiled floor.

I turn to chastise him, a stern look on my face and the words on the tip of my tongue to tell him to pick it up. I know it will earn me a grin and an eye roll, a gesture he’s picked up from me, but my words don’t come out because his mouth is on mine.

Hands diving into my hair, he holds me captive as our tongues tangle and there’s no holding back the groan of pleasure warbling out of my throat.

Foster lifts his head just enough to look me in the eye. “Want the wine or want me to continue kissing you?”

My head swims with a million things I want, but wine isn’t one of them. “No wine.”

That’s all he needs before he’s kissing me again. I raise my hands and cradle his face in my palms, feeling the prick of stubble before I run my fingers through his thick, tousled hair. As our bodies inch closer, our lips meet in a sizzling tangle, igniting a frenzy between us. Our tongues dance, exploring every crevice, battling for control. The heat between us radiates and I feel like I might go up in flames just from this shattering kiss.

Finally.

This is happening.

Foster’s fingers dig into my skin, possibly leaving bruises in their wake, which I’m totally okay with. I don’t mind things being rough and as he lifts me up with a force that almost takes my breath away, I eagerly wrap my legs around his waist. I feel his hardness press against my center and I’m overwhelmed by the speed at which he responds to me. My body reacts of its own accord and I grind against him.

A feral sound rumbles in Foster’s chest as he walks me right into the kitchen wall. My entire body trembles from the opposing sensations—the coolness of the wall at my back and the heat of his mouth on mine, the softness of his hair slipping through my fingers and the hard length of his erection grinding against me.

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