Page 63 of The Cutting Edge
Logan leans forward to kiss me on the cheek, then takes my hand, lacing our fingers together, and leads me into the rink. My anxiety threatens to rear its ugly head as we walk into the training facility but I push it down. I’m here for Logan today and I won’t let anything spoil this for either of us.
Today is the start of something. I can feel it.
The rink is cold and smells of ice and sweaty socks. Home sweet home. A few players are already on the ice, sticks cracking against pucks as they warm up.
Logan squeezes my hand. “The guys are dying to meet you.”
“Oh.” I glance around nervously. “Do they know...about… us?”
Or about the fact that I’m here because your coach is paying me to be your lucky charm?
Logan ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Cam may have given them the impression we’re, uh, together now. He’s kind of a troublemaker, but you’ll love him.”
“Together?” I echo faintly. My stomach swoops even as warmth suffuses my cheeks. Don’t get me wrong. I’m way into Logan, in every sense of the word, but we’re not actually a couple. Yet. If we were just dating, nothing more, I’d probably be over the moon right now. The whole lucky charm thing just makes everything feel more complicated.
“He was just giving me shit and the rest of the team got in on it. I didn’t mean to assume or anything,” he says hastily. “We can tell them we're friends, or that I have a mad crush on you but you're not feeling it...yet...whatever makes you more comfortable. I just wanted to tell—”
“It’s okay.” I give his hand a little squeeze, my pulse racing. "Go practice. And try not to aim for my head this time."
A slow smile spreads across Logan’s face and he pulls me towards the ice. “The guys are gonna love you. Almost as much as I...uh...Poppy does.”
My heart stutters at the quiet admission. Holy confessions, did he accidentally almost just say he loves me? I'm dying for a replay but now isn’t the time. Later is the time.
Now is the time for me to channel all the sparkly rainbow-flavored lucky goodness of a rabbit's foot, Thanksgiving wishbone, or playoff beard in the direction of the Slashers, and specifically, their team captain.
The rest can wait.
We walk near the rink entrance hand in hand, and all heads swivel in our direction. A beat of silence, then:
“Coco!” All of Logan’s teammates immediately drop their sticks on the ground, holding their hands up high like it’s a stickup or something. (No pun intended.) As we walk in together, the team erupts into cheers and applause. Cam "The Hitman" Murphy, who I recognize as Logan's near-constant companion on ice and BFF, is the first to reach us, sweeping me into a bear hug. “You’re alive! You came back!”
“Told you she couldn’t stay away,” Logan says with a satisfied grin.
Cam sets me down but keeps an arm slung around my shoulders. “How’s the head? All healed up?”
“Good as new.” I tap the small scar high in my hair, which has finally begun to mend.
“He hasn’t stopped obsessing over you this whole time,” Cam stage-whispers. “Barely let the medical staff near you.”
“Well, that’s just because he was so busy posing for selfies with them,” I tease.
Logan clears his throat, manly cheeks tinged pink. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“Uh huh.” Cam’s eyes twinkle with mirth. “And now you’re together. Funny how that worked out.”
“Well—” I begin, but Logan cuts in smoothly: “Are we here to practice or so you two can give me shit?”
“Can’t we do both?” grins Cam.
Logan’s arm settles around my waist, warm and solid, and I melt into his side. Exactly how lucky I am (or am not) is yet to be determined. But sports performance at the highest level is mainly mental, and if youbelievesomething is working, then itisworking. I’m more than happy to play the part if it means helping Logan and the team win the Cup while I'm digging myself out of the financial mess this concussion put me in.
Kissing Logan is just a perk of the gig. Like free pretzels in the break room. Orbring your hamster to workday.
“Just don’t break her heart,” Cam warns. “...Or for that matter, her skull. Or you’ll have the whole team to answer to.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Logan presses a kiss to my temple, his smile softening into something tender and true.
My chest constricts with a rush of emotion. However this started out, Logan’s feelings seem genuine. And after yesterday, I’m already in too deep to delude myself into believing this isonlyfor my last shot at the Olympics.
