Winners and Losers

Sometimes it’s like magic. You look at them, and you swear you hear some sort of corny music playing in the background. Fireworks go off in your brain, and every sense you have shuts down except for the necessary ones to take them in. Suddenly everything you do without them is like dust in the wind, and when you are with them, you want to commit everything to memory. When they look at you, you get all giddy inside, but you try not to let it show because you don’t want to embarrass yourself or them.

Or at least, that’s what it seems like when he looks at her. I wouldn’t know for sure since the guy I would like to find out with is currently in a committed twenty-first century relationship. Meaning, he’s in a relationship that isn’t really a relationship. While he works hard to make money, she works hard to spend his money. Unfair, depending on which side you’re on, but he must be getting something out of it. And by something, I mean other than sex, because he’s not like that. But still – I know I can give him something more than what she does. I’m just going to have to work up the nerve to talk to him first.
…
What’s there to say about a girl whose legs go on for miles, whose hair is as dark as the night, and whose eyes are as deep as the ocean? Many people call her Anna, but I call her a bitch.

“Isabelle, hand me that pen, won’t you?” I look from her outstretched hand to the pen in my hand, hovering inches above the pad of paper on the desk in front of me.

“You mean the one I’m using?” I ask.

She looks at me oddly, as if I’d said something in a foreign language. But we both speak the same languages, so that shouldn’t be an issue. She blinks slowly, the movement making her look sexy as her lashes sweep over her cheekbones, and then opens her mouth. “Just get a new one then.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Why don’t you just get a new one? They’re in the drawer on your left.”

She huffs and cradles the black spiral-cord phone between her ear and her shoulder as she opens the drawer to her left to extract a brand new ballpoint pen. She makes an exaggerated huffing sound as she looks at me out of the corner of her eye and presses a button on the phone. “Sorry about that Mark. My retarded assistant couldn’t find a pen.”

I glower at her. I wasn’t her assistant. Nonetheless, as her voice returns to a normal, honeysweet texture, I go back to my task at hand. Just as I’m finishing up my article for the Boston Bruins’ website, the door to the office swings open. “Isabelle Della Valle!”

I cringe as the attempt at an Italian accent makes my blood curdle. My visitor, a spunky little redhead, takes note of my cringe. “Is my Italian accent not getting better?” she asks.

Anna clears her throat; apparently my visitor is being too loud. In response, my visitor flares her nostrils and flips Anna off. Anna, however, has swiveled around in her chair so she can’t see either of us. I turn back to the girl standing in front of my desk. “First, it’s getting worse. Second, how did you get in here?”

She puffs her chest proudly. “I told them I was Sakura Donnelly, and they better let me in or else.”

I bite my lip to keep my comment from slipping passed my lips. “You turned on the crocodile tears, didn’t you?”

On cue, Sakura’s eyes well up with fake tears. “I left my cell phone up there, sir. I’ll be quick.”

I lean forward on my right elbow and look at her. She sighs. Her eyes dry up and her posture falls softly. “They didn’t even see me coming. Either that or I’ve been here so much they don’t care.”

I nod in affirmation. “Probably the third.”

“Excuse me, Golden Girls, will you shut up? Some of us are trying to work.”

I raise my eyebrows at my not boss, while Sakura turns up the heat on her glare. “First of all, you pretentious –” I quickly grab my pad of paper and practically leap at Sakura. I want to head the problem off before it explodes, so I tug her towards the office door.

I close the door quietly behind me. “The Golden Girls had four women,” she mumbles under her breath.

I exhale loudly, and run my fingers backwards through my hair. “Well, Anna isn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box.”

Sakura scoffs loudly. “Iz, Anna is a pencil in a box of crayons.”

I frown. Well I wouldn’t go that far…

“Excuse me, ladies.” I nearly jump out of my skin as a deep French-Canadian male voice sounds at the same time a hand touches my shoulder. In retrospect, standing with my back to the entrance to the door probably isn’t the best idea.

I turn on instinct, and I swear my jaw nearly hits the floor. None other than Patrice Bergeron is trying to move around us. He stands close enough for me to lean into him – which I really have to force myself not to do. He smells really good, probably because he’s showered after getting off the ice. The only thing I notice, as everything else blurs into the background, is how soft his smile is. I want so badly to smile back at him, but I don’t think that’s the look I manage as Sakura roughly yanks me away from the door. “Sorry, on any day she has to work with Anna she ends up a little brain dead.”

Patrice looks from Sakura to me, and his mouth quirks in such a way that leads me to believe he’s trying to conceal a laugh. My skin prickles, since I can still imagine his hand on my shoulder. Without another word, Patrice nods his head and walks through the door. Once he shuts it, I feel safe enough to let out a quiet squeal.

“Did you see that?” I ask.

“You mean the blank look you had on your face and the drool hanging from your mouth?”

I scowl. “No. We had a moment.”

“You were in his way,” she reasons.

“He didn’t have to touch my shoulder,” I shoot back.

She rolls her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest petulantly. “You’re right, Iz. He’s madly in love with you because he touched one of your non-erogenous zones.”

I grasp my notepad in my hands and smack her roughly in the arm. She rubs her arm, but before she can retort, we hear speaking from the other side of the door.

“Did you meet our new intern?” That’s Anna’s voice. She sounds sweet as sugar, and I swear I’ve just developed Diabetes.

“I think so. There were two of them outside.” Patrice’s voice makes my head swim in tingly warm feelings.

“Well, she’s the little brunette. She’s cute, don’t you think? And she’s so smart – she’ll go far in the business.”

Not only do I almost gag, but also I feel like bursting in there and slapping her. I’m cute? No one likes cute. Cute is something you call a puppy. And since when does Anna think I’m cute? Probably when she’s trying to impress a certain alternate captain for the Boston Bruins. I don’t hear anything else, so I can assume they’re kissing… or something.

My heart beats painfully in my chest – that should be me in there, clinging to his sports jacket, and moaning his name as he kisses down my neck –

“Oh my God are they having a quickie in there?” Sakura hisses from beside me. Suddenly, my daydream vanishes and I realize that Anna is the one moaning Patrice’s name. It makes me sick to my stomach, and it makes my mood drop severely.

As I grip my notepad angrily in my right hand, I start to stomp off down the hall. Sakura has no choice but to follow me. As I round the next corner, I nearly run into one of the newest Bruins, Tyler Seguin.

“Isabelle Della Valle,” he says in the same fake accent as Sakura, and holds his arms out to me.

“Your accent isn’t very good, Seguin,” Sakura pipes up from behind me.

Tyler looks around me. “Oh, I’m sorry. Who are you again?”

Sakura sticks her tongue out. Before she can answer, I speak. “Am I cute, Ty?”

I had met Tyler during the 2010 NHL Draft, and since he was the first person I’d met that was even remotely close to my age, I felt somewhat close to him. After all, I’m the kind of person that needs a person to feel somewhat attached to in every setting. I need someone to fall back on so I don’t have to stand awkwardly alone in a room.

Tyler looks at me curiously. “I guess so. If you’re going for that I-want-to-hold-you-and-never-let-go look.”

I glower. Not at Tyler, not at Sakura. Not at anything in particular. I can’t be cute – Anna is sexy, and Patrice likes Anna. Ergo, I can’t be cute.

I begin to stomp off down the hall without a warning to either Tyler or Sakura. I have to hand my article in, but hot damn I think Anna has ruined my morning.

Later in the evening, I had been peacefully lounging on my couch in my most comfortable pair of pajama pants, drifting somewhere between complete consciousness and sleep, when someone had knocked on my door. The sound was loud and disturbing, and I couldn’t ignore it. Silence had followed shortly after, and I’d sighed. I wasn’t going to get up for anyone right now; save for maybe a certain French-Canadian, but he doesn’t know where I live. So I’d decided to stay put. But the knocking had started again. Incessantly, might I add, for about three minutes. I knew this, because I’d watched the numbers change on my DVD player. And then silence, for about two seconds, before my front door had been basically kicked open.

I can see the front door from my living room, so as I had sat up, to see Anna Wells standing the threshold had startled me. She doesn’t look like the type of girl to want to exert the force needed to kick in a door.

“The door was unlocked,” I’d told her wryly, standing up.

“You’re such a retard!” She’d informed me with a cat-like glare marring her features. “Why wouldn’t you answer the door?”

“Because I knew it was you and I was hoping you’d go away if I left you out there long enough.” I’d checked my door to make sure everything was still fully functioning.

Anna had been silent behind me, so as I’d turned around, I’d been hoping she hasn’t gotten into anything. “What are you wearing?” She’d asked indignantly, as if I’d just made a racial slur in her direction.

But I’d felt like being petulant, because when she’s around me, she seems completely incapable of being nice. “I’m wearing clothes. What kind of question is that?”

She had dismissed me the second she had flicked her wrist around in the air. “Well, wear something nicer. We’re going out tonight.”

I had raised my eyebrows at her calmly. “Why would I want to go out with you?”

She had looked at me. “Patrice thinks you’re cute, and since someone told him I’m high maintenance, you need to be there to prove that there aren’t any hard feelings.”

I had glared at her back as she had started walking further into my apartment. But there are hard feelings. There’d been hard feelings since I was three and she pushed me in a puddle of mud. But Patrice thinks I’m cute?

Now I’m sitting by myself in some club that Anna had forcefully dragged me to. Patrice had shown up at my apartment an hour after Anna had called him to tell him that she wasn’t at her place. Then, once we’d arrived, I’d promptly been ditched by both of them. I felt awkward and out of place; but I hadn’t ever been to this club before so I didn’t know how to get home.

I’m sitting in a chair with a round table at my knees, and an empty glass from a Rum and Coke taunting my loneliness like the empty glass it was. I sigh, and push my right hand back through my hair. What a complete bust of a night. It had been ten o-clock when Anna had barged in; I had been settling down for the night. Now it’s 12:15 and I’m bored out of my mind in a place that I never wanted to be in in the first place.

As my eyes scan the crowd before me, I can see them. Anna’s dark hair clings to her forehead as she writhes out in front of Patrice. His hands are low on her hips, his head over her right shoulder as he sways with her. Disgusting.

“You look like you smell something bad.”

I blink to refocus my attention as a glass is thrust in my grasp. Another Rum and Coke, by the looks of it. Attached to the hand holding the drink is an arm I’d recognize anywhere; and it had nothing to do with the tattoo scrawled up the skin on the outside.

I accept the drink as Tyler takes the seat next to me. In his other hand he clutches a typical male drink; the beer. He notices my woeful gaze, and makes himself comfortable. “I only drink Cosmopolitans when I get an umbrella. Can you believe they’re out?”

I bite my lip to keep my smile discreet. He’s wearing a t-shirt that stretches out over his broad shoulders and his chest. Sakura would be having a fit right about now. But I keep my eyes on his open face. “What are the chances you’d come solo to the same club I’m at?”

He gives me a boyish smile. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

I purse my lips. It’s hard not to smile at the boy. “Sakura called you, didn’t she?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not checking up on you, Isabelle.”

I feel a blush crawl up my neck – there’s something about the way he says my name that makes me feel weird.

“Isabelle, darling, there you are!” I cringe the second I hear Anna’s voice. I can hear the fakeness from where I am, and I look pleadingly to Tyler, who just looks between Anna and I curiously.

When he offers no amount of comfort, I sigh quickly before plastering a huge fake smile on my face and turning in my seat. “Oh Anna, there you are!”

She catches the mocking tone to my voice, which is why she glares at me. Patrice looks quietly between the two of us, but says nothing. Anna tightens her grip on Patrice’s hand, and lets her face relax so Patrice doesn’t suspect that she isn’t really as sweet as sugar.

“I totally, like, missed you,” I continue sweetly. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to me, or maybe I’ve finally realized that Anna is going to be somewhat nice to me in the presence of Patrice, but I feel like after seventeen years, it’s my turn.

Anna looks apprehensive at my attitude, but doesn’t want to call me on it in front of Patrice. It takes everything I have to keep my eyes off him, because I know if I let myself slip for even a second, I’ll be a goner. And after what I’m going to do to her tonight, I can’t afford to give her any more ammo.

“Aren’t you sweet,” she tells me, and I can hear the grit in her voice as she gives me a pointed look.

I bat my eyelashes at her, and then swallow my insecurities and glance at a spot above Patrice’s eyebrows. “She’s, like, my hero. She makes me want to work really hard so when I go to Target, I’ll have enough money to buy a pack of q-tips that I can use to jab myself in the ears with.”

Anna scoffs. “What a stupid thing to say, Isabelle.”

Patrice’s head darts up and he looks quickly over at Anna. His shoulders tense; he didn’t miss Anna’s slip up. Of course, she’s too busy glaring at me to notice the way he is looking at her.

I sigh. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’d want to stab myself in the ears?”

Anna sets her jaw. “Why, Isabelle, would you like to stab yourself in the ears?”

I feel a feathery-light touch on my shoulder, and without looking I know Tyler’s standing behind me. “Because on a good day you sound like a cat being hit by a bus.”

I’m forced to jump up from my seat when Anna takes a lunge at me. Tyler immediately puts himself between me and the Wicked Witch of the West, and Patrice gently wraps his arm around her tiny waist to hold her back. “You’re such a tramp, Isabelle.”

I watch happily as it slowly begins to dawn on Patrice. It slowly begins to dawn on him that Anna may look beautiful, like a nice person, but when you take away her outside, she’s ugly as hell on the inside.

Patrice looks slightly put off as he whispers things in Anna’s ear to try and calm her down. And as her face slowly loses its creased and angry look, it dawns on me: I know how to get Anna out of the picture.
…
The phone rings for what seems like forever, before she finally decides to pick up. “Izzy, does it ever occur to you that some of us don’t have anything important to do on a Saturday besides sleep?”

I hear the sardonic yawn in Sakura’s voice, but not one single ounce of me cares. “Guess what?”

She sighs loudly. “What?”

“Remember how you wouldn’t be my wing woman last night?”

“You mean do I remember refusing to go out to a gay bar with you?”

“It isn’t a gay bar,” I inform her loftily. “Tyler ended up coming.”

“Of course he did. Not only did I call him, which I’m sure he told you, but if I was a heterosexual male, I’d jump at the chance to see you in something short and tight too.”

I can feel the blush crawling up my neck at her words. It really was a nice compliment, despite the fact that it kind of sounded like she just called me a nice piece of meat. “Anyways,” I snap to attention suddenly, “I’m breaking them up.”

“Breaking whom up?” Sakura asks, suddenly sounding more alert and attentive on her end.

I lean over my desk and cup my free hand around my mouth. “Patrice and Anna,” I whisper. I can’t risk someone overhearing.

“I didn’t think they were legit,” Sakura says after a short pause.

I sigh and lean back in my chair. “Please. Anna peed on him thirty minutes after meeting him.”

“Iz, that’s really disgusting.”

“It’s a metaphor!” I raise my voice to convey my point. “Animals mark their territory with pee and –” My voice begins to fade when I look up and notice the body standing in the doorway to the office.

He wears a simple white t-shirt with a cool charcoal design up the left side, and purposely faded dark denim jeans. In his left hand, his car keys dangle, along with a pair of sunglasses. I try not to let my eyes linger on his body, but damn. Vaguely I can hear Sakura calling my name through the phone, but my eyes continue to slide up, over the smooth lines of his shoulders, his neck, and over the scruff lining his jaw. His brown eyes are soft and unassuming, when we’re actually making direct eye contact. “I have to go,” I tell Sakura dumbly, and hang up without listening for her response.

“Hi,” he says, and my heart immediately jumps out of my chest.

“Hi,” I return quietly, looking away nervously. After a beat of silence, he still hasn’t said anything, so I do. “Anna’s not working today.”

“I know.”

I begin to gather various papers off my desk – I have to go.

“She told me during our seventh phone call of the morning.” I continue gathering the things I need before heading off to the executives’ offices. If I need to make my pitch to them for a good appearance for the team before the pre-season, I need to start with a punctual arrival.

I move around the side of my desk. “She tends to be a little dramatic sometimes,” I tell him, chancing a look up at him when I get closer. He looks down at me, and I have no idea what’s presently going through his head. He’s careful; I’ll give him that much. He’s also not much of a talker, I notice as he silently moves on an angle and gestures me out of the office first with a long sweep of his hand.

I walk slowly down the hall, hoping Patrice will catch up with me. “So you have known Anna for a while then?” he asks.

When he’s walking beside me, I feel elated. I don’t even know how to explain the way he puts me on edge in the nicest way possible, how my entire body seems to react to him being mere inches away. I look over at him, but I only feel comfortable doing so because he’s looking ahead. “You could say that.”

He looks to the side, smiling softly when he catches me looking at him. I stop in the hall, suddenly, and turn towards him. “If you want me to talk her up to you, I can’t do it. She’s hated me ever since she kicked me out of the womb first, and I’m not one of those girls who ignores that.”

His eyebrows draw together. “You’re –”

I shift on my feet. Being related to Anna isn’t something I like to broadcast, because I feel like it’s a kick in the ass for me. I didn’t like sharing clothes with her when we were growing up, much less an egg. I hate the fact that when her and I go back home, we’re referred to as ‘the twins’. Before he can finish, I move towards the door behind him. “Excuse me. I have a charity proposal to give.”
…
They loved my idea. I had suggested that the boys work with The Home for Little Wanderers, and everyone in the room had immediately agreed. The Home for Little Wanderers is there for kids that are in foster care, live with parents that aren’t able to properly care for them, are in the hospital, etc. It’s for kids aged birth to eighteen, and of any race. I, personally, think it’s fantastic; and apparently the big guys do too.

As I step out of the office, I turn slightly to close the door behind me, and try to conceal the smile on my face. I like winning. When I turn around, I gasp. Standing in front of the room, leaning against the opposite wall, is Patrice. The second I make a noise, he looks up from his phone. He blindly puts the device in his pocket, and pushes himself of the wall.

Please let him not have been waiting out here the entire time I was talking in there – I’d been in there for forty-five minutes. The notion of him waiting for me could stop my heart, and at my age I don’t need that. The papers I’m still holding get crinkled in my hand as I turn on my heel and start walking back down the hall. “Hey!”

A hand slides across my back, and it forces me to stop. He comes around in front of me, but his hand still stays on his back. It’s probably so that he’s got a grip on me in case I try to move away. The spot he’s touching, though, ignites like a small fire – I don’t want him to let go. Standing so close to him, I feel awkward. I can’t look him in the eye, because if I do from this distance, I’ll want to kiss him. But I must be a glutton for punishment, because not only do I look up, I look into his eyes. I swallow, and all coherent thought leaves my mind. “I’m sorry for Anna,” he mumbles quietly.

And all at once, the spell I’m under is broken. The mention of my psychotic sister is like a bucket of ice water; like the electric shock you get from sticking your finger in a socket. I move back, trying to conceal my disappointment. “It’s okay. She’s been doing it for years.”

A look crosses his features, and he lets me back away from him. He can’t quite figure out what’s happened, and even I can admit that sticking a nail in a girl’s heart isn’t always the easiest thing to spot. I nod numbly, and walk back to my office.

Anna. It’s always about Anna.
…
I blow out a large breath, and it’s like an enormous pressure lifts from my chest. The sky is a nice shade of orange as the sun slowly descends over the horizon. Even in a city like Boston, there’s always a quiet place to watch the sun set. This time, I’m on the flat roof of my apartment.

I’m lounging in the quickly cooling outdoors on an ancient plastic white lounge chair. There’s an empty one beside me, because I’m expecting company.

Sure enough, the old metal door to the stairs squeaks open on the other side of the building. “This could be so romantic if you had a dick,” Sakura calls.

I sit up and look back at her. “Or if we were both lesbians.”

A frown mars her features – it doesn’t look like she’d forgotten her latest lesbian encounter. “Isabelle Della Valle…” she strings together a muddled sentence of odd Italian words I’d taught her over the years, but if I’m not mistaken, I think she just told me the purple frog died yesterday.

I grin at her. “I hope he died happy.”

She looks at me like I’d recently grown a new head as she sits down. “What?”

I pull myself back into a lounging position without answering her. “She totally flipped her lid in front of Patrice.”

Sakura inhales sharply. She knows that I don’t pick fights often, but when I do I know exactly what to hit. “What’d you say to her?”

“I told her she sounds like a cat being hit by a bus on a good day.”

Sakura immediately erupts in a fit of raucous laughter. Part of her found it so funny, I think, is because it’s true.

“Oh and I told her I missed her.”

Sakura stops laughing long enough to answer me. “Has she confronted you about it yet?”

I shake my head, and then roll it to the side to look at her. “Nope. Why do you think I told you to come to the roof?”

Her reaction is minimal, but I still catch it. She tries not to look too excited, but her lip twitches almost unnoticeably as she digs her phone out of her pocket.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

She doesn’t even look at me as she answers me. “I can’t let you have all the fun with her.”

I hum my agreement. For someone so afraid of lesbians, she sure tends to make a lot of gay innuendos.

The sunset falls to dusk, and I hear the odd cricket chirping. It seems to piss Sakura off, because as she looks under her chair, she’s telling “that damn bug to shut the fuck up before she shuts it up”. I’m not sure why she seems to have such a problem with it – it reminds me that as a human I can’t get lost in my concrete jungle.

“You told him I get dramatic?”

I turn in my seat; I had been starting to think that she would never come. Sakura immediately bounds out of her seat; the incessant cricket a memory. “Anna-Maria I thought you would never come!”

Anna glares over at Sakura briefly, but her attention zeroes back in on me in an instant. “You kind of do,” I shrug calmly. And just because I can, after I give her a once over, I ask, “why are you dressed like a hooker?”

She lets out a raging groan and tries not to pull her hair out at the roots. “God. You are such a brat!”

I pull myself into a standing position. Normally we’re pretty close in height, but when she’s wearing heels as long as my hand she tends to dwarf me. I smile and swing my arms. “You’re actually being pretty dramatic now.”

“Because you told my boyfriend that I’m basically psychotic.”

Sakura chooses this as her moment of interruption. She snorts, and comes to stand beside me protectively – even though she’s about five inches shorter than me – and crosses her arms over her chest. “You aren’t dating just because you say you are. Let’s face it, Anna. You are predictably psychotic. You come stomping up here to throw a tantrum because some guy you’re stalking is starting to realize you actually belong in a mental institution. And you’re dressed like you just came from your job at a strip club.”

The entire time Anna stands as rigid as a board, and several emotions flicker across her face. I notice something with a quiet startle – was one of those emotions sadness? “Sakura…” I start quietly, putting a hand on her elbow to try to reign her in.

“You’ve always been jealous of me!” She suddenly shrieks, stomping her foot. I don’t know why she’s yelling at me – Sakura’s the one who just majorly called her out.

“Ha!” Sakura calls back. “She’s jealous of you? Bitch please. There are a million other girls like you, and only one of Izzy.” I nervously shift on my feet. I’m more of a subtle attacker – I’ve never outright attacked Anna like Sakura is right now. “Look at her right now, Anna,” Sakura continues, jerking her head in my direction. “She wants me to stop ragging on you. You don’t deserve that kind of loyalty.”

Tears well in Anna’s eyes, and I briefly wonder if she’s doing it for the sympathy vote or if she’s being genuine. “Isabelle –”

I turn away from her. “Don’t, Anna. He’s a nice guy and he deserves something better than you.”

The vein on the side of her neck pops briefly before she stomps her pointy foot. A quiet movement behind Anna catches my eye, and I immediately know what Sakura was doing on her cell phone. Briefly I feel bad for Anna, because it just proves how predictable she is. She always has to be the baby.

“Consider yourself not a part of my family, you tramp.”

I bite down on my lip. She talks big, but she’s still standing halfway across the roof to yell at me. I notice wryly that she’s stopped “crying”. “I don’t think she know what that means,” Sakura muses thoughtfully, taking in my sweats.

All of the sudden, she exhales, and seemingly cleanses any unwanted thoughts. “You won’t win, Isabelle. You never do.”

“I’ve already won,” I insist quietly.

She scoffs and turns on her heel. As soon as she does, she freezes. Even from where I am, I can see the disappointed look on Patrice’s face. Funny how he just always “seems” to be around when I egg Anna on.

Thanks, Sakura, I think to myself.

Anna’s shoulders square off. “Patrice, it isn’t what it looks like –” She doesn’t get to finish, though, because Patrice turns on his heel and leaves. I think I just witnessed his heart breaking.

Sakura nudges me the second the door closes behind Anna as she goes after him. “I don’t know why he thought to come here.”

I don’t answer her. Is it weird that I feel a bit guilty?
…
Monday morning, I woke up with the resolve to apologize to Anna. I wanted nothing more than to break her and Patrice up, but after the look on Patrice’s face on Friday night, I felt bad. So I wasn’t sure when I was going to do it, and I know she probably won’t accept it, but I have to try.

My heels click against the floor as I walk through the back door of the Garden. I clutch a manila folder of player interview transcripts I had to give to Jon, the guy who was going to put them up on the Bruins website.

A tray of coffee is in the clutches of my other hand. I haven’t tasted it yet, but I just know it’s going to be like heaven on earth.

I’ve arrived at the Garden a little bit early today; but that’s only because I’d been awake for so long this morning that I’d had nothing better to do. There are a few random people in the building; the cleaning crew’s just finishing up, and of course Peter Chiarelli’s already here – the man’s dedicated.

He’s in his office, talking on his phone when I enter. Silently I place the tray on his desk, before taking out the coffee marked Peter and placing it on his desk. He waves at me in acknowledgment, and then goes back to his phone call. I smile, and leave his office. Just one more brownie point for Izzy.

I make my way into Amy Latimer’s office next, and set down her cup of coffee. She turns at the sound, and smiles brightly at me. “Isabelle. How are you this morning?”

I smile softly in response. “I’m pretty good, considering it’s eight in the morning on a Monday, you?”

She sighs. “I know what you mean. But at least today you’re going to be doing something fun.”

I perk up at the news. “What am I going to be doing today?”

She smiles. “How about you go ask Eric. The man will be so excited to see a cup of hot coffee all the way from Starbucks.”

I nod and back out of her office.

“And thanks for the coffee!” She calls. “Next time I’m buying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I laugh, “you say that every time!”

Her laugh disappears as I turn the corner down another hall.

Eric Tosi is my internship coordinator – he’s the guy I report to about general things, about what I’ll be doing that day or that week. He isn’t very old, which is reflected in his thick dark hair and easy-going crease-free smile. The man is going to make a woman extremely happy one day.

“Hi Eric,” I say to announce my presence.

He looks up from his keyboard, and I have to stifle a laugh. Eric curls his hands when he hovers over his keyboard, and types with one finger at a time. He had one time complained to me that it took a long time to type anything out, and when I’d watched him, I hadn’t been sure how to approach the subject.

When I get close to his desk, he stands up and leans to grab his coffee cup so I don’t have to put anything down. “Isabelle. I knew you were my favourite for a reason.”

I roll my eyes and fight back a smile. Yeah, yeah. I sit in one of the chairs across from his desk, simultaneously as I place my folder on his desk. “So Amy tells me I’m going to be doing something fun today.”

Eric nods in affirmation. “I want you to join Eric Kapitulik today with the draftees. He’s a former marine that’s going to be doing some stuff today, with a little bit of team building.” He looks around the desk at my shoes. “I hope you brought more comfortable shoes.”

I sigh begrudgingly. “Alright. I have to take my interview transcripts to Jon, and then I’ll quickly run home and do a quick change.”

He nods. As I’m up and almost at his door, Eric calls to me. “Oh and Isabelle?” I turn around, “play nice with your sister today please.”

I feel a blush start to heat up my cheeks, so I duck away before Eric can see. By the time I get to the office given to the interns after dropping the transcripts with Jon, there’s a tall balding man with his back to me, sitting in front of my desk. He wears a black golf shirt, withThe Program written on the back of the collar in red stitching. This must be Eric Kapitulik.

I clear my throat as an introduction and make my way towards him. He turns to me, standing as he does so. With my free hand, I reach out to him. “I’m Isabelle Della Valle, and I’m assuming you’re Eric Kapitulik?”

He looks like the typical ex-Marine, his face very serious. But when he smiles as he shakes my hand, he looks more approachable. “It’s nice to meet you, Isabelle.”

I smile and nod. “So what do you have planned for the boys?”

“Well,” Eric starts slowly, “a little bit of exercise, and a lot of team bonding. We’re going to head down to the Sports Complex, as a matter of fact, in just a couple minutes.”

I nod. “Well, this is the first I’ve heard of my activities for the day, so unfortunately I’m wearing the wrong shoes. I can meet you guys over at the Sports Complex after I make a quick trip home to grab something more appropriate.”
…
With everyone that had suddenly accumulated in the building, it’s taken me an hour to excuse myself in order to get out of the building. It’s a gorgeous day out; it seems to have been that way for a while, actually. I have to extract a pair of aviator sunglasses in order to shield my eyes from the sun as I step out the backdoor.

When I see Patrice making his way across the parking lot, despite feeling like a fool on Friday night, my heart rate increases almost as if by magic. He looks so good in casual clothes, with his hair softly gelled up at the front. He wears a pair of sunglasses on his face, so I can’t tell where he’s looking. Thankfully my sunglasses are dark too, which means he can’t tell where I’m look either. My eyes are, of course, on him, but due to both of our positions, I could’ve been looking anywhere.

But the second he smiles at me, I realize that a blind person could tell where my attention is. My step falters, and I look down for a brief second. I hope he can’t hear my breath; despite the dry wind I feel like I could suffocate. “Isabelle,” he says.

I stop walking, the mission of getting to my car is a distant thought in my mind. Here he is, in the flesh, and he knows my name. Everything I’ve ever told myself about being a calm and collected diva fails me, and all I can do is grin like someone is pulling back my cheeks. Patrice Bergeron.

“Hi!” I say loudly; too loudly for how close we’re standing.

I’m pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t cringe away; instead he seems to come closer without moving. But still, I bite my lip to let him know I’d heard the volume of my own voice. Previously I’d wanted to apologize to Anna, but as I see Patrice standing here, looking like he hadn’t lost a moment’s sleep, I rethink my plan to apologize. I mean, when was the last time she apologized to me?

“Um,” he says, look up and around like he suddenly realized we were outside, “are you on your way somewhere, or…?” he trails off, hoping I’d fill in the blanks for him.

“I’m actually just on my way to change. Turns out I’m going out with The Program and the draftees.”

He smiles, but it falters at the corners. “Oh – I was just kind of hoping to talk to you.”

I chew on my lip thoughtfully, and then stuff my car keys into my pocket. “How about you give me a ride? I live far enough away that we can have a somewhat decent conversation.”

I love how him and I don’t get a proper introduction, how he learns my name through the girl I secretly want to destroy, yet he doesn’t seem to think badly of me. His vehicle of choice is a black SUV of some kind – I’m not really good with cars. It’s nice and clean when I climb inside, but I’m not really too surprised. To me, Patrice seems like he’d be the kind of guy to have a clean car.

I attach my seatbelt, and sit as calmly as I can in the passenger seat. I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a porn star with that facial hair?”

He smiles at the road as we pull out into traffic. “Looch and Wheels have. But Looch also went to a Britney Spears concert last year, and Wheels is a former Golden Gopher.”

I laugh. To be quite honest, I think I should jump him at the next red light.

“When I met your sister, she was confident, sexy, and genuine.”

On second thought, maybe I won’t jump him. Maybe I’ll just focus on swallowing the bile rising in my throat. I clear my throat awkwardly; I want sexy talk from Patrice. Maybe about how he loves my smile, the sound of my laugh, or how I look in my skirt. Not about what he thinks of my sister.

“Do you think people change, Isabelle?” The sound of my name coming from his mouth is like the best kind of aphrodesiac.

“I think you just lost your rose-coloured glasses,” I tell him quietly. “Anna’s always been the kind of person that’s flashy up front. She can make anyone believe what she wants them to. She just doesn’t bother with me because I don’t have anything she wants.” I lean my head against the window, and see the familiar deli sign near where I live. “Turn left up here.”

Patrice falls silent as we pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex. It’s fairly new, so it’s an update building, but definitely not the most expensive in Boston.

“You shouldn’t sell yourself short, Isabelle,” he mumbles. I pretend I don’t hear him as I climb out of his vehicle. The last thing I need is for my crush to pity me.

“Isabelle,” he tries again, and I stop. His voice is soft, yet commanding. He comes around in front of me, and awkwardly puts his hands on top of my shoulders.

“You look just like her,” he tries telling me. “I mean, you’re twins, right? She can’t possibly call you a tramp without making herself one.”

I didn’t know where this was coming from, or when he possibly could’ve started caring like this. And then it happened, like I somehow hoped it one day would. Something ignited like a spark in my brain, and then like everything else caught off the spark, every inch of my body ached to touch him. It’s like I’m looking at him through a tube, because I can’t recognize anything besides him. I really hope we’re not in the middle of the parking lot, because I don’t think I’d have the brain function to move out of the way of any cars. I don’t hear corny music playing in my head, but I sure do start remembering every time I’d ever spent in his company. Yes, all ten times I’d been in the same room as him, regardless if he knew I was there or not.

He leans in to me, and a frantic shiver shocks my spine. “It’ll be like kissing a nicer Anna,” I mumble as his hands travel up to my head.

“It’ll be like kissing the only girl who’s ever called me out on my porn moustache, who talks about people peeing on each other on the phone, and who – despite being related to one of the fakest people I’ve ever met – still manages to be awkwardly charming.”

Oh god he heard the pee comment is my last coherent thought before he presses his lips to mine. He breaks contact a second later, and my music starts playing loud and clear in the back of my head. Annabelle, by A Rocket to the Moon. I bite my lip and let out a quiet laugh at my subconscious’ choice of music.

We’re still close enough to kiss, if I tilt my head up, so when Patrice moves, I have to be careful not to kiss him. “What?” he asks, his breath caressing my face.

“A pop-punk band just started singing in my head.”

He pulls away completely and looks up at the sunny sky. He sighs, as if praying to a higher power, and then looks back down at me. He’s trying so hard not to laugh at me; I can tell. “Isabelle…” he shakes his head.

“Patrice?”

He engulfs me in a warm hug, and I try to curl my hands back up over his shoulders. He feels just like I had dreamed he would, like comfort and permanence. I press my hips closer to his, and refuse to acknowledge the fact that this won’t last forever.

“Isn’t this touching.”

I jump out of my skin at the sound of the voice, but don’t let go of Patrice. I look over my shoulder to see Sakura, and once my shoulders deflate, Patrice’s grip slackens a bit.

She takes a couple steps towards us, and stops to my right. I’m able, then, to press my cheek into Patrice’s shoulder as I look at her. I want to ask her what she’s doing here, but she’s probably about to sneak up to my apartment to eat some of the food she doesn’t have in hers. “I like how it only takes two days for you to ruin the relationship, Iz.” Her face turns secretive, and she fights to hide a smile as she looks at us out of the corner of her eye. “In fact, Patrice, it’s like there was someone you liked just a little bit more than Anna.”

I furrow my eyebrows and look up at Patrice. Unfortunately, he’s conveniently looking at something else… away from me. But his cheeks are a little pink. Sakura starts off towards my building, and I tug on Patrice’s shirt.

“Patrice,” I say, trying to get his attention, “what does she mean?”

He clears his throat and lets go of me. “Let’s go, Isabelle…” This time, I swear he purposely puts a thick accent on my name to make me lose focus, “you have to get to the Sports Complex.”

His hand folds over mine as he lightly pulls me towards my apartment. Fine – I have a feeling I’m going to have plenty of time trying to figure out what she meant.
…
And that’s how it happened for me. I didn’t immediately have the corny music playing in my head – I had some young pop-punk band whining in my head about relationships. It wasn’t fireworks in my brain, it was more like a landmine reaction. But he did make me feel like I thought he would. The journey wasn’t what I’d expected, but the destination was the same.

It had only taken thirty minutes for me to pick out an outfit, and ten minutes to pick out shoes. Sakura had not been helpful in the least, shouting out Wheel of Fortune answers at the TV, but Patrice had waited patiently. He hadn’t been able to stay at the Sports Complex, but after noticing Anna’s car in the parking lot, I’d happily told him we’d meet up later.

Anna hadn’t known about what had happened between Patrice and I, but I was okay with that. Because once the boys had gotten into the swimming portion of their workout, I’d pushed her in the pool.

As she shrieked about how she wasn’t supposed to get her hair wet, I’d grinned like a Cheshire cat. I’d squatted by the edge of the pool and looked at my sister innocently. “I kissed your ex,” I told her happily.

As I walked away from her, her gurgling gasps ringing out in the pool area, I’d never felt so childish and proud at the same time. Game over, Anna-Maria.

I won.