Tell Me What To Do

-The Next Day-

I pace back and forth, anxiously running my hands through my hair as I run through a mental list in my head once again. All of the food is ready, the movies are all picked out, I showered, did my hair (which was probably now messed up because I’m running my hands through it like an idiot) and I’ve double checked my closets to make sure none of the guys were here to creep on my date. I had went out and bought a simple bouquet, but it was pretty nonetheless, and I was hoping that Jane would like it, and not think it was creepy. There’s a knock at the door at 7:32 on the dot, and I chuckle as I open the door.

“You’re late,” I say, smiling down at Jane, who is in a gorgeous sun dress. It’s black, with pink flowers all over it. The neck dips down and there is ruffled fabric at the edge of the neck. It has a faux waistline that shows off her nice figure, and it falls a little bit above her knees, showing off the perfect amount of leg.

“I don’t think two minutes constitutes as being late,” she smirks, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I see you’re one for pulling the same card on people as they pull on you,” I say, gesturing for her to walk into the apartment. She walks in and glances around with curiosity.

“Definitely a bachelor pad…not enough color, scarcely furnished, but…it smells like somebody has been cooking. Crosby, do you cook?” she asks, raising her eyebrows as she places her purse down next to the couch that is occupying the center of the living room, and I nod.

“Yeah…I live by myself, and I’m a professional athlete. I can’t exactly live on take out, can I?” I ask, walking into the kitchen as I talk. I take the chicken and pasta off of the stove, and dish it out evenly on two of my black and white dinner plates. I made sure to make my best sauce for the dinner, a light Italian dressing sauce. Jane walks into the kitchen as I’m putting the plates on the table, and her eyes fall on the flowers.

“These are really pretty,” she says, touching the petals of the flowers closest to her gently.

“I’m glad you like them…they’re for you,” I say with a blush, and immediately turn to grab the glasses out of the cabinet.

“Nobody’s ever bought me flowers before,” she says softly, and I spin around to look at her, dumbfounded, with the glasses now in my hands.

“Are you serious?” I ask, and she nods slowly.

“Yeah…my parents never were ones for affection, and I’ve never had a boyfriend or anything before so I’ve never gotten flowers,” she explains sadly, and I put the glasses down and look her in the eyes.

“Well then, I’m glad I could be the first to give you flowers,” I say with a smile, and she giggles. Her cheeks are pink, and I make a mental note to make her blush more often. It’s adorable. Once the table is set and I’ve served drinks, I pull Jane’s chair out and motion for her to sit down.

“Such a gentleman,” she smiles, sitting down. I push the chair in for her and chuckle.

“Every mother wants her son to be the perfect gentleman, especially in Canada,” I chuckle, and she smiles. I glance at her nervously as she takes a bite of the chicken, and I almost sigh in relief as she smiles.

“This is pretty good Sidney,” she says. I grin widely.

“Thanks. It’s one of my favorites, so I was praying I didn’t mess it up tonight,” I admit, and she laughs.

“You were nervous about having me over for dinner?” she asks, and I nod.

“Well, I’ve gotta impress you somehow, and since you’re a Flyers fan, I don’t think my hockey skills are up to par,” I explain. She raises her eyebrows.

“Just because I’m a Flyers fan doesn’t mean I don’t acknowledge your incredible talent…I just hate you for it,” she says simply before taking another bite of her dinner. I feel my stomach sink, and I bite my lip.

“You hate me for it?” I ask quietly. She looks up, and when she sees the look on my face, her face softens into an apologetic smile.

“I don’t hate you…I just…it’s the whole rivalry thing. I’m supposed to have this disdain for all things Sidney Crosby,” she says, floundering to explain, but her words are just like sucker punches to the gut. I take a hasty sip of my water, and avoid her eyes. Disappointment is welling in my gut, and it makes me want to throw up or hide under the table.

“Oh,” is all I manage to say.

“No! I didn’t mean it like that! I just…oh God this is so hard to explain…I mean…I don’t like it when you play the Flyers because you have this way of slaying my team…but off the ice…I’ve never met anyone quite like you, and it’s only been a few weeks,” she says, jumping up from her seat. I look up at her, my eyes full of confusion, and she bites her own lip.

“I’m not getting what you’re saying,” I say. My voice is hollow.

“On-ice, you’re Crosby, you’re the enemy, you’re that talented guy that everyone who has to play against dreads…off-ice, you’re Sidney, you’re the goofy Canadian guy who stumbled into my coffee shop one day, you’re my friend, and you’re the guy who is nice enough to buy me flowers,” she squeaks. I feel some of the disappointment ebb away, but I’m still a little upset about the whole thing. I take a bite of my food, which seems to have a lot less flavor now that I’m freaking out, and Jane sits back down, her arms at her side, regret written all over her face.

“Aren’t I the same person on and off the ice?” I ask after a few seconds of awkward silence.

“I…I don’t know,” she admits, and I sigh. We finish the meal in uncomfortable silence, and then Jane stands up. She heads towards the door, and I want to kick myself in the head.

“Jane…wait,” I say, and she turns. She looks like she wants to cry, and I immediately regret the whole argument, if you can even call it that.

“Sidney, it’s okay if you don’t want me to stay. I said some things I shouldn’t have said, so I get it. I’m an idiot,” she says sadly, and I quickly shorten the distance between us.

“It’s not a big deal. I think I get it now. You don’t hate me personally; you just hate me when I’m playing against your team. It’s not even hating me, it’s just hating what I do…so…I think I’m okay with that, for now anyway,” I explain, and Jane smiles weakly.

“Really?” she asks. I nod.

“Yeah, really. So let’s watch a movie,” I say, gesturing towards the couch, where there are five or six different movies sitting. She shuffles through a few movies before picking Tron: Legacy.

“Tron?” I ask in surprise.

“Yeah. I love sci-fi movies, and I used to watch the original Tron all the time,” she says with a smile. I gape at her for a second, and then take the DVD case from her hand and put the disk in the player.

“I’ve never met a girl who likes sci-fi,” I say, and Jane laughs, flopping onto my couch.

“I’m not your average girl though,” she shrugs, and I smile.

“You’re also in my seat,” I say, and she grins at me devilishly. The tension is instantly gone, and I decide to pick up her legs and slip beneath them. She rests her legs on top of mine as the movie starts, but as it goes on, she somehow shifts so that she’s sitting in my lap. My arms naturally curl around her waist, and she rests her head against my chest. We both sigh contentedly, and then laugh.

“You’re something else Crosby,” she mutters, and I raise my eyebrows.

“So are you Jane,” I chuckle. She smiles and tilts her head up. Her lips brush against mine lightly, and I swallow roughly. I lean down slightly, and brush my lips against hers. She smiles, and I take that as an invitation to kiss her. Her soft, pouty lips mold against mine perfectly, and this time the kiss is a lot longer than the kisses we shared a few nights ago. We break apart, and an instant later, she’s kissing me again. We just sit there, giving and taking kisses, and we don’t even realize when the credits begin to roll. My heart is racing a mile a minute with each little peck, and I wrap my arms tightly around her waist. In a lot of ways, I feel like a kid again, sitting with the first girl I ever kissed, behind the bleachers after one of my high school games. This is better though, and as her tongue brushes against my bottom lip I shudder. I run my tongue along her bottom lip, and she sighs heavily. Our tongues meet, and soon enough we’re feeling out each others’ mouths with our tongues. Her fingers lace through my hair, and I hold her close to me. After a while, she breaks away from me and her eyes are sparkling. I know that I have the same happy look on my face, and I smile at her.

“So, uh…is this going to become a regular thing?” I ask hopefully.

“I don’t do friends with benefits Sidney, so…you’re going to have to commit to just one girl if you want this to become a regular thing,” she says sternly.

“You really think I’m seeing another girl right now?” I ask quietly. She looks at me for a minute, and then shakes her head.

“You may be hot, but you’re no player,” she smirks. I raise my eyebrows.

“You think I’m hot?” I ask.

“Duh, why else would I be making out with you right now?” she asks, chuckling to herself.

“I don’t know, my charming personality?” I ask, and she laughs.

“That too,” she smiles.

We joke around and kiss for a few more hours, and then she looks at the clock. It’s past 12, and she gasps.

“Shit, I’ve gotta get going! I have that art show to get ready for!” she cries, leaping up from the couch. I pout, but stand up and hand her her purse.

“I had a lot of fun,” I say lamely, before dashing into the kitchen and wrapping the bottoms of her bouquet in wet paper towels, and then tin foil.

“Thanks,” she smiles.

“You’re quite welcome,” I say, and she opens the door. I lean against the door frame as she starts off down the hallway, but I grin broadly as she turns on her heel and marches right back towards me.

“Forget something?” I ask innocently. She nods, and then gets up on her tiptoes and kisses me. The kiss is a lot rougher than anticipated, but it softens up a bit as I place my hands on the small of her back and capture her soft lips in mine. We stand in the hallway kissing for what feels like a few seconds, but as she breaks away I realize it’s been more like a few minutes. She trots down the hallway, waves goodbye, and then vanishes into the elevator.

“Damn,” I say, leaning once more against my doorframe.