Page 70 of The Cutting Edge
"Oh, I couldn't—"
"Nonsense." She thrusts a little black dress at me. "This will look stunning on you. And these." A pair of black, red-bottom stilettos.
"I was just going to wear Logan's jersey and jeans," I protested weakly.
"Normally, that’s perfect,” says Trixie. “Hubby’s jersey, skinny jeans, fabulous designer shoes or boots, and a stylish leather jacket to keep you warm – that’s the hockey wives’ game day uniform. But tonight? Our boys need a big win to stay in the playoffs, so we’re pulling out all the stops.”
Shayla appeared with a makeup case. "Sit. We're giving you the full NHL babe makeover."
"Ooh, these earrings!" another wife chimes in, presenting me with a pair of flashy, oversized hoops.
Before I know it, I'm being whisked away into a whirlwind of wardrobe adjustments, hairstyling, and makeup application. My go-to ballerina bun is dismantled in favor of loose, face-framing curls. The wives chatter happily amongst themselves, sharing stories about their husbands and past playoff experiences. Their laughter is infectious, and I find myself giggling along as I'm transformed from off-season Olympic figure skater to NHL glamour girl.
45 minutes later, I barely recognize myself in the mirror. Smoky eyes, glossy lips, and the LBD hugging all my curves. The heels make me tower, too.
"You look hot!" Trixie grins. "Logan's going to lose his mind."
"We're just getting to know each other," I say, cheeks burning again.
"Keep telling yourself that," she smirks.
"Wow, Coco, you look amazing!" Marcy exclaims when they finally finish with me. I glance in the mirror again and hardly recognize the glamorized version of myself staring back.
"Thanks," I say, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the attention, but grateful for their warm welcome. "Y’all are the best, really..."
Checking her phone, Trixie announces, "The limo’s downstairs everybody, let's head to the arena!" as she leads us out of the suite. “Get me to the skybox, Mama needs a martini.”
As we pile into the sleek black limousine waiting for us outside the hotel, I can't help but feel a surge of excitement and sisterhood. The anticipation is palpable as we chat animatedly about the game ahead and our shared hopes for a Slasher victory.
"Can you imagine how thrilled Logan will be when they win tonight with Coco in the front row?" Trixie muses, sipping champagne from a crystal flute. "He's so dedicated to the team.” She nods. “Loyal, that one."
Shayna chimes in. "That's why we make such a big deal to show them our support. It makes a difference, you know."
I nod, understanding the importance of my presence at this game. As Logan's secret-slash-official lucky charm, I'm determined to do everything I can to help him and his teammates succeed. And with these fabulous women by my side, I know we've got this.
"Victory to the Slashers!" I declare, raising my glass.
"Cheers!" the wives chorus in unison.
Maybe I could get used to this life. Hanging with the wives, traveling in style, and wearing designer clothes. It's certainly a lot more fun than working two jobs, training, a mountain of bills, and never getting enough sleep 24-7.
I’d miss it too much, though.
The limo ride to the arena is short, giving me little time to fret over my attire.
That is, right until about the time we come to a stop outside the arena, I get out of the limo, trip over those sky-high Louboutins, and stumble out of control. Thank God the driver was there to keep me from face-planting on the sidewalk. Everyone always thinks it’s so weird that I’m so graceful on the ice, but such a klutz on the ground. When I was 9 or 10, Coach Susanne joked that I was like the little mermaid, except with skates. She said I was born to be on the ice, which was why I had so much trouble just walking around like a normal person. I don’t know how true that is, but it always made me feel special, rather than self-conscious about it when I was a kid. And now, it just feels like part of who I am.
Maybe I just need toe picks on all my fancy shoes.
Still, as we enter the private entrance and the roar of the crowd hits me, I realize I feel surprisingly comfortable in this new look. Maybe it just reminds me of my skating costumes or something – just another kind of dress-up.
"Let's do this, ladies!" Trixie exclaims as the rest of the wives exit the limo one by one.
Coach Rocco is waiting for us at the entrance, his eyes scanning the lot of us. When he spots me, his face breaks into a wide grin. "Coco! So glad you could make it."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I reply, feeling a warm flush as he pulls me aside.
"Listen, Coco, given your special duties tonight, I wanted to give you a choice of where you'd like to sit. We have a luxury box available or floor seats near the bench at center ice. What do you think?"
