Perfect Symmetry

this is the first part I’ve written in Jon’s point of view. Let’s see how it turns out, eh?

Jazz looked good today. But she always looks good , a little part of me inside whispered. I liked her in my jersey, the way the fabric settled gently on her hips and covered her chest. She was nervous, I could tell by her fidgeting and her protective stance, her arms around her middle as she talked to Stalberg.

I wrapped one towel around my middle and began to towel dry my hair. I watched as she laughed at something Stalberg said. What was he saying to her that was so funny? She had a lovely laugh and smile, and she was generous with both. Damn it, how could someone else’s happiness make me happy too?

I walked into the locker room, trying to look nonchalant but really trying to hear what Jazz was talking about with Stalberg. I heard him mutter something to her and take her hand. All right, that’s enough.

“Jazz, is Stalberg bothering you?” the words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I saw her turn to me with a smile on her face.

“No, he’s just being a hockey player,” she replied breezily.

Okay, so that means he was flirting with her. That’s fine. I guess. She said her goodbyes to Stalberg and I gave him the stink eye as he made his way out of the dressing room.

“Are you sure he wasn’t crossing any lines?” I asked, sounding like a paranoid idiot. Why did I care? She’s not my girlfriend.

I felt her hand on my shoulder and I snapped my gaze back onto her. She looked a little shocked at my fast reaction, but she reassured me again. I was looking at her jersey again, and her words were lost on me.

“Whatever you say,” I shrugged, having no idea what she had just said. “The jersey looks good on you.”

Then Kaner had a hissy fit because she didn’t have a Kane jersey, and I wanted to punch him.

She told me about her ordeal at work and I wanted to grab her and throw her up in the air when she said she was really embarrassed that I had the jersey delivered to her office.

I wanted to eat dinner with her, but she begged off, saying she had work the next day. She left, and I swear she swayed her hips on purpose as she walked out of the dressing room. But that wasn’t like Jazz. She probably just has amazing hips. Shit, I what is wrong with me?

“Shall we get some food, then?” Kaner was looking at me expectantly.

I shook my head quickly. “Yeah, what do you want?”

“Thai food,” Kaner replied instantly.

“I think I want Indian,” I added with conviction.

Kaner turned and smirked at me. “Yeah, you do!” he laughed like a hyena.

I shoved him roughly. “What the hell are you talking about you idiot?”
He tried to stop his laughter and ended up snorting instead.
“If you don’t get it, you’re the fucking idiot, Tazer. Now let’s go. And we’re getting Thai,” Kaner said definitively as we walked out.
~
Back to Jazz’s point of view

Work was really boring for the rest of the week, since I finished the work-up of what I wanted and I was waiting for my artists and photographers to actually make it.

On Wednesday, I got a text from Pat.

Hey, Stalberg asked me for your number at practice today. Should I give it to him?”

My heart leapt when I thought of Viktor’s kiss. I rubbed the top of my hand subconsciously.

Aww, it warms my heart that you asked for my permission, Pat. And yes, you can give it to him.

I waited impatiently for a reply, and I when it came I was unsurprised by the Pat’s response.

ooohh Jazz and Viktor. He must have really charmed you in the locker room on Monday.

I groaned when I saw it because it was true, and Pat knew me so well even though we met barely a week ago. I couldn’t think of a really good comeback, so I sent him

More than you ever did :)

Ouch that was a stab in the gut. Okay I’ll give it to him. Viktor’s a pretty good guy. But don’t tell Jon I said that.
~
It was Thursday when I heard from Viktor. He called me, which was nice.

“Hello?” I said into my phone just as I came home from work.

“Is this Jazz?” a deep, warm voice said on the other line.

I dropped my bag by the door and sat down on the couch. “Yes it is. Who is this?”

“It’s Viktor,” the voice rumbled.

“Oh!” I squeaked embarrassingly. “I forgot Pat gave you my number.”

“It was okay of him, right? I told him to ask you,” Viktor said quickly.

I laughed. “I know; he asked me. I’m glad. I should have given it to you on Monday.”

“Good. How are you?” he asked me politely.

“I’m okay. I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving next week, I could use the break.” I said this all in one breath and had to inhale sharply at the end. “How about you?”

“We’ve just arrived in Vancouver for our game. We’ll be back on Sunday,” he answered.

“Oh! Nobody told me you were going on the road. And I didn’t think to check the schedule,” I shook my head in idiocy. “How was the flight?”

“Not bad. Listen, next Saturday, after Thanksgiving, there’s a charity benefit sponsored by the Blackhawks. It’s a fancy thing – champagne, black ties, all that. Anyway, it’s boring if you go alone, and I wondered if maybe you’d like to go with me,” Viktor sounded a bit nervous and it was adorable.

“That sounds really nice,” I stifled a girlish giggle and crossed my legs on the sofa.

“If Toews or Kane already asked you, it’s fine, I-” he started before I cut in.

“Viktor!” I interrupted. “I would love to go with you. What time on Saturday?”

I heard him breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s at seven. I’ll pick you up.”

I gave him my address, and there was a moment of silence on the line.

“Well, I’d better go. I need a good rest for morning skate tomorrow,” Viktor admitted.

“Good night, Victor. And good luck; I’ll be watching the game,” I smiled into the phone, wishing he could see how happy I was.

“Good night, gorgeous.”
~

The Blackhawks lost in overtime to the Canucks, and I sat quietly in my apartment alone with the TV, wondering if my phone would ring. When it did, I mostly expected it to be Viktor.

“Hello?” I said into the receiver.

“Hi Jazz,” the voice was quiet and solemn. It was Jon.

I scrambled off of the sofa and muted the postgame analysis that was showing, and clamped my hand on the phone.

“Hey, I was watching,” I murmured softly.

I heard him sigh. “Yeah, it was a tough one.”

“At least you got a point out of it all,” I reminded him.

“It was my fault,” Jon whispered.

I groaned in my head. I knew this would happen. He’s the captain, so he’s got all these self-righteous thoughts of sacrifice and leadership.

“No it wasn’t,” I insisted firmly.

“If I had just skated a little bit harder to that loose puck...” his voice trailed off.

I sat up, indignant now. “Jon, you play as a team, you lose as a team. It’s just one game, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied glumly.

“You come back on Sunday, right?” I tried to wrap up this uncomfortable conversation.

“Yup.”

I tried to sound encouraging. “Then I’ll see you soon, okay? You played well, Jon. Stop acting so responsible.”

That got a quiet chuckle out of him. “I’ll try. See you later.”

“Good night,” I almost whispered it before hanging up.

God, these hockey players were hard work.