What If I Told You I Love You

My new black Prada boots tapped loudly on the concrete floors of the Scottrade Center as I made my way around the ice rink, towards the locker room. I held two coffees in my hand, one for me and one for my father, whom was meeting with the couching staff of the St. Louis Blues. As the owner of the team, my dad liked to make sure that his presence was felt. He said it was something about power and how people need to know how the food chain works, aka he was the top of the food chain. Whatever.

I pulled my iPhone out of my purse, Coach this time, and began typing a text to my best friend Mel. Melissa is her real name but she hates it, so it's Mel, and only Mel. I balanced the tray the coffees were in with one arm and texted with the other. Evidently it didn't work out to well because I went crashing into something solid. The coffee luckily didn't spill, but my phone crashed to the ground, echoing in the empty hallway.

"Well, that is just fan-freaking-tastic. I'm so glad that just happened," I muttered, steadying one of the coffee cups. I looked ahead of me to where a boy, or a man, a very sexy man, stood with a classic, I'm an asshole, look on his face. My eyes reacted to his look by narrowing slightly, staring him down. "What the fuck is your problem?" I snapped, "get my phone, puh-lease."

"Anything for you princess," He muttered sarcasticly, bending down to pick up my phone. It vibrated at the same time, receiving my text from Mel. I made a grab for the phone but he didn't give it to me. Instead he held it high, turning it down towards him so he could read the screen. I jumped up a couple times but found it to be a futile attempt. Even in my boots he towered over me. I tapped my foot impatiently, just to be annoying, waiting for him to be done invading my privacy. I doubt Mel said anything stupid seeing as how I asked her what we were going to do this weekend. When he was done, he exited out of the text and handed the phone back to me.

"Mel says you guys are going partying this weekend, and to shave your legs," He smirked at the last part, "are they as furry as she made them seem? I can't tell." I clicked my tongue on the roof of my mouth, rolling my eyes in response to him.

I was used to dealing with smartass hockey players and their horniness. They were pigs and to say I wouldn't date one didn't even come close to it. They thought that just because they could skate and had a dick they could fuck anything that came in a 10 foot distance of them.

"Okay hot shot," I muttered, sticking the phone in the back of my jeans, "bye now." I walked past him, slightly pissed off that he had nerve to talk to me like that. I only walked a couple feet before that same annoying voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Uh, Ice Girl tryouts are that way," he spoke, pointing in the opposite direction of where I was going. I stopped walking, my eyes narrowed into little slits and I whipped my head back to glare at him. Oh no, he did NOT just mistake me for one of those sluts!

"Excuse me?" I snapped, "who the hell do you think you are, calling me a fucking Ice Girl?! Comparing me to one of them is like calling me a slut. I don't even actually know you and I already am aware that your an asshole. Plus, what's your job anyway, warming the bench?" I took in his jersey, seeing the numbers 74 flash on his sleeve when he took off his hat to run his hand through his shaggy blonde hair. He must be a rookie.

He laughed at my outburst and started to casually walk towards me. He stopped in front of me, hands shoved into his pockets. He let his eyes rake over my apperance, not being shy about the fact that he was checking me out. I gagged causing him to look back at my face.

"You know, you'd be prettier if you didn't have such a bitch look on your face all the time," he said, flashing me his killer smile.

"You don't even know me. How can you even say that I look like a bitch all the time?"

"Your starting to get wrinkles from your face being like that for so long. You better watch out, one day it might just freeze like that. What is your name anyway, the bitch of St. Louis?" He asked, staying nonchalant about the whole thing.

I glared at him, switching the tray of coffee from my left hand to my right hand. I ran a hand through my hair, something I always did when I was stressed out. "Sorry, my name is Sirena Stillman, although I do like the bitch of St. Louis better. I bet it would keep shit holes like yourself away from me." I watched his face register my last name while the 'oh shit' look crossed his face. "Bye jackass." I called over my shoulder as I continued my walk down the hallway. I reached the locker room, not bothering to knock. No one was changing in there anyway, they were all doing interviews because it was media day.

I charged through the locker room and over to my dad who was talking with Andy Murray. I smiled at them both before stepping to the side, letting my eyes travel over the familiar players and then over the rookies. Ugh, why did I have a feeling I was so not going to enjoy this year. My eyes scanned over the name plates on the lockers. I walked slowly past each one, trying to memorize the names and faces.

I stopped at a rookie stall, reading the name Patrik Berglund, number 21. He was definatly not from the U.S. He had a thick accent and he shied away from the cameras and attention, opting to sit by himself. I smiled as he sat in his stall, looking around like he couldn't quite believe he was here. I sat in the stall next to his, not even paying attention to who's it was because there wasn't even any hockey equiptment in it.

"I'm Sirena." I smiled at him and held my hand out for him to shake. He turned towards me and his eyes widened when he took a good look at me. I kept my smile plastered on my face, this kid was about my age, maybe we could be friends.

"Patrik," he responded in pretty good english. My smile widened at his grasp of the language. This was looking good so far.

"That's a nice name. So, Patrik, where are you from?" I asked, bouncing my foot lightly and taking a drink from my coffee.

"He's from Sweden and get the fuck out of my spot." A voice came from my left. I snapped my head to look at the owner of the voice, my brown hair slapping at my face. I wasn't surprised to see the two face asshole from a couple minutes ago, standing there looking slightly peeved. I rolled my eyes and turned back towards my new friend.

"Where in Sweden?" I questioned, pretending I hadn't heard the guy, who's name I still didn't know.

"Hello? Is the fake tan doing something to your hearing, I said move." The guy persisted

"Look asshole-"

"It's TJ." He snapped back.

"Okay, TJ," I emphasized his name. "I don't give a crap if this is your stall, I'm in the middle of a conversation and you are being rude. And my tan isn't fake, I just got back from Puerto Rico, dip."

"Well, excuse me," TJ muttered sarcasticly, "I don't care if I'm being rude, get up."

"Oh my god, your not even going to be sitting down here. This probably isn't even your stall," I took another sip of coffee to show him how much he was not effecting me. He responded by ripping off the metal name tag and flashing it to me. I almost spit my coffee out when I took in the name TJ Oshie. Holy fuck, this guy was supposed to be a big deal!?

"Oh good, TJ and Patrik, you've both met my daughter Sirena," My dad's voice boomed as he walked towards us. TJ's eyes immediatly softened and I snapped my head towards my dad. "Honey, these are the kids I was talking about this morning. You would appreciate some of the things TJ can do with the puck." My dad clasped TJ on the shoulder and TJ turned to smirk at me. Cocky much?

"Uh, sure," I stammered, still not quite believing that this TJ Oshie kid could be so good but such an asshole. I mean typically hockey players were but my dad said TJ was a class act. He bragged about how much I would like him and how we could be good friends here. In my dad's language, that pretty much meant he wanted me to dump my boyfriend Derek, whom he thought wasn't good enough for me, and date TJ. Great, my dad was going to be barking in mine and TJ's ear to get us together. Well sorry daddy, I don't date assholes.

I picked my mouth up and snapped out of the shock that I was experiencing, rejoining the conversation to hear my dad telling TJ about our soon to be friendship.

"I was telling Sirena this morning that I could just tell you guys were going to be best friend while you're playing on the Blues. It's a good thing we got you for so many years," My dad, clapped TJ on the shoulder, "isn't that right Rena?"

I grimaced when my dad mentioned the multi-year deal that TJ signed in April. I tried to cover it up by forcing a smile. Patrik snorted when my dad mentioned being best friends, covering it up swiftly with a cough. TJ visibly tensed before piercing through my body with his blue eyes.

"Yeah daddy, TJ and I are going to be the best of friends," I muttered, sarcasm evident in my tone. My dad threw his head back and laughed as TJ closed his eyes, trying to control the annoyance that was reverberating off of him.

"That's good because any road trip you come on Sirena, you'll be rooming with TJ." My mouth dropped as my dad sauntered away.

TJ slapped a hand over his face, groaning loudly. I punched his stomach, causing air to swoop out of his lungs. He rubbed his stomach before swatting at my head. Patrik intercepted TJ's hand, tisking and shaking his pointer finger at him. Yeah, TJ and I were already on the way to being best friends forever, or at least until one of us kills the other.