Page 23 of The Cutting Edge
“Yeah, what are you, 2’9? Three feet?”
“Double that and add six inches…”
“Only six, eh?” I tease. “No need to brag, buddy.” Suddenly this conversation feels a tad smutty, and I realize it was not where I intended to go. Suddenly my cheeks are burning, and I’m pretty sure my entire face just turned beet red.
He pauses for the briefest second while my words and reaction sink in, and then immediately starts cracking up. I can’t help but join in – his laughter is infectious. Thank gawd. Disaster (mostly) averted. That could have been really, really,reallyawkward.
I adjust myself in the bed so I can sit cross-legged at the head, while Logan moves the rolling table between us, and sits at the end of the bed. He pulls out silverware, napkins, and to-go containers from the insulated bag, while I sit in the acute awareness that this is the closest I’ve ever been to Logan before, and it offers an excellent opportunity to gape at him in close range while he’s occupied doing something else.
Damn, he’s even better looking close up. Is that fair? No. Dark hair with just a hint of a wave in it. Long, dark eyelashes that rival the fake ones I pay $200 to have installed before every competition. Solid cheekbones. A weekend’s worth of scruff on his angled jawline. Full lips that inspire temptation.
Meanwhile, I haven’t showered in 48 hours, I’m pretty sure I still have a clump of dried blood in my hair, and I’m sporting a fashionable bandage around my head.
First date ready? Check.
“I just have to warn you, you can’t keep me up all night tonight like you did last night. I’ve got a big game tomorrow night against Washington, and I need my beauty sleep,” he shoots a defense-melting grin in my direction.
“So you’re saying I keptyouup last night…”
“Yeah, with your charming personality and your grandma posse and your gaping head injury and all…”
“That’s a once-in-a-lifetime party experience,” I say. “You should have seen the crowd down at the CT machine – that place was going off…” I put my hands in the air like I’m cutting loose at the club.
He raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Exactly. But don’t try any of your tricks on me tonight, I can’t let the team down.”
“Says the guy who showed up to my hospital room toting a bag full of lobsters.”
He waggles his eyebrows in delight, “Not just lobster. Lobster AND lobster mac and cheese.” The thought clearly inspires him and he finishes pulling the rest of the food out of the bag. There are chopped salads and warm rolls and some sort of steamed vegetable medley, a half dozen containers of liquid butter, and two of the biggest steamed lobsters I have ever seen in my life.
Logan hands me a paper bib with a saucily-grinning cartoon lobster printed on it, clicking his pincher claws like castanets. “Do you mind if I take off my jacket?”
As I tie the lobster bib around my neck, I shake my head “no” and he slips off his jacket, placing it carefully on the back of the recliner. He once again sits at the end of my bed, rolling up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt. I have never seen such muscular forearms in my entire life. Seriously. I’ll bet this guy has muscles in places I have never even imagined. Like, between his toes, or specially-developed ear wiggling muscles. The mind wanders.
He probably has really strong fingers.
Focus.“This looks so good,” I say. “Thank you, I love lobster – I can’t remember the last time I had it.”
“I’m glad; I asked Marissa if she knew what you liked to eat and she told me lobster is your favorite. Ocean Prime is one of my favorite restaurants, so I thought it might be a good pick. You know, food…synergy…”
“Food synergy?”
“Yeah, you know: Your favorite food and my favorite restaurant. Happy all around. Food synergy.”
“I think you just made that up.”
“Yes, I did. I’m talented like that. Also, I’m pretty good at Candyland. And hair braiding”
“A man of many talents. Thank you, I always wanted to know but was afraid to ask.”
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“So, you talked to my roommate? My boss. My boss-slash-roommate?”
“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I met her at the rink today when Poppy had her lesson. I just wanted to make sure that if I brought you dinner that it was something you actually liked.”
“That was very thoughtful of you, thank you.” I can’t decide if I want to kill Marissa or kiss her. I texted with her like twenty times today and she never once mentioned a peep about Logan asking for my dinner preferences. If I’d known, maybe I would have taken a shower. Although, maybe not. At least she stopped by this afternoon with my toothbrush, toiletries, and a couple of clean pairs of panties, and some sports bras. Getting in and out of my figure skating undergarments when I’m still having dizzy spells is challenging, to say the least. Last night I nearly knocked myself out trying to get myself situated on the toilet. Don’t ask.
Let’s just say head injuries and industrial-strength undergarments don’t mix.
