God, this woman has a scary amount of energy. “Thank you,” I say, genuinely touched. “We really appreciate—wait, yourfirstpresent?” How many gifts does this chick plan on getting us?
Hewitt must have read my mind, because he sighs and says, “Dude, you’ll be getting weekly deliveries up until the wedding. Deal with it.”
Wes laughs. “Aw, that’s not necessary,” he tells Katie, who waves it off with a manicured hand.
“I like shopping,” she says firmly.
“She likes shopping,” her husband confirms.
Katie grabs my hand and pulls me onto the sofa, then flings herself beside me. “Tell me how you’re doing. Are you fully recovered now? Are you still having nightmares about being in the hospital? When I had my bust lift, the nurses were sooooo mean to me!”
“Uh.” Suddenly it’s really hard not to check out her boobs. When she says she had ’em lifted, I’m picturing, like, boob cranes. “I’ve stayed better places, sure. But my mom and my sister were there almost the whole time. And I feel great. The cough hasn’t totally gone away, but I’m much better.”
Katie grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m so glad!”
“Thanks.” I look around to see that at the other end of the room Wes and Hewitt are leaning against the kitchen counter drinking beers. “Dude, where’s mine?”
Wes raises an eyebrow, the one with the barbell through it. It’s hot as fuck when he does that, but I don’t like it when the sexy eyebrow lift is denying me a beer.
“That’s just some bullshit right there,” I argue. “It’s likecell phones and airline navigation systems. One thing does not interfere with the other.”
Katie laughs, and she’s still laughing when the intercom beeps. I’m only halfway to my feet by the time that Katie has sprinted for the thing herself. “Just send ’em up,” she says to our doorman.
A minute later, three more people have walked into our apartment. I meet the veteran Lukoczik and his wife, Estrella, who’s got a large roasting pan full of barbecue chicken legs. “Congratulations on the engagement! We’ll just heat these up for you!” Estrella crows, heading for the kitchen.
Eriksson trails in after them, and he’s got a gallon of freshly squeezed orange juice and a sheepish expression. “Hey,” he says, offering me his hand. “Katie said to bring food, but I don’t do casseroles.”
“Uh, that’s really okay,” I manage as we shake. Then I watch his gaze dart around our apartment. His curiosity tickles me, because I’d love to know what he was expecting. If a gay apartment is supposed to look a certain way, nobody passed us the playbook. “Want a beer?” Maybe I should offer him a cosmopolitan as a joke. Note to self—buy some cranberry juice to freak out Wes’s teammates.
“Sure. Love one.”
I make my way into what is now a crowded kitchen. Wes is just parked against the countertop, in my way. So I give him a friendly shove on the backside to get him moving. When I touch him, the women grin like I’ve just done something cute.
Weird.
I find Eriksson a beer, passing it across the counter to him. Then I open a couple more for Estrella and her husband. I haven’t been in my kitchen for a week, and Katie is right—our fridge is empty. Wes, of course, decided to go on a beer runtoday instead of buying groceries, but I can’t even bring myself to be annoyed, because I’m just so happy to feel like myself again.
It only takes a few minutes to assemble plates and silverware. Even so, Katie comes clucking over to help me with this simple task. “We didn’t want you towork,” she complains. “That was the whole point of bringing you dinner! Go and celebrate!”
I’m beyond touched. It’s incredibly thoughtful of Wes’s teammates to come over and congratulate us, tofeedus, and we’re both a little stunned. I sneak a peek at Wes, and find him sneaking a peek at me. We both grin, then look away. I still can’t wait to get him alone later. Not only do I want to finish what we started on the couch, but I want to hear what he thinks about this unexpected invasion.
Estrella makes me a cup of herbal tea, the kind my mother left behind after her visit. I’m not a tea drinker, but I take it anyway because she’s so desperate to be helpful. By some miracle she’s put it in my favorite mug, too. The one my mother made us. “So you’re from California?” she asks, pushing it into my hand. “Sorry—I read it in the newspaper.”
That’s trippy. “Yeah. Sure miss the weather there.”
“I bet. I’m from Madrid. Luko and I met when I spent a year working in New York.”
“Ah.” Luko started his career with the Rangers.
“I thought New York was cold. Then we movedhere.”
“Right.” Sometimes I forget how transient this life is. These women have to just pack up and move when hubby gets traded.
That’s me too now, maybe. I take a second to test the idea. Does it rankle? I sneak another look at Wes, and he’s tipped his head back to laugh at something Hewitt said. I need that laughand that man. So wherever he goes, I’m going to want to be there, too. He’s worth it.
“You come to the games?” she asks me. “I haven’t seen you up in the box.”
I chuckle. “Well, Wesley has a pair of seats. But I’m the only one in ’em.”
