Page 69 of The Cutting Edge
My cheeks warm at the sentiment, and I can't help but feel grateful for their warm welcome. "I don't know about that," I say, "We're just getting to know each other. You know, just seeing where things go."
"I think Logan has a pretty good idea of where he wants things to go," she winks. "Take a look around this plane -- no puck bunnies in sight. Only wives and long-term girlfriends are allowed on the jet, and yet Logan called mepersonallyto ask that we bring you along because he was serious about you, and he wanted you to feel comfortable with the wives."
Shayna winks at me when she notices the color rising in my cheeks and laughs softly. "Look at that blush," she says, "you're practically lighting up."
I'm so touched by Logan's gesture, and secretly thrilled that my growing affection for him is so clearly reciprocated. The thought of being invited to join his trusted circle of friends sends a feeling of warmth and safety radiating throughout my body.
This trip is important, not just for Logan, but for me as well. I believe in him and I want to support the team - and since helping the Slashers win means I can continue to pay for my training expenses, well, that’s a win for everybody.
As we take off and begin our flight, the atmosphere aboard the jet is lively and fun. Music plays softly in the background while we chat, laugh, and exchange stories about our jobs and respective partners. It feels like a girls' night out - only thirty thousand feet in the air.
"Did y'all know that Coco is an Olympic figure skater?" asks Shayna. "Logan happened to mention it to me casually sixty or seventy times."
"I believe Ididhear something about that," laughs Trixie.
"Okay, ladies," Marcy announces at one point, holding up a tray of colorful shots. "Who's ready for some pre-game fun?"
"Count me in!" I declare, feeling more relaxed than I have in ages. We clink our tiny glasses together and toss back the shots, the liquid burning pleasantly on its way down.
"Ooh, that packs a punch!" I exclaim, dabbing at my burning lips with a Slashers cocktail napkin. I’ve been in continual training since toddlerhood, so I’m not exactly a big drinker.
"We like our liquor strong, just like our men!" Trixie laughs, refilling our glasses for another round.
Shayna snort-laughs, “You kill me, Trixie.”
Basking in the laughter of this tight-knit group of amazing women, I can't help but marvel at how quickly things have changed. A month ago, I was completely focused on my Olympic goals and would never have imagined that within the span of a few weeks, I would find myself flying in luxury to support an NHL hockey player and our home team in the playoffs. But life loves a good spin - and sometimes, those unexpected turns on the ice lead to breathtaking reversals of fortune.
As we make our way to Philly, I'm filled with anticipation and excitement for the upcoming playoff game. With Logan and his teammates on the ice and the WAGs and I cheering them on from the stands, I know we're all on the brink of something big. And I can't wait to see what happens next.
Logan and the players, coaches, and trainers fly on their own Slashers team jet; ours is apparently a rental. Like a U-haul with wings. Except, you know, way fancier.
After we land, a stretch limo takes us to the hotel. The concierge has already checked us all in and is waiting for us in the lobby with welcome cocktails, our room keys, an itinerary, and a small platoon of bellboys to whisk away our luggage.
Trixie takes a look at her room key and announces, "Suite 959 at 6 pm, ladies. The limo will pick us up at 7:15, it's a 15-minute ride. Game time at 8!"
The team arrived several hours before the wives, and I suddenly realize that Logan and I never discussed sleeping arrangements.
Dun dun dun...
The concierge hands me my key and directs me to follow the bellboy up to my room. I pull a five-dollar bill, all the cash I have, from my purse and hand it to the bellboy as he places my suitcase on the luggage rack.
"Do you need anything else, Miss?" he asks.
I shake my head no, and thank him as he leaves the room. The second the door closes and I’m all alone, I begin to investigate.
If Logan and I are supposed to be in the same room, he clearly hasn't checked in yet. There's no evidence of his belongings in the bedroom or the bathroom. I breathe a sigh of relief, albeit with a tiny tinge of disappointment. Staying in the same room with Logan would only complicate things. And frankly, I don't trust either of us.
But also, I was sort of hoping to see him with his shirt off just a tiny bit.
I quickly shower and dry my hair, put on a little makeup, and throw on an outfit that can only be described as "hockey casual" before heading up to Trixie's room for whatever she's got planned.
As I step into Trixie's luxurious hotel suite, I can't help but gawk at the opulence surrounding us. Plush cream-colored carpets, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the Philadelphia skyline, and an array of designer clothes strewn across the bed. It's a far cry from my bare-bones, budget-conscious living arrangements back home. A girl’s got to have her priorities, and we all know mine is at the top of a podium. Trixie’s is clearly to look spectacular 24-7.
"Alright, ladies," Trixie declares, clapping her hands together. "Let's get ready for some hockey!"
I had planned on just wearing Logan's team jersey with skinny jeans, but the other wives have different ideas. They insist that we all need to represent “our men" in style.
Trixie opens a closet bursting with designer clothes and shoes. Ah, a fellow over-packer. "Pick whatever you'd like," she insists.
