Page 88 of Three Hockey Hotties

“Can-do,” Kane agrees easily.

I’m actually not sure I can resist doing those things.

“All of us?” I ask to clarify.

Benjamin nods. “Yeah, I think so. Let’s see how she feels about it. The three of us need to get used to it too. Not just here at home.”

“I’m in,” Kane says.

I nod. “Okay.”

Benjamin starts for the doorway.

“Where are you going?” Kane asks.

“To ask our girlfriend on a date,” he says. He pauses and looks back at us.

“You coming?”

Two hours later, I’m laughing as Kane tries to get Abby to try a bite of the pumpkin spice-flavored funnel cake he’s holding.

“If I eat anything else, I’m going to be pumpkin spice-flavored myself,” she laughs.

Kane catches her around the waist and pulls her in for a powdered sugar-covered kiss. She lets it happen as she has every kiss and touch from the three of us all day, and my heart melts just like it has every other time.

“You're delicious as is, but I wouldn’t mind,” Kane tells her.

Benjamin moves in behind her while Kane is still holding her. He moves her hair to one side and presses a kiss to her neck. “I love pumpkin spice, but I think I prefer Abby’s strawberry flavor.”

She shivers in their arms, but tips her head so Benjamin has better access to her neck.

“I thought you just liked strawberry in general.”

That is a safe assumption, considering Benjamin has already bought strawberry jam and strawberry salsa at the stands today.

“I haven’t been obsessed with it until you,” he tells her huskily.

Fuck, I love seeing them all together.

And it’s not the heat that comes from watching my friends touch and kiss her.

It’s how happy they all are.

Benjamin has bought her every single thing she’s exclaimed over or asked a booth-owner about. She can protest all she wants. He buys it and carries it for her regardless of her insistence that she doesn’t need a crocheted frog, a huge jar of raw honey, or a mug that says “Here we fucking go again. I mean good morning.”

Kane keeps feeding her and doing things like suddenly twirling her or dipping her back in the middle of the concourse. Anything to keep her smiling and laughing.

I’m making sure she’s drinking from her water bottle—and keeping it filled—carrying her sweater when she gets warm, then putting it on her when I see goosebumps on her arms, and growling at the big guys who bump into her because they’re not fucking paying attention to where they’re walking.

Benjamin and Kane laughing and joking—yes, Benjamin made a terrible dad joke about a pumpkin—makes me want to come down to Main Street and hand out caramel apples myself every fucking Saturday forever.

This is how it should be.

How we should be.

Does Abby feel it? How can she not?

Except I’m not sure she understands what a miracle this all is. She hasn’t seen Benjamin, Kane, and me any other way.