Page 29 of Three Hockey Hotties

This current arrangement was absolutely not my preference, but Mrs. Litwinski had plunked herself down in the middle and tossed me a dare-you-to-question-it look.

Abby had asked, “Are you sure you’re okay in the middle?”

Mrs. Litwinski had replied with a smile directly straight at me, “I feel like you’re going to be in the middle a lot, Abigail. Enjoy the window seat for now.”

That had made me grin, in spite of myself. Mrs. L knows what’s what.

So did Abby because when I glanced past her neighbor to catch her eye, she blushed furiously, her cheeks as pink as her sweater had been earlier before Dash forced her into a charcoal gray hoodie. Immediately, she had lifted her water bottle to her mouth and flicked her tongue over the straw, but she didn’t actually drink.

I think she uses the water bottle as a shield sometimes.

And hell, I’m proud of myself for noticing that. I’m not normally the most observant guy on the planet. That’s Dash. And Benjamin is detail oriented. I’m usually all about the action but it feels different with Abby. I want to study her. Learn everything there is to know about her. Figure out what makes her tick and how to ensure that she’s happy and healthy and well-loved every minute of every day from here to forever.

“This looks like a very nice hotel,” she says now, softly, glancing up at the building. “This is really generous of you guys.”

“It’s the least we can do,” Dash says.

Abby gives him a sweet smile but doesn’t say anything further.

It oddly twists my gut in a good way to see her appreciate Dash. He’s a great fucking guy and not everyone sees that. I love for him that Abby does.

Dash is in the front passenger seat, and he has glanced back a half a dozen times in the ten minute drive here, as if he’s afraid Abby might disappear while he’s not looking.

I get that feeling.

I’m downright jittery with excitement.

Never in a million fucking years did I wake up this morning thinking that by nightfall we’d have the perfect girl for all three of us tucked up in a bed at Benjamin’s house.

It takes a hell of a lot of effort to not continually grin even when I know I shouldn’t because Abby and her neighbor are upset about the state of their dilapidated apartments.

Not that Mrs. Litwinski looks all that upset as a valet attendant hustles over to the vehicle. “Is he going to open the doors for us?” she asks, excitedly, shoving the last of her curlers into her giant purse. “I’ve always wanted to have someone do that.”

While I certainly don’t need anyone to open a door for me ever, I don't think I realized until just now that I take a lot of life’s little luxuries for granted. Me and Benjamin grew up with upper middle class parents, and money was never really talked about. It was just there, to make life easier and convenient, especially when my stepmom got sick. My mom and my stepfather moved to California when I was seven, and they also have a beautiful home and are never hard up for money.

Dash’s family struggled to make ends meet and support him and his two sisters in an expensive sport, but I can’t say I paid all that much attention to that. Even while Benjamin’s mom was getting treatment and I spent a lot of time with Dash’s family, I was just grateful for a space that felt warm and loving. I still never really thought about how financially fortunate I’ve always been.

Seeing Mrs. Litwinski’s reaction to the valet at The Willow, I feel good about her ceiling caving in as well as Abby’s. I can’t put an exact age on the older woman, but I’d guess she’s in her seventies. If having some dude open a car door for her is this exciting, I hope she enjoys the hell out of the minibar and the down pillows.

“Make sure you order room service,” I tell her as Benjamin climbs out of the SUV and hands his keys to the attendant. “Whatever you want. Don’t hesitate, Mrs. Litwinski.”

“Anything?” Her eyes narrow as if she’s mentally calculating how much she can get away with before she’s crossed a line. “And call me Magda. I’ve been telling Abby that since she moved in a year ago.”

Abby has been living in that dump for a solid year? The ceiling fell in not a moment too soon. Jesus.

“Of course, Magda. Yes, anything from room service you want and if you don’t raid that minibar I’ll be completely offended.” I give her a wink.

“I do love a tiny bottle of liquor,” she says, a twinkle in her eye. “I wonder what else they have?”

“Massages,” I say. “In the hotel spa.”

She gasps.

I grin. “Have fun checking it all out.”

Dash has gotten out of the car, and he opens the door for Abby and reaches for her hand. She accepts it with a muted, “Thank you.”

I can’t tell what she’s thinking right now.