Perfect Symmetry

Kaner and I watched the final movie, The Breakfast Club without much more talking, since I was still mulling over his words, and he was drifting off to sleep. He occasionally sniffled, but his coughing had ceased and his cheeks were no longer bright red. When the film ended, I poked his chest gingerly.

“Patrick?” I whispered, “the movie’s over. I’d better get home.”

His blue eyes fluttered open and I had to look away to avoid their bright gaze.

“You don’t have to go. Stay the night,” he offered with a yawn.

I contemplated this. It was pretty late, and I was reaching that point where I can’t be bothered to move anywhere, so this offer did present some advantages.

“You’re sick,” I replied dumbly.

He laughed. “I have a perfectly sanitary guest room, Jazz.”

I snorted. “I’m sure you do.”

With a little more arm-twisting, Patrick got me to stay. Partly because of those blue eyes, and partly because I could feel myself dozing off the longer I sat there.
~

I woke up to someone loudly knocking on my door. I forced my eyes open and saw the mountain of pillows that surrounded me. Hair covered my eyes and my arm was asleep because I had been sleeping on it. The knocking resumed and I groaned.

“What?” I growled threateningly.

I heard a laugh from the other side of the door.

“It’s like eleven o’ clock in the morning, Jazz. Wake up!” Patrick’s voice leaked through the door.

I rolled my eyes. “What happened to your dreadful illness?

“I’ve been cured! Magically! Your soup thing did the trick!” he laughed gleefully. “And since there isn’t really a chance for me to get to Boston is time for this afternoon’s game...I figure I could take you out on a real date. I plan on showing that Stalberg up.”

I grumbled loudly as I got up and dragged myself to the door. I opened the door to find Patrick leaning on the doorframe, flashing me a warm smile.

“God, you could probably stop wars with that smile,” I blurted out. In the embarrassment that followed, I clapped a hand over my mouth and blushed.

He took the compliment good-naturedly, patting me on the back.

“Come on, get ready,” he shoved me.

I cleared my throat. “We’ll have to go back to my place for clothes.”

Pat frowned, as if annoyed that this would take us off course.

“Well, there is another option...” he winked.

I rolled my eyes. “You turd.”

He laughed. “No, no. Come here.”

In his bedroom he displayed his collection of women’s clothing. Nice shirts, lazy shirts, jeans, skirts, scarves...it was a little disturbing.

“Wow, Pat. If I didn’t know you were a player before, I know you are now,” I sighed. “I’m not sure if we can go out on this date.”

Kaner chuckled. “Look, just wear the jeans. I’ll give you a nice Patrick Kane jersey to wear.”

I just did whatever he told me to, and pulled on the jeans, which somehow magically, conveniently fit. Kaner was grinning from ear to ear as he passed me the aforementioned shirt.

“A t-shirt, Pat? Really? It’s fucking freezing outside,” I complained loudly.

He shrugged. “I want you to wear my name!”

“And I don’t want to freeze my ass off,” I retorted, “give me a sweatshirt you cheapskate.”

Patrick gave me a mean glare and gave me a quick grin before fetching me a Blackhawks sweatshirt instead. He really did look much better. His voice was back to normal, his cough was gone, and the tiredness was gone from his eyes. He asked me what I wanted to do, and I shrugged.

“What does a classic date with Patrick Kane entail?” I asked teasingly.

Patrick’s ears turned red. “I...I don’t really date too much.”

I cracked up. “Damn, Kaner. I didn’t realize you were that bad.”

Now it was his turn to blush. “Shut up, Jazz. I bet you’ve only slept with what, less than five men?”

I stuck my tongue out. “I don’t see what’s so wrong with that.”

“Oh nothing’s wrong with that,” he continued devilishly. “Say, Jazz, how many men have you slept with?”

I shook my head in disappointment. “Nosy! It’s none of your business.”

“Under three?” he guessed.

I blushed. “I’m not telling you.”

“Oh my God. It’s only one guy, isn’t it? You’ve only had sex with one other man. Oh shit, I can see it in your face,” Patrick slapped his palm to his forehead.

I didn’t say anything. What could I do? Either I deny it and look guilty, or I admit it and get teased. It wasn’t true, but Patrick could probably twist my words and have me believing that it was.

“I don’t even want to know how many girls you’ve been with,” I said instead, turning the tables on him.

“What can I say? The girls love a man in a jersey,” Patrick puffed out his chest and strutted to the front door, grabbing his keys on the way.

He wasn’t as gentlemanly as Viktor, that’s for sure. He didn’t bother to open my car door, and the music was loud and obnoxious hip-hop music that I didn’t know the words to. The volume made it extremely loud to communicate with him. After a few minutes of him singing along to some crazy rap, I lowered the volume and switched the channel randomly. To my great luck, it landed on a Backstreet Boys song. Patrick shot me an irritated look, but gamely joined in as I sang along to “I Want it That Way.”

We drove towards the lake, where he explained that were going to do something really fun. We stopped at a beach, and I looked at him questioningly. It was far too cold to go swimming; the beach was mostly empty.

This was a change. Pat scrambled out of the car, ignoring my queries. He then opened the trunk of his car and pulled out two kites. One was Buzz Lightyear and one was Woody. I begged for Buzz but he handed me Woody. I smiled evilly. The reverse psychology thing works every time. I absolutely adored Woody.

“Hey Pat?” I said conversationally as we stood on the dunes and unraveled our kites.

“What’s up?” he asked, concentrating on undoing a knot in his.

“I have no idea how to fly a kite,” I admitted guiltily.

He looked up at me in disbelief. “All you have to do is hold onto the string, Jazz. It’s not exactly rocket science.”

I rolled my eye. “I know...but how do you actually get the damn thing in the air?”

Kaner laughed. “I’ll help you, okay?”

And to his credit, he did. He dumped Buzz on the ground and paid close attention to Woody. It was certainly windy enough, so he just ran with it for a while until the breeze caught it and Woody was flying. Eventually, he got his kite up in the air too, and we stood there, laughing and shivering at the same time as the kites hovered there.

“This is fun,” I declared gleefully, as the kite pulled me down the dune.

Patrick grinned in delight. “I told you so, didn’t I?”

We stayed at the beach until about three or four, when we decided to hit a nearby coffee shop for some refreshments. I hadn’t really had breakfast or lunch, so my tummy was rumbling, and Pat immediately noticed.

We both ordered cappuccinos, and I asked for a raisin scone to eat with it. The shop even heated it from me, and Pat sneaked a bite of it when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. In response, I sniffed his cup, explaining that I was just checking that it wasn’t an Irish coffee. I had already experienced a drunk Patrick Kane, and while it was very amusing, it was also really embarrassing. He flicked foam at me and stuck his tongue out at me for that.

“So what brought you to the windy city?” he asked conversationally, shoving his messy hair away from his face.

I suddenly came to the realization that if his short hair looked that windswept, my hair was probably a fucking mess. I then had another epiphany: I didn’t really care at this moment, and I don’t think Patrick did either, so I pushed the self-conscious thoughts from my mind and took a sip of my coffee before answering.

“University,” I explained, wiping the foam off of my mouth.

“Which one?” Pat asked curiously.

I shot him a smile. “I wonder if you can guess.”

“University of Chicago?” he looked impressed.

The coffee stuck in my throat and I coughed raucously. U Chicago? That was flattering.

“Hell no,” I guffawed, “did you say that because I’m India and we’re supposed to be super smart? You little racist,” I teased.

Patrick held up his hands in self-defense. “You seem smart. I feel like you could have gone there.”

I grinned at that. “Aww, you’re too sweet, Patrick. Actually, I love being called smart as much as I love being called pretty. Anyway, I went to Loyola University.”

“Still a good school,” he nodded in appreciation. “Good parties.”

I shoved him from across the table. “Don’t say that on a date, you dolt.”

Patrick chortled. “Yes ma’am. You don’t ever want to go back to California?”

I shrugged. “There are more job opportunities here. San Jose is very tech-y. I was better off here. What about you? How was Buffalo?”

“Good. My family still lives there, so I go back when I can. I have three sisters; they wouldn’t let me stay away for very long. And they’re always begging me to bring Jon with me,” he chuckled.

I smiled at that. “I can imagine. I wish had siblings.”

Patrick’s grin broadened. “Well, I think you can consider a lot of the guys on the team your brothers. We’ve got your back.”

“If you’re my brother, then even this fake-date seems wildly inappropriate,” I wrinkled my nose jokingly.

“I think it’s time to get back, anyway. I want to check the score of the boys’ game, and I forgot my phone at home,” Kaner’s fingers were itching at his side.

I pulled out my phone and opened my scores app before frowning. The Blackhawks were losing 0-2, and I relayed this information to Pat, whose hands balled into fists.

“Damn it. Come on, I’ll drive you home,” he offered, standing up and putting his jacket back on.

I let him drive me home, and I even let him put his rap music on. He dropped me off at around six, and I thanked him.

“It was a great faux date, Pat. You should try going on a few more of these,” I advised seriously, patting his leg before waving and getting out of the car.
~

3rd person Jon

The final score was 5-1 Bruins. How disappointing. Jon let Coach Q give them a speech, and then he went out to deal with the press. How could they have done better? How does this loss feel? The questions were all stupid and repetitive. How did they even write articles on this shit? The whole team was missing Kaner, which was obvious. The team was sluggish, the lines were jumbled up, and there was an element of spirit that was missing.

Jon bit his lip and packed up to head back to the hotel. He thought about picking up a girl to take with him, but it was never as fun without his best wingman.

He was ready to get a girl. The thought of Jazz with Stalberg made his stomach churn, but it was really none of his business. Get a girl, keep her around a while, and maybe the ache in his loins would finally ease. Hockey could only distract him for so long.
~
Jazz

The workweek always seemed like a huge chore after a relaxing weekend, particularly if I saw any of the guys that weekend. Patrick sent me a text to let me know that the rest of the guys would be home early Monday morning.

Sure enough, I got a call from Viktor at lunchtime, as I was out on my break at a café down the road from the office.

“Hey, you!” I greeted him cheerfully.

“Hey Jazz,” his voice was quieter, more resigned.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. “I know it was a tough game last night. You had a great goal though.”

There was silence on his end for a few moments. “Thanks, Jazz. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”

That stung a bit, but I shrugged it off and proceeded to bore him with whatever I was up to at work, and I mentioned Kaner and I hanging out at the beach.

“A fake date?” Viktor sounded suspicious.

I laughed. “Yeah. I told him he needed to practice; maybe you could give him some lessons on being a gentleman.”

“Some things are lost causes,” Viktor replied dryly.

I choked back my laugh and forced myself to grin instead.

“So are you busy this week?” I asked him curiously.

He sighed. “A bit, yeah. We’ve got back-to-back games this Thursday and Friday. But I want to have dinner with you this week.”

I smiled. “That sounds good. I’ve missed you.”

I could hear a hitch in his breathing when I said that.

“I’ve missed you too, Jazz. I’ll call you later, okay? Maybe you can come to one of the games?” he asked hopefully.

I bit my lip. “I’ll try. I’d love to, but things are pretty busy on my end too.”

“Well, dinner for sure, right?” he waited for clarification.

“Definitely,” I assured him. “And I’ll try and make it to at least one of the games.”
~
In the end, I planned on going to the Friday game, but I wasn’t able to leave the office until nine-thirty, and the game had started at six. I texted Viktor saying I was sorry.

He called me, exuberant after a solid win over the Florida Panthers, and told me to meet all of the guys at a local bar; they were celebrating after back-to-back wins. I changed into tight black pants and a sheer, loose cream shirt with little flowers sewn onto the front and dragged Hailey out to my car with me. She looked gorgeous, in a salmon pink blouse with a tight little skirt.

The bar was packed, as I expected. The first person I saw was Kaner, and I waved to him tentatively. A huge grin passed over his face and he bounded over to give me a huge bear hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“Did you see my spin-o-rama bad fucking ass goal?” he slurred in my ear.

I swatted at him. “Oh Pat. You’re drunk.”

“Hellz yes, Jazzy. We just won two fucking games and I scored a...a spinny goal thing,” he explained earnestly.

“I’m not helping you home,” I whispered in his ear before walking away.

This bar was decorated for Christmas, with lights and a tree in a corner. It made me smile. This was the best time of the year. I got a glass of champagne from the bartender and looked around for Hailey. I spotted her making out with Seabrook under some mistletoe. I shook my head as I turned away.

“Looks like your friend is busy,” Viktor’s voice pulled my attention to my left.

I’m not sure why I expected him to look different. He looked the same, but with the shiny eyes of a man whose had a couple beers. He was gripping an empty bottle, and he put it down on the counter before reaching for me.

“Hi,” I breathed as his chest collided with mine.

His lips curved into a smile and drew me closer. My eyes, however, somehow fell on Jon, who was sitting in a cozy booth with a girl. She was gorgeous, of course; dirty blonde hair, killer body. She looked like a model. His eyes met mine and his serious face stared at me, almost challenging me.

I turned away from him and kissed Viktor, my chest tightening a bit as I thought of that blonde girl. I hope she’s stupid. Because she’s definitely got me beat in the looks department.