Page 16 of The Cutting Edge
He nods. “Don’t apologize, please. Sometimes it’s nice when people don’t know…”
“Because you’re a big famous hockey player,” I tease, “with like groupies and fans, and paparazzi and such.”
“A little bit,” he grins a 100-watt smile (well, 103,) every inch the NHL star.
“A little bit,” I laugh.
As if on cue, three nurses suddenly appear in my room – and I’m pretty sure two of them aren’t even assigned to me.
“I see your boyfriend found your room,” says Barb, a round, blonde nurse in her 50s or early 60s.
“He’s not…” I begin, just as Logan interrupts me.
“YES! I found her all right, thank you very much, Barb,” he says, quite obviously reading her name tag as he winks at me.
The two nurses who are not Barb are just standing around, lingering at the foot of my bed.
“Everything good?” I ask, unsure of what to do next. I’m seriously praying that it’s not time for a sponge bath, or some gross procedure they’re going to do right here in my room in front of Logan. Like a vaginal exam, or draining a giant grapefruit-sized lipoma like Dr. Pimple Popper. I mean, I don’t actuallyhavea giant lipoma – I’m just spitballing gross procedures.
“Uh,” begins Barb, “well, we hate to ask, but would you mind if we took a selfie with you?” This is completely surprising to me, mainly because it’s never happened to me outside of an ice rink. And even then, only a few times. Almost nobody wants a selfie with the figure skater who placed 4th at the Olympic games.
“Of course,” says Logan smoothly. “You all have done such an amazing job taking care of Coco, how could I say no?”
Oh, right. Famous hockey player, stage left.
He rises from the recliner and moves to the center of the group of nurses. One of the other nurses is trying to maneuver her phone for a selfie, but she’s not having much luck fitting 6'4 Logan and 5’4 Barb into the same shot.
“Please, allow me,” he says, “I’m the tallest, so if I hold the camera, everybody’s double chins magically disappear and we all look like supermodels.” Who is he kidding? Logan looks like a supermodel already. The nurse hands over her phone as a male nurse and a custodian magically appear in the doorway.
“We want in!” says the male nurse as he shimmies in between Logan and Barb. The custodian takes the other side, squeezing in next to the other nurses.
“Beautiful, 1…2…3…smile,” says Logan, snapping a few pictures. “Thanks, everybody.”
He hands the phone back to its owner and the group shuffles out of my room. Logan plops right back down in the chair as though nothing had happened.
“Wow, you actuallyarea big famous hockey player with groupies and fans, and paparazzi and such.”
“I don’t know if we can count Barb as paparazzi,” he says. “But yeah. Little bit.”
“Did you really tell Nurse Barb you were my boyfriend?” I’m partly amused, partly confused.
“Not exactly, but I strongly implied it. Otherwise, I was going to have to tell them you were a Make-a-Wish kid, and I wasn’t sure that would fly. Barb runs a tight ship out there. They’re not going to just let any random stranger walk in off the street and just visit people at ten o’clock at night.”
“You do know I told the doctor downstairs that you were a complete stranger.”
“We’ll probably never see that doctor again. Personally, I’m actively avoiding her. And if we’re questioned, we can always just say it was love at first sight.”
I start cracking up, “If they catch you, I’m totally throwing you under the bus.”
“What? C’mon now. Barb would be crushed. I’m like 99% certain half the nurses are shipping us already.”
“You’re a little bit of a weirdo, you know that?”
“A little bit,” he nods.
He goes quiet for a second and we both watch the Spanish customs show on the TV in silence. When the commercial comes on, he points down at my skate bag. “So… I had no idea you competed in the Olympics.”
“I didn’t win,” I blurt out unnecessarily. “But, yeah.”
