“Can I get a Sierra Nevada?” someone says.
“In a minute,” Scully thunders. “Pay attention! We got a friend having his first call up to Denver tonight.”
The whole bar turns toward the hockey game. “Who is it?” Fregular demands. “Wait—that sexy Ice Cats goalie with the cute smile? I’d like to see him use his stick.”
I growl, but Scully says, “Yup, that’s our guy! Stay sharp, everyone. We need the camera to…”
A view of the bench pops onto the screen—a line of Cougars with their coach standing attentively behind them. And there he is. I let out a shout when I spot Beck, geared up and ready, watching the game from the bench.
The bar lets out a roar of applause and luckily Scully is filming it all on his phone, because I’m too overwhelmed to react.
Beck is up there on that screen, like I always knew he’d be. My throat is suddenly very tight, and when Scully claps me on the back, I struggle to make all the right noises.
He did it. Never mind that it’s only an emergency call-up to sit on the bench. It’s another stepping stone to greatness. He’s on his way, and now everybody knows it.
Scully’s phone looms into my face, and I lift a hand to push it out of my way. “What are you doing?”
“Had to preserve this for posterity. Forest gets all emotional over the goalie.”
“I didn’t get all emotional,” I grunt, turning back to the bar to serve some drinks. I probably do a shitty job, because it’s hard to be a good bartender when you’re keeping an eye on the game.
And does it make me an asshole to hope that Walcott gets a bad cramp and comes off the ice?
At intermission I take my phone out and reply to Beck’s text.
Forest
Words cannot express how happy I am for you. Come over later, if you want to. Maybe you have other plans. But I’ll leave the front door unlocked just in case.
I get back to my job, because one of us isn’t going anywhere.
Spoiler: it’s me.
Thirty-Four
Like a Sleeping Bear
Beck
It’s the dead of night when I slip through Forest’s unlocked door, kicking off my shoes to move as quietly as I can manage after a few beers with the team. He’s left the kitchen lights on the lowest dimmer setting for me, and I flip them off as I pad toward his bedroom.
The door’s open, and there he is—sprawled across the bed like a sleeping bear, his bare body covered by the blankets to his waist.
I don’t get that many opportunities to observe him like this. Hell, I don’t get that many opportunities to be in the same post code as Forest. But my heart just doesn’t care. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and the yearning I feel for him doesn’t ever take a day off.
I strip down to my boxer briefs and slide under the covers as carefully as possible. The mattress dips slightly, and I hold my breath, but Forest doesn’t stir. He’s really out—mouth slightly open, one arm flung over his head. It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him.
Settling against the pillow, I give myself one more long look. His beard looks soft, and I have to resist the urge to run my hand across it. There’s a small scar on his shoulder that I want to ask about someday.
The urge to touch him is overwhelming, but I don’t want to wake him. He needs his sleep. So I close my eyes and let the warmth of his body next to mine sink in.
I’m almost asleep when Forest shifts beside me, rolling over until we’re face to face. His eyes flutter open, unfocused and sleepy.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he whispers back. “You should have woken me up.”
“Didn’t want to disturb you,” I say, already feeling my eyes closing again. “You were sacked out.”
