My Forever (Our Forever Book 3)

by Elena Matthews

  I laugh. “I didn’t when I met him on New Year’s Eve, but I do now.”

  Her eyes almost bug out of their sockets. “Wait, that’s the guy from New Year’s Eve? The guy who was married?”

  A few days after New Year’s Eve, I told her about a guy I’d met, but I never told her who it was.

  “The one and only, but from the looks of it, he’s no longer married.”

  Her eyes grow wide, a huge smile on her face. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go and say hi,” she urges.

  I shake my head. I have to peel her hand off my arm before I retort humorously with, “That was the plan before you started to manhandle me.”

  I don’t wait around for her to say anything else. Instead, I walk toward him, and my heart pounds in my chest as I inch closer. Inwardly, I tell my heart to chill as I approach, but it does nothing to calm my nerves.

  God, what is it with that guy that makes me feel so vulnerable?

  He smiles when I take the seat beside him, his body already gravitating in my direction.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you without your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle onesie on,” I say with a grin.

  “I know. It’s like when Superman puts on his glasses in order to go incognito. I look like a whole different person with that onesie.”

  I laugh. “Is this your incognito look?” I ask, pointing to him, indicating the cap, the scruff, and the hoodie.

  “Yes. I’m guessing it didn’t work since you recognized me straightaway.”

  “Nope, sorry,” I say with a smirk on my lips.

  “Damn it. I need to work better on my disguising game.”

  We both laugh. Then, his eyes lazily drop down to my tight Cowboys jersey, and I swear, my nipples get that little bit harder under his gaze.

  “Cowboys, huh?” he asks when his eyes finally reach mine again.

  “The only kinda boys I like.” Then, I cringe when I realize how bad that actually sounded.

  He raises a brow with a smile on his face.

  “Wow, that sounded really pedo-y,” I say with a slight chuckle, and he snickers. “I promise I only like men over the age of thirty. They should really call them Cowmen, right? Although that really doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

  I realize I’m rambling, but, Jesus, this guy makes me nervous like no other. I quickly decide to change the subject before he thinks I’m a raving lunatic.

  “So, I’ve not seen you in here before.”

  He gives a single nod. “No. I actually stumbled across it while taking a walk, and then I noticed the Cowboys were playing, so I thought, What the hell? Plus, I haven’t had a beer in what feels like forever.”

  I glance down to his almost-empty bottle of beer. “Can I buy you another beer?” I offer, and the way his eyes widen in surprise makes me laugh. “What? Never had a woman offer to buy you a beer before?”

  “Honestly? No.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He grins. “The only things women have offered me in the past are usually the sexual kind. It came with the territory of being a hockey player.” He shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal.

  I’m not exactly a prude myself. I’ve definitely had my share of guys, but I’ve never understood the whole concept of puck bunnies. To go from one guy to the next is just all kinds of wrong. Especially if the guys belong to the same hockey team.

  “Did you ever accept what was offered to you?”

  I’m trying not to judge, but I’m hoping he says no. But the guy was on the Dallas Stars hockey team for over ten years. Surely, he has a few women under his belt.

  “No, team-whoring was never my style. Plus, I was married at nineteen.”

  “Wow, that was very One Tree Hill of you,” I comment.

  When I see the blank look on his face, I’m guessing he has never seen One Tree Hill and has no idea of the Nate-and-Haley-got-married-in-high-school drama, followed by a whole lotta more drama.

  I really need to watch a rerun of that.

  I look down to his strong, muscular hand and find myself drawn to his empty ring finger. “You’re not wearing a ring now,” I point out.

  His eyes flash to his hand, and for a split second, a look of panic flickers in those beautiful blue eyes of his as his thumb massages the spot where his ring used to be. The panic then turns to sadness before it quickly disappears. His reaction confuses me and leaves me curious. I’m guessing it must have been a tough breakup.

  He turns his attention back to me. “No, no ring,” is all he says.

  “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

  He doesn’t comment any further on this, instead giving me a panty-dropping smile. “So, were you being serious about buying me that beer?”

  I grin. “I’m always serious when it comes to alcohol.”

  “Then, yes. I’d love a beer.”

  Less than thirty seconds later, the waiter sets down two beers in front of us, and we clink the top of our bottles together before taking a sip.

  “So, that was one hell of a rap rendition you did,” he compliments.

  I breathe out a giggle. “Ah, that was nothing. Wait until ‘Baby Got Back’ comes on. That’s when I really get into my groove.”

  He throws his head back on a laugh, and the husky sound is exactly how I remember it. It vibrates through me, goose bumps erupting all along my body.

  “Now, that is something I need to see.”

  I smile, leaning closer to him. When my leg grazes his, the goose bumps I was already feeling quadruple, and I’m sure as shit that I could use my nipples to cut diamonds right about now. I have to take a sip of beer just to cool down.

  “What about you? Are you musically gifted?”

  He snorts, squeezing the bill of his cap. “I’m about as musically gifted as a tone-deaf cat.”

  “Ouch. Really?” I giggle.

  “Yep, singing is not my thing.”

  “What is your thing? Now that you’re no longer a hotshot hockey player.” I teasingly smile.

  He seems thoughtful for a moment, staring at his beer bottle before looking up at me. “Honestly, I’m still trying to figure that out.”

  “What about your charity?”

  He blinks with surprise, as if he’s shocked I remember what we spoke about on New Year’s Eve.

  As if I could forget.

  He’s the founder of a children’s hockey charity, which helps less fortunate children get off the streets, giving them a chance to play hockey.

  “I love my charity, and I love working with the kids, but I wouldn’t say it was my thing. It isn’t what defines me.”

  “You must have a thing. Everyone has a thing.”

  He shrugs before giving a sheepish smile. “Can being double-jointed class as being a thing?”

  I raise a brow, unable to hide my smile. “It depends where and how impressive it is.”

  He holds his hand out and pops his thumb out of its socket, so it’s pressed against the top of his hand.

  “Is that it?” I ask, biting my lip to stop myself from laughing. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I can do better than that in my sleep.”

  “How?” he retorts as he rights his thumb back into place.

  “I guess another thing of mine is that I’m extremely bendy,” I say flirtatiously.

  His nostrils flare, his eyes bright with intrigue. “Show me then.”

  Ignoring the fact that we’re in a packed bar and I’m in skintight yoga pants, I stand, and in a move I haven’t done in quite some time, I effortlessly lift my left leg over my head into a high leg extension with my foot pointing diagonally toward the ceiling. Chase’s jaw drops as his eyes take in my elevated leg, his head tilting up until he stops on my Converse-covered foot.

  “Holy shit,” he murmurs under his breath.

  His response makes me grin, and just because I can, I keep my position for another ten seconds before dropping my leg. I slide back onto the stool and nonchalantly cross my legs, still grinning.

&
nbsp; Chase shakes his head, smoothing his hand over the scruff on his face. He glances down at my hand, perplexed. “Why the hell don’t you have a ring on your finger?”

  I throw my head back and laugh as I reach for my beer. “That’s what all the guys say, but I’m not sure why they do.” I’m teasing him, of course. I know exactly why being bendy is an attractive trait to a man. It makes for pretty epic sex.

  “You’re kidding, right?” he asks. “You’re like a wet dream, ballerina-style.”

  I blanch at the mention of a ballerina but manage to disguise it behind a smile. “Being flexible has its advantages.”

  “I bet.” He shakes his head, blowing out a breath of laughter before gulping down a few sips of beer.

  I raise the bottle to my mouth. “You should see what I can do when I actually stretch.”

  His eyes darken with lust, smirk in place. “You’re a devil woman. You know that, right?”

  “It beats being an angel.”

  “Yeah, I can’t imagine white being your color,” he says with an amused quirk of his brow.

  Subtly, I gently slide my red Converse up along his calf, and his eyes drop down to his leg.

  “Red is definitely more my color.”

  Just then, “Baby Got Back” comes through the speakers of the jukebox, and immediately, Chase’s eyes begin to dance, his entire face breaking out in a huge smile.

  I jump up from my seat with my beer bottle/pretend microphone in hand. “While you figure out what your thing is, watch me do mine.”

  I wink before slaying the shit out of “Baby Got Back” like I’m fourteen years old all over again, singing in only my underwear with a hairbrush in my hand. The only difference is, I never had an audience—and when I say audience, I’m talking about one in particular, whose eyes I feel searing into my ass as I twerk, channeling Nicki Minaj.

  Damn, that tequila.

  Midnight Ice Cream

  Chase

  When I stepped into the bar this evening, I simply wanted to get out of my own head for a while, watch a little football, and savor the taste of my favorite beer. I wanted to take a time-out from my life and just enjoy something as simple as watching a game, something I haven’t done since I retired from hockey five months ago. It wasn’t even my intention to go to a bar, but after months of the same shit, day in and day out, I just needed to do something a little different. So, as I walked past the sports bar, instead of continuing on to resume wandering aimlessly around like a lost little puppy, I instinctively found myself stepping inside and taking a seat at the bar.

  And, fuck, I’m so glad I did, as I never imagined my night would end up like this, bumping into the woman I’ve been having fantasies about since New Year’s Eve. Fantasies I knew I shouldn’t have been having, but after just meeting her once, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  I was just about to up and leave when my eyes caught sight of her, rapping along to every word to one of the most notorious rap songs from the ’90s. It was sexy as hell, and I loved how free she seemed, not a single shit to be given. She was mesmerizing. I’d forgotten how fucking beautiful she was and even more so in yoga pants and a football jersey with her silky, dark locks piled up on the top of her head in a messy bun.

  From that moment on, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her, and for the first time in months, I’ve smiled a real smile. The same smile I haven’t been able to keep off my face all evening, since being in her presence.

  Her laughter is infectious, and that beautiful smile and sweet laughter are definitely what the doctor ordered.

  After Kaelyn returns from showing me her thing, her friend joins us, introducing herself as Penelope. The difference I see between her and Kaelyn is that Penelope is quite the fangirl. I’m not gonna lie; I’m kind of petrified. She’s just so damn loud.

  “OMG, Chase Henderson! I’m such a huge fan. Your final game was fucking epic, and we won the Stanley Cup. Then, I hear, you were Kaelyn’s mystery guy from New Year’s Eve, and I should just smack her sideways for not knowing who the hell you were. I mean, you’re Chase Henderson, for Christ’s sake. Not knowing who you are is a crime against sports!”

  I glance at Kaelyn for a split second and see she’s staring at me with a I apologize in advance; my friend is all kinds of crazy look.

  Also, I was the mystery guy? Intriguing.

  Her friend continues on for probably a full minute, but honestly, she’s talking so fast I’m struggling to keep up with her. All of a sudden, fans swarm on me like flies on shit when they realize the incognito guy with the scruffy beard and baseball cap is Chase Henderson, and before I know it, I’m taking selfies and signing anything the patrons can get their hands on.

  Kaelyn mouths her apologies as she sets a beer down in front of me, but it isn’t her fault; I’m sports royalty. I’m not conceited enough to call myself that, it’s just what people have categorized me as. I, on the other hand, don’t believe I’m a celebrity, a god like they claim me to be. I was just a guy who wanted to play hockey. After my final game and the life-altering disaster that followed, I’ve not been in the limelight for a while now. Some might say I disappeared from the face of the earth.

  My retirement was supposed to be a good thing—the end of a fantastic era—but once I found Olivia on the floor, just hours after the game of my life, I didn’t feel proud of all that I’d accomplished because my career as a hockey player was the reason I lost her to drugs. The person I was supposed to live my forever with. I was the reason she’d chosen that route. I might not have injected the poison into her veins, but I might as well have, since I was the one who’d introduced her to the NHL world.

  However, tonight, I’m being reminded of my achievements and praised for my career. After being off the radar for so long and being surrounded by mostly silence, the attention is surprisingly nice.

  I spend the next hour greeting and talking with fans, until Kaelyn and I are finally left alone.

  The bartender—or who I’m assuming is the owner—sets two beers in front of me. “I’m never this busy come eleven o’ clock on a Sunday night, so here you go, on the house.”

  I’m guessing my being here has definitely helped his tills tonight.

  “Thank you,” I respond, picking up the cold bottle, putting it to my lips, and taking a refreshing gulp. That’s when I notice he set down two bottles of Birra Moretti. They must have miraculously appeared from nowhere since, when I asked for a bottle earlier, they didn’t serve it, and I had to settle for a Peroni.

  I don’t usually like getting the royal treatment, but damn, it’s Birra Moretti.

  “Wow, the staff seems to go all out when they realize a retired Dallas Stars hockey player is in their bar,” I say to Kaelyn.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, this is my favorite beer, and two hours ago, they didn’t even stock it. In fact, the bartender had never heard of it. Then, all of a sudden, hey, presto.” I point to my bottle as if it appeared by magic.

  Kaelyn smiles. “Deep down, you’re just a spoiled boy, aren’t you? I bet you drive an Aston Martin and have maids praise at your feet whenever they’re in your presence,” she teases.

  I throw my head back on a laugh. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I mean, first of all, I drive a Ferrari, not an Aston Martin, and my maids do not praise at my feet, but they do follow me around, dropping rose petals in my wake.”

  She bursts out laughing, and it sends a shiver of goose bumps up my spine.

  God, her laugh.

  “They do not!”

  I shake my head with an amused smile. “Nah, just kidding. I actually don’t have maids. I just have a cleaner who comes in a couple of times a week. Everything else, I do myself.”

  “And the Ferrari?”

  “I swear, it’s the only flashy thing I own. I’m a guy. We all love fast cars.”

  “What, no big mansion?”

  “No, I’m a simple guy.”

  “Okay, so just a fast car for a
fast boy, huh?”

  “Exactly.” I grin. I pick the other bottle of beer up and hand it to Kaelyn. “Well, since they went out of their way to get my favorite beer, you should try it. I swear, it’ll be the best beer you’ve ever tasted.”

  “Okay.” She takes it from me. “But this is the last drink I’m having. I’ll be useless tomorrow if I have any more.” She places the bottle to her lips and takes a long sip. Then, she smiles with content. “Hmm, that’s actually really nice. Your expensive taste definitely pays off.” She smiles widely before taking another sip.

  “So, that, with your fans, was kind of intense. I’ve never seen anything like that before, except on TV.”

  I just shrug. “Honestly, I’m kind of used to it. When I was playing hockey, I hated the attention. I used to keep to myself as much as possible, but since I’ve retired, my ego appreciates the fuss now and again. I guess I miss it—the crowd, the adoring fans. I always find though, if you give the fans what they want, they soon leave you be.”

  “I love being the center of attention, but that kind of attention you garnered, thanks to my loudmouthed friend, I don’t think I’d like it so much.”

  I glance around the bar, and I see not one, but several guys’ eyes fixated on her. “I see you have a little fan club of your own.”

  She rolls her eyes, not even bothering to look at the awaiting stares. “They’re not my fan club, just guys who think they have a shot with me.”

  “And do they?”

  “Hell no. I just got out of a relationship with one asshole; I’m really not looking for another. Also, staring at me while I’m with another guy is a douche bag move. How do they know I’m not with you? Just, ugh. I don’t need any more assholes in my life.”

  While she throws back at least half of her bottle in what I assume is frustration, it makes me happy to hear she’s single and just gotten out of a bad relationship. I know that shouldn’t make me happy, especially since I know tonight can’t go any further. I’m not in a position to be dating anyone even though, if I were, I’d want it to be her.

  I’m about to offer a solution, a marking-my-territory kind of move to keep the assholes away, when she turns to me.