The Cutting Edge

By Lisa Daily

A laugh-out-loud hockey romantic comedy perfect for fans of Helena Hunting and Pippa Grant!

Logan Rivers is a star pro hockey player for the St. Pete Slashers -- and he's in a slump.

He hasn't scored in 3 games and it's starting to freak him out. Enter Coco, who strikes a deal with an assistan

• Language: English
• Publisher: Siesta Key House
• Release date: Jun 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985825596

Lisa Daily

Lisa Daily writes beach read romantic comedies (Single-Minded, Fifteen Minutes of Shame) and dating advice books (Stop Getting Dumped!). So basically, if she can't help you meet your dream guy, she can create one for you from scratch.She's the love and relationships expert on DAYTIME, a nationally-syndicated morning TV show, and a popular media guest who has appeared everywhere from MTV Live to Entertainment Tonight, and been quoted everywhere from the New York Times, Washington Post and Chicago Tribune to Cosmopolitan, Glamour, Men's Health, Christian Science Monitor and US Weekly Magazine. She's is the bestselling, award-winning author of 9 books, including SINGLE-MINDED (A romantic comedy), STOP GETTING DUMPED!, FIFTEEN MINUTES OF SHAME (a romantic comedy), HOW TO DATE LIKE A GROWN-UP, SOUTHERN FRIED FARCE, BEAUTY, IS HE CHEATING, IS SHE CHEATING?, and POP MUSIC. Hang out with Lisa at LisaDailyBooks.com

Book preview

The Cutting Edge

A Steamy Hockey Romantic Comedy

Lisa Daily

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Siesta Key House

To Elle, Quinn, and Mike

for making not just this book, but life, a whole lot more fun.

Copyright © 2023 by Lisa Daily, Elle Daily, Quinn Daily

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1.Coco

2.Coco

3.Logan

4.Logan

5.Coco

6.Logan

7.Coco

8.Logan

9.Coco

10.Logan

11.Coco

12.Coco

13.Logan

14.Coco

15.Coco

16.Logan

17.Coco

18.Logan

19.Coco

20.Coco

21.Logan

22.Logan

23.Coco

24.Coco

25.Logan

26.Coco

27.Coco

28.Coco

29.Logan

30.Logan

31.Coco

32.Logan

33.Coco

34.Coco

35.Coco

36.Logan

37.Coco

38.Logan

39.Coco

40.Coco

41.Logan

Cam & Lana's Story

About the Author

Chapter one

Coco

Well, I can’t just leave her here.

This is definitely the worst day this could've happened. If I don't make it to the hospital in the next hour everything will go to crap.

I'm still in my hibiscus pink skating dress, nervously playing with my necklace and trying to calculate exactly how much time it will take me to change my clothes and get out the door if Poppy’s babysitter or father or whoever shows up right this second to pick her up.

Which of course, they haven't.

Poppy, who's picking you up today? I ask impatiently. This is the only downside of working with kids – somebody’s parents are late pretty much every single day.

And on most days, it’s not a big deal. But today is not most days.

Poppy shrugs her little shoulders, her brown ringlets just dusting the top of her sparkly pink jacket, which matches her sparkly pink leotard. She absent mindedly bangs her skates against the bleacher seat, a repetitive clang clang clang that wears on my last nerve as I anxiously await the arrival of some responsible adult tasked with picking her up.

Poppy is my youngest figure skating student by a couple of years. She's five, and my next oldest student is seven. She holds her own in my class, though. Of all of my students she is by far the most naturally gifted on the ice, and has better coordination than some of my 10-year-old students.

Miss Coco, I’m hungry, she says. Do I have a snack?

Let’s check, I say, digging into her small backpack. There are some crayons and paper; a drawing of Poppy, her dad, and either a very large dog or a regular-sized horse; a couple of little games; some mittens (which seems hilarious, given it’s March in Florida and a balmy 80 degrees all week); but no snack.

Nothing in here, I say.

But I'm really hungry, she answers. "I’m starving."

I have a protein bar stuffed in my bag that I was planning on scarfing down in the car for dinner, but I'll figure something out.

I hold it out to her and ask, Do you have any allergies? Can you eat this? I know for a fact that there’s nothing in her file about allergies, but it pays to be extra safe with kids.

She snatches the bar out of my hands quickly, This is the same kind my dad gets at home.

She struggles with the wrapper until I help her tear off the end, and takes a big bite, her little cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s with my salted caramel protein bar.

This one's pretty good, she says, mouth full. Have you ever tried the chocolate peanut butter?"

My stomach growls. Yeah, I really like that one too.

She happily munches on my protein bar for a few minutes, But when she gets about halfway done she hands the bar back to me and says, I think I'm finished. Thank you very much."

You're very welcome, I say, eyeing the door for any signs of life. I’ll admit, I’m half-tempted to finish the bar myself, but I don’t because let’s face it, that would be weird.

We sit in silence for a minute or so and suddenly she looks up at me with her big hazel eyes, tears starting to wet her dark lashes. Did my dad forget me?

Oh no! I’m clearly telegraphing my stress at the situation, and now she’s picking up on it. The last thing I want to do is cause this little girl any anxiety.

I'm sure he didn't forget you, sweetie I say. Sometimes moms and dads are just late because there is a lot of traffic on the street, or they got stuck at work…

My dad works here, she says.

He does? I ask. Where does he work?

Um, She says, I don't know. It's a very big building.

Well, I say, let's see what we can do to find him. I grab my phone out of my skating bag to access my student files online. Apparently, Poppy's father is a guy named Logan Rivers, and he has listed his work address as the exact same skating facility where we are now. He’s one of those dads everybody notices because he’s like 6'4 and built like an action figure, but he’s always in and out so fast I’ve barely spoken with him. Unfortunately, there’s no indication whatsoever in the student files where in the building Poppy’s father works.

But, the fact that he's here somewhere is the first positive sign I've had in the last 45 minutes. If I can just track down Mr. Rivers, maybe I can still get to the hospital in a reasonable amount of time.

With one eye on the clock, I start calling all of the numbers in Poppy’s file, but no one answers. I leave a message after message trying to figure out exactly what I should do next.

Sweetie, does your dad work in an office in this building? What does he do?

He works at the ice rink. Like you, she answers matter-of-factly.

Do you know which rink?

She shakes her head no.

Is he a hot dog salesman? I ask, half-joking.

Her brow furrows, as though she’s deep in thought. I don’t think so, she says.

Well, it's not the answer I was hoping for, but it will have to do if I have any chance of making it out of here in time.

I toss Poppy's skates into her backpack, and sling it over my shoulder.

Come on Poppy, let's go find your dad.

She hops off of the bleacher seat and reaches up to hold onto my hand. We head towards the exit, my blade covers clomping on the cement floor with every step.

This facility has six skating rinks on multiple floors, so we'll just start with the rink that’s closest and go from there.

Poppy is wearing her sneakers, and I’m speed-walking in my skates. I should have taken them off, but I thought it would save time to just leave them on. My mistake.

Still, she’s having a hard time keeping up with me. I hoist her onto my back which is significantly faster but feels very unsteady.

Your skates make you sound like a pony, she whispers into my ear.

"Neighhhh," I winny back at her.

Rink four is completely dark, and rink five is hosting a juniors’ hockey team.

Is this where your dad works? I ask Poppy.

No, I don't think so, she says.

We head over to rink one, which is the next closest. As I clomp through the arena with Poppy hanging precariously from my back, I contemplate the ridiculousness of numbering ice rinks and then putting them in random order all over the facility. Like, what’s the point of that?

We walk inside rink one and I instantly feel we shouldn't be here. It’s widely known inside the facility that this is the practice facility for the St. Pete Slashers, our city’s professional hockey team – in all of my years of training here, I've never been inside their rink.

Is this where your dad works? I ask.

Poppy nods and points towards the center of the rink, Yeah, he's right there.

I look in the direction she's pointing and suddenly I hear a large crack like a lightning strike, and a searing pain goes through the side of my head… right before everything goes black.

Chapter two

Coco

Iwake up disoriented with a woman in scrubs, probably a doctor, or maybe a nurse, shining a flashlight in my eyes. I’m in the hospital.

Finally, some good news. Well, sort of. If it’s the right hospital.

The first thing I hear is a strange man’s voice saying worriedly, Oh, thank God she’s awake.

What happened? I ask. The side of my head hurts like hell, and when I reflexively reach up to touch the tender spot, my fingers find blood soaked in my hair.

Quickly, I pull my fingers away. Ew. My head is throbbing, and now my fingers are all gross.

Do they give nurses flashlights? Or is that the kind of equipment you need a medical degree for?

What do you remember? she asks me. I sneak a peek at the badge hanging around her neck. Doctor.

Where are my skates? I ask frantically. Even though they’re a couple of years old, they were almost two grand, which I’m still paying off. If I lose them, I’m going to have to use my competition pair for lessons, and that is an astounding waste of money and skates.

Don’t worry, we’ve got your skates, a very large man at the edge of the exam room says. Well, gee, thanks, Mister. I feel so much better now. He stands in the doorway, filling it with his solid frame, his dark eyes permeated with distress. His fitted navy blue t-shirt hugs his toned body, pulling across his well-muscled chest and biceps. His well-worn jeans rests low across his hips, just loose enough to accentuate his strong thighs. His dark hair is damp, like he showered in a hurry, casually curling across his forehead and the collar of his shirt.

Well, hello, stranger…

Okay…thanks? I say, not really sure who I’m thanking. For all I know, he could be the very reassuring and polite guy who stole my $2000 skates. Although he does look vaguely familiar.

What do you remember? The doctor asks again, a bit more impatiently this time.

I walked into the hockey rink, I heard a crack, the side of my head hurt like hell, and then I woke up here.

What’s today?

Tuesday, I respond. Am I okay? Because I have someplace I really need to be.

You’re not okay, she says. You took a hockey puck to the head. That little frozen piece of rubber probably hit you going a hundred miles an hour. We need to test you for a concussion.

A hundred and three miles per hour, the well-mannered skate thief mumbles from just outside the door. Ah yes, Poppy’s dad is NHL superstar Logan Rivers. Everything suddenly clicks into place.

Uh, sorry, that was inappr… he says awkwardly, habit.

Rolling my eyes melodramatically, sparks a twinge of pain. "Are you seriously bragging about the speed of your slap shot right now, while I’m in the ER, bleeding from the head?" Although, truth be told, I’m not a hockey fan and even I know that’s insanely fast.

Im so sorry, that was… autopilot. Are you okay? I didn’t see you guys come in. He shakes his head in obvious distress, I’m so sorry about what happened – I didn’t see…"

It’s fine. Looks like I lived. I say. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m in heaven, and Logan Rivers is just a really hot angel.

Also, you really shouldn’t have been in the rink area – it’s a closed practice. His voice cracks with worry. Someone could really get hurt. Or worse.

"Also, I pause for drama, I wouldn’t have been anywhere near that rink if you’d picked up Poppy on time."

He drops his head, Yeah, I’m so incredibly sorry about that… I …

Poppy appears from around the corner and looks up at him solemnly, She’s right, dad. You were late.

Damn, I didn’t see her. Now I feel like a jerk, saying that in front of Poppy.

But everybody makes mistakes sometimes, I quickly say in a singsong voice. Not exactly Oscar-worthy, but I don’t want Poppy to feel bad because her dad accidentally hurled a hockey puck at my head. Late or not, I should never have brought Poppy into that rink. What if the puck had hit her instead? My heart hurts to even think about it.

What else do you remember? the doctor asks.

"It’s Tuesday. Wait, I already said that. It’s March, twenty- something… well, that’s not a fair barometer because I never know what the date is.. I’m Coco Charmaine. This is probably Bayfront Hospital, which is the closest to the practice facility where I got smacked in the head. Could we possibly speed things along? I don’t mean to be rude, but my neighbor is upstairs having chemo and I was supposed to be there to sit with her and drive her home."

We’re going to keep you overnight for observation. Follow my finger with your eyes.

No, please, I think I’m fine. It hurts, but I'm okay. My neighbor, Mrs. Markham, is like 85 years old. She doesn't have anyone else to drive her home and take care of her tonight. My roommate is out of town. I really can't stay.

Just follow my finger. We need to run some more tests on you before you're allowed to leave. But I believe it's important that we keep you here overnight. Is there someone else who can drive your neighbor home?

Is she going to be okay? Poppy whispers to the large man in the extraordinarily well-fitting T-shirt, as he effortlessly swoops her up in his arms. She has blood on her dress…

I look down at my pink skating dress, one of my favorite practice dresses, and there’s quite a lot of blood on the left shoulder. You know, like an epaulet, except with bodily fluids instead of fringe. Gross.

I hope so sweetie, he whispers back to her. If I’m being honest, Poppy and her dad are pretty captivating. I’m a little lost in the scene when he looks at me and says, I can make sure that your friend gets home safely and there's someone to take care of her tonight while you're in the hospital.

See? It's all taken care of. This gentleman will take care of your friend, and you can focus on recovering from your injury. The doctor is pleased. Not so fast, buster.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, I say. But I don't actually know this man. Poppy? This is your dad?

He steps forward with his hand extended. I've never seen anyone with such muscular forearms before. He touches my hand gently as I reach out to shake his, and I feel almost dizzy as our skin brushes. Probably the concussion, as I’m not prone to swooning.

Hi. I’m Logan Rivers. Yes, I’m Poppy's dad.

You were late, Daddy, she admonishes him, pointing her little index finger at him.

I’m so sorry, he says. I got stuck at work, our nanny got stuck in traffic. It’s no excuse, but…

No, she says, pointing from him to me. You need to apologize to Miss Coco. When we hurt someone, what do we do? she chides.

He nods his head, properly admonished,We say we’re sorry.

That’s right, Poppy nods solemnly. If I wasn’t sitting in the ER right now, I would totally be cracking up by this point. As it is, I’m working pretty hard to stifle a grin.

He shifts Poppy to his other hip, and walks towards the bed where I’m sitting. "I’m very, very sorry I was late, he says earnestly. And I’m so sorry I hit you in the head with a puck."

That’s very thoughtful of you, the doctor responds before I have a chance to. She holds eye contact with him for a painfully long time, smiling and sort of batting her eyelashes until he looks away awkwardly. Well, it’s painful for me, at least.

Such a gentleman. She turns to me, instantly returning to professional mode Do you have a headache? Feeling any pressure?

Yes, both, I say. Right where I got hit in the head with the puck.

She asks me to stand slowly so she can assess my balance.

What do you do for a living? She asks.

I'm a figure skater.

So you probably have better balance than most. Is that how you know each other? the doctor asks flirtatiously. Maybe I should take up figure skating, she says, winking at the strange man. I’m a little conflicted about how to feel here. On one hand, is it just me, or is it creepy that my doctor is hitting on the guy hanging around my room? On the other hand, she probably works long hours as a doctor and if the only time she can potentially meet eligible bachelors is on the job, well, more power to ya, sister. Who am I to stand in her way?

This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had, I don’t really know him, I respond, turning to look at Logan, But thank you for the apology, I accept, and your offer. I appreciate it. I just wouldn't feel comfortable with a complete stranger taking Mrs. Markham to her house or staying there. I doubt she would either.

Poppy pipes up, "He’s not a stranger, Miss Coco. He’s my daddy. My daddy wouldn’t leave me with a stranger. And if you’re not a stranger, then he can’t be a stranger." My head is now pounding and I can’t seem to formulate a logical response. I’m pretty sure I’ve just been out-maneuvered by a five-year-old.

Right, I say gently to Poppy, Of course.

True, he nods. I’m happy to take Mrs. Markham home. Or pay for a medical transport if she’d prefer. Or a town car. And I’ll pay for a nurse to come stay the night with her since I’m the reason you can’t take care of her tonight. It’s the least I can do.

Please stand up slowly, says the doctor, Let’s check your balance.

I get to my feet like a wobbly foal and stand there, waiting for further instructions. As soon as she asks me to hold my arms out wide, I begin to lose my footing, and before I know it I'm tumbling into the strong arms of Logan Rivers, who reflexively reaches out to catch me before I’ve even realized what is happening.

My entire body collapses into his rock-hard chest, and in one lightning-fast move, his arms are around me, holding me upright.

His skin is warmer than I would expect, not that I was expecting anything. Just saying.

Whoa girl, easy there… He says under his breath as he gently lifts me back up to a standing position. He smells clean and masculine and sexy and I’d like to take a steam bath in a vat of whatever cologne he’s wearing. Hell, it’s probably just him. He looks like the kind of guy who just wakes up in the morning with perfectly mussed hair, and pajama bottoms that cling to his muscular frame in all the best places, smelling all citrusy and manly and ready to chop wood or wrestle a bear.

I’ve never seen him up close like this. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely noticed him before. There’s not an instructor, mommy, or daddy for that matter, who hasn’t noticed him. I mean, the guy is like 6'4 with a jawline that could cut diamonds – he’s hard to miss. At least when he shows up on time.

It’s just usually when he picks up Poppy from figure skating practice, he’s wearing a suit. He usually takes one step inside the rink door and Poppy goes running. I’ve never really seen him up close like this before. Like, beard scruff close.

Thanks, I mumble as he effortlessly lifts me upright. Casually, I take one last whiff. You know, for posterity.

You're in no condition to leave, announces the doctor. And certainly no condition to drive. She jots down some notes. Are you dizzy? I’m sorry… she looks at my chart, Coco…but I need to finish your exam. Your friend upstairs needs to find another way home.

At least let me call her, I say to the doctor. And I’m not dizzy, just klutzy off the ice. Same as always.

After your exam, she says firmly as she studies my face. You’re squinting, is the light bothering you?

Yeah, I say. The noise is suddenly bugging me too, all the beeps, and rings, and chatter back and forth. Does that mean I have a concussion?

Looks like it, she says as she flips the light switch off. You were out cold for almost 45 minutes. Any sensitivity to sound? Nausea?

Yes. Both.

With the light sensitivity… are you seeing double or just feeling like the light is too much or too bright?

This is not looking good. Yes to double vision. The light feels too bright – like staring at the sun until your eyes get those weird dots.

Mmhmm.

When was your last period? she asks, right in front of my student, and my student’s insanely sexy dad. Seriously? Not embarrassing at all. Also, what does this have to do with me getting hit in the head with a hockey puck?

Please, I plead with her. She's waiting on me by now, and she has no one else. I'm sure she's worried and wondering what's going on."

I can ask a nurse to check on her, but they’re short in the ER tonight so it might take a while, says the doctor.

Where is she having chemotherapy? asks Logan.

Seventh floor chemotherapy suite, I say, as a feeling of desperation takes hold of me. Eloise Markham.

Poppy and I are going to go upstairs and find Ms. Markham for you. We're going to let her know what is going on, and either I will drive her home or I’ll make arrangements for a town car to drive her – whatever makes her feel more comfortable.

Okay, thank you, I say, reluctantly. I really don't have much choice. "I appreciate it. Would you please text me once you’ve talked to her and made arrangements, just so