Page 30 of The Cutting Edge
"I will,” I promise.
“Let me know if you need anything,” says Barb as she quickly checks my IV and then exits the room.
As soon as she's gone, Marissa says, “What does Nurse Barb know that your best friend doesn't?"
"Nothing, I say. "Logan came to check on me pretty late on that first night, and he sort of implied we were dating to the nursing staff that we were a couple so they’d let him in after regular visiting hours."
“Hmmm. That’s logical. Or it could be because he’s totally smitten with you. S-M-I-T-T-E-N.”
“I doubt it. But I’m happy to eat his lobster while the issue is still up in the air.”
“That sounds dirty,” she says, pulling her phone out of her purse and tapping away. "I’m saving that one for later.”
“You know what I mean, dork,” I roll my eyes at her.
Marissa gleefully tortures me for another 10 minutes while the announcers run through the players on both teams and talk about what a critical game this is on both sides— Both the Slashers and the Capitals need to win this game to advance to the playoffs. For the losing team, this will be the last game of the regular season.
Suddenly, Nurse Barb is back, carrying a big black gift bag with a teal bow.
“What’s this?” asks Marissa.
"A courier just delivered this to the nurses' station for you." Her face gets all mooney, "It's from Logan."
She steps forward and hands me the gift bag. It's large, heavy, and filled with about 800 sheets of teal tissue paper. I dig through the paper to reveal two Slashers jerseys inside with Logan’s name and number on the back, two giant teal foam fingers that read “Slash ‘em”, two small women’s cut t-shirts in team colors, and two Tervis tumblers emblazoned with the Slashers logo.
“Ooh! Presents!” says Marissa excitedly. “What does the card say?”
I have to dig all the way to the bottom of the bag to find the card, which reads, Just in case you catch the game tonight I wanted you to have the full experience.
“I’m calling that second jersey,” she says. “As long as we’re wearing team colors tonight.”
I toss the jersey in her direction. “Barb? Can I interest you or the other nurses in a foam finger or Slashers' tumbler?”
"That's so kind of you. And Logan, of course. I'd love the foam finger.”
“It’s all yours, "I say, giving her the finger.
“We should take a selfie and send it to Logan before the game for good luck, "says Marissa. I agree and the two of us flip the jerseys on. Marissa, over her street clothes, and me over my hospital ground.
She comes over and sits next to me on the bed and we snap a couple of selfies until we reach the level of casual cuteness we’re searching for.
“Send it to him now,” she says.
“He’s about to play,” I say, “I don’t want to distract him.”
“Trust me,” she says, “he wants you to distract him. That’s why he sent the basket”
“Fine,” I say, tapping out a text message to go along with the picture.
Thanks for the gear, we’ll be cheering for you.
Just as I hit send, Marissa says, “Holy crap, look!” and points up at the TV.
There are only a few minutes before the game starts, and the TV cameras are focused on the Slashers' bench. A reporter is talking with a guy who looks like the head coach, and just behind him is Logan, sitting in his gear, looking down at his phone and grinning like a fool.
I get an unexpected flutter in the pit of my stomach.
"Does that look like the face of a non-smitten guy who only cares about whether or not you have permanent brain damage? No. No, it is not. That, my friend, is the face of a man who is smitten. He’s been smitted. Smited. Smote. Whatever.”
