Je t'aime, tu sais?

Alex was standing by the countertop jamming the keys on her phone in response to a text that was not from Tyler. The game had finished and Jamie was washing bowls of ice cream as her friend packed to head home.
"Well, I can now say I've officially watched a hockey game," Alex said, tossing her phone into her bag and hoisting it over her shoulder. "I can also now officially declare that I can no ignore Ronald, too." The two shared and eye roll and a greater understanding for their love/hate relationship with their theses. Alex's had something to do with the American government and Ronald Reagan's foreign policy. Needless to say, her thesis was one of few numbers that soared over Jamie's head.
Jamie set the bowls on the drying rack and turned to her friend, drying her hands on a light green dish towel.
"Thanks for having me," Alex smiled, heading around the back of the breakfast bar and towards the door.
"Of course; there was no way I could have handled that by myself," Jamie blushed. Almost as if on cue as she selfishly turned her thoughts away from her friend's concern about what Tyler Seguin thought of her and to her current mind-invader, her phone came alive next to her and Alex beamed stopping mid-sentence.
"No way; is he texting you? The game hasn't even been over for a half hour; don't these dudes like, shower and stuff?"
Jamie bit her lip as her eyes widened. She had spent the entirety of the game missing him far too much than she normally would have admitted or even allowed herself to. The time they spent together had been keeping her alive all holiday season, even if they had only met a week or so ago. Who could deny him? She sighed.
Maybe Jamie was desperate; maybe her subconscious was tired of being squelched all the time by numbers and phrases like "I assert," or "As demonstrated in the previous chapter...". Maybe she had neglected her emotional self for too long and it was finally breaking loose...
The phone did not cease to rumble.
"He's CALLING you!" Alex squealed. The two looked at the caller ID that revealed part of his name. "Answer it!"
Jamie swiped the phone open and breathlessly answered.
"Hello?"
"Jamie," Patrice smiled. "How are you?" His voice was warm and her stomach fluttered.
"I'm well, thanks," she blushed and bit her lip, turning away from her friend who was ecstatically pumping her fists. "And yourself?" She asked in French.
"Fairly fine," he answered. Jamie thought of the stick he received to the face in the second period. "I got knocked around a bit and have to stay up to monitor a potential concussion, but, I'm fine. I'm having a fellow team mate or two over for some homemade pizza--Guill grills it. Would you like to join?" There was a beat of silence. "I'd be very happy to see you," he confessed. Jamie could hear car doors opening and a few voices in the back.
"I'll follow you?" She heard a man say.
"What? Yeah, yeah," Patrice answered away from the phone. "Ferry's driving my Audi."
She bit her lip. "Oh, that'd be great," she smiled. "I don't have to get up early tomorrow anyway."
He gave her the directions to his condo, and they parted ways in French. She shut her phone off and looked at Alex. The two laughed and hugged, giggling and repeating: "Oh my GOD!"

Patrice reclined on his white couch with his sock clad feet on the coffee table. He unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and sipped a significant portion out of it.
"You're going to look like such a warrior, dude," Ferry laughed, sitting opposite him in a leather chair. The highlights from the game were on NESN and the two watched, Ferry with his chin resting on his shoulder, as he sat next to the screen. "You'll have her swooning," he winked at his friend and Patrice rolled his eyes. He wasn't mad at his friend for supporting him; even if he was giving him a bit of a hard time. After the game he had finally confessed to Andy, saying he'd like for him to meet Jamie; the woman who had occupied his mind for the past couple of weeks. He hadn't told Ferry too much, but enough for him to put the pieces together as to why Patrice had seemed so elusive and unconcentrated lately.
Patrice laughed and touched the stitches on the top of his cheek. He had taken a Rangers stick to the face in the second period and smacked the back of his head on the boards trying to obviate it. The team doctors had mentioned him probably needing to stay awake for a few hours to monitor how he felt. If he wasn't dizzy or sleepy beyond what was normal post-game, he could go to bed around three or four in the morning. Patrice was a bit perturbed because this meant they would expect him to sleep through morning skate; an activity he loathed missing.
"I dunno how I feel about this," Marchy sulked, slumping on the couch next to his friend.
"About what, Marchy?"
"You guys grill pizza?"
"It's good," Patrice nodded. "Really good."
Marchy shook his head and drained his water bottle, tossing it on the coffee table with the other five empties.
Gretta sat in the other leather chair opposite from Ferry, nursing a glass of red wine. "Your friend coming?" She asked Patrice.
"I hope," he shrugged, trying not to divulge his nerves and maintain his post-game nonchalant composure.
"Did he tell you that she watched the game?" Ference asked, raising an eyebrow at Gretta.
"I shouldn't have told you anything!" Patrice laughed. "You're--what's the saying? You're making a mountain out of a molehill!"
"Yeah man, play it cool," Marchy said, raising his hand towards Ferry and lifting his chin. "Leave Bergy and the girl alone, and go for her friend, like me." He made a heroic gesture, and the group laughed. The doorbell rang and Marchy raced to get it. Patrice sat up too fast and felt dizzy, but was careful not to let his concerned friend or family know of it; his main desire was to meet Jamie at the door before Brad.
"Hello, my new friend," Marchy said, opening Patrice's door. "Let me welcome you to the house of Bergeron," he said in French. Jamie blushed and said thank you as she stepped inside. Patrice approached her and grabbed her black peacoat with the gold buttons and hung it for her. He offered to take her hat, as well.
"It's not a long walk, is it?"
"Oh no, not at all," she smiled, pulling her boots off.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to drive you; it took me a bit longer than usual to get restitched, and then I wasn't able to drive myself," he guided her into the living room area. She faced the TV set and smiled at Gretta, who waved a hello.
"You know my friend Marchy; this is another team mate, Andrew." Andy got up and extended a hand.
"Andy," he smiled, shaking her hand.
"Jamie," she blushed. Patrice made eye contact with his friend and he mouthed "You devil!" as Jamie turned from him.
"Would you like to see the pizza? Guill is grilling it now," Patrice offered, swatting at Andy and Marchy who were nodding and winking at him as soon as Jamie's back was turned. He saw Gretta laugh and put her head in her wine-free hand.
Patrice took a moment to notice how beautifully Jamie had been put together, presumably after watching the game in the comfort of her home. She was in knee high boots and dark, skin tight jeans. She had a snug tank top that hugged her slim waist with a large, warm knitted sweater over top. It was plum purple.
As he admired her, Patrice slid the glass door back and they entered his porch, overlooking the harbor.
"So beautiful!" Jamie gasped in French. Patrice nodded, but not in agreement with the view.
"Hello, my friend," Guill said from the grill. "It is quite nice to hear a familiar accent," he laughed, taking a sip of his craft beer. "Have a look," he motioned for her to come near. Patrice stood behind her, worried he might even be standing too close. She smelt of familiar unfamiliar flowers, just like her lavender colored sheets. His stomach turned with an unfamiliar sensation; one he wanted to feel again, however. He closed his eyes to steady his dizzy head, praying for and against accidentally brushing up against her and feeling the pit of his stomach freeze.
Patrice had never felt this way before about or around a woman. He felt constantly like he had to prove himself worthy--not uncommon in his history of competitive hockey--but unlike the ice sport, he didn't feel the need to prove himself to meet her expectations, but to solidify the idea that he was worth it for her to himself; that he was worthy enough to be around her--in the same room as her--the subject of her gaze. He also felt a rash desire to be with her closely, to pull her to him, for her to feel his hard body and heat. He felt his chest graze her shoulder and he snapped out of his day dream.
"Sorry, sorry just felt a bit off balance," he quickly stuttered, stepping back from Jamie.
"Patrice, seriously, we should go to the hospital," Guill said, sternly.
"Oh, please don't worry," Jamie pleaded simultaneously, placing her hand on Patrice's arm. "Do you need me to take you?"
"Don't be silly," he replied just as firmly to Guill, shooting him a look. "I couldn't miss these," he smiled, gesturing to the pizza. Jamie gave him a hard look, examining the stitches stuck to his otherwise blemish free skin. He saw her bite her lip and then watched her hair twirl in ringlets down her back as she looked back to the grill.
The two pizzas looked gourmet. One had grilled chicken, peppers, onions, artichoke hearts and chunks of tomato on it, the other had feta cheese, olives, tomato, basil and the works.
Jamie continued to bite her lip as she looked at Patrice with excited eyes. "This smells amazing!" She told Guill.
"Guill likes to cook," Patrice nodded. "And he's fairly good at it."
The door swung open and Marchy poked his head outside. "Naoko's got you on TV, you stud." Jamie and Guill laughed, and Patrice made a laughing noise that was more out of embarrassment.
"I will not be watching that," he stated, finishing his water.
"What? Why not? Let's listen," Jamie said, giving his hand a quick tug and entering the condo.
"Better listen to the girl," Guill said in French, raising his eyebrows. Patrice smiled and followed inside, shaking his head.

"Well, you know, I obviously needed stitches but the more concerning part of the hit was my head on the boards. You know, ah, it was kind of a hard hit; I was trying to avoid the high stick, so, ah, it's all part of the game I guess." TV Patrice said, speaking to the media. He stood in front of his stall in the locker room. His hair was wet with sweat and although it was difficult to see the sweat on his black long shirt, the thin, stretched material revealed where his pads had been snug throughout the final period.
"And what is protocol for you, tonight?" Naoko, the reporter asked.
"Well, ah, you know, the team doctors have told me I may have sustained a mild concussion, so, ah, I'll be headed home and have to keep myself awake for a couple of hours to monitor my symptoms."
The Patrice sitting next to Jamie was red in the face and examining the paper wrap around his plastic water bottle with great intent. Jamie could feel the heat radiating off of his body, unsure of whether he naturally created more to make up for the cold ice time he had constantly exposed his body to throughout his life, or if he was really that embarrassed to be on TV.
Jamie stole a glance, but knew Andy was stealing a glance at her. She met his eyes and he smiled, slowly looking back toward the TV.
She contemplated the man; he had a wedding ring on that flashed when he answered his pocketed cell phone. Patrice had commented that he was very close with Andy, and that the two took their careers very seriously, and often ate together with a strict adherence to the team diet and exercise. Andy excused himself and walked to the window that revealed the skyline of Boston. He laughed and cooed into the phone, speaking softly to someone. He promised the receiver of the caller pancakes in the morning for not coming home after the game to sleep with her.
He hung up as Guill came in with the pizza and the crowd moved to the kitchen. "Ava's crying because I didn't come home; you're a homewrecker," Andy laughed, swinging his arm around Patrice.
"Aw, now I feel bad," Patrice laughed.
"I'm just kidding. Someone's got to keep you awake till four am, and I'm your bud. You're invited to pancakes after morning skate, too."
Patrice made a victorious movement with his fist and grabbed plates and handed them out as Gretta sliced the pizza. Marchy looked longingly at Andy, waiting for his invite. The two exchanged looks and laughed. Undoubtedly, the whole team was to be invited.
"You have a daughter?" Jamie asked Andy. "Yes, two," Andy smiled. My youngest, Ava, gets upset when she wakes up in the middle of the night and I'm not sleeping with her after games. She's not allowed to stay up so after I get home and kiss her goodnight she makes me sleep with her for a bit," he chuckled.
"That's so sweet," Jamie smiled. "How old?"
"She's four; Stella's six." He pulled out his phone and illuminated the screen: two blonde girls in the middle of a dance illuminated his background. Both were beaming and covered in plastic beads, the hair frozen in time and airspace.
"So sweet," Jamie repeated, smiling.

While they were eating, Jamie found herself next to Andy at the breakfast bar, and Patrice deep in conversation with Gretta, speaking fluent, fast French. Marchy and Guill sat on the couch watching highlights from the NBA and drinking craft beer.
The man was very well built and strong, much like Patrice but a fair few inches shorter. He was heavily tattooed yet soft to look at with his dark framed glasses and hair pulled to the side. The men were still impeccably dressed, even in their sweat pants. Patrice wore thin, light grey underarmor sweat pants with a blue reebok shirt. Andy was in Bruins shorts and a white v-neck.
"You won't be cold?" Jamie asked her new friend.
"I won't; I'll be sleeping here tonight. He's my bud and I have to wake him up every hour to monitor the concussion."
"Is it really a concussion?"
"A suspected one, so we have to just take all the proper precautions. He'll miss morning skate, too." He took a big bite of pizza, and Jamie found herself wondering how many calories these men must ingest in a day.
"It would totally be an appropriate time for you to invite him out to breakfast," Andy said, emphasizing the word totally and unsuccessfully hiding his grin. "Ava'll still be able to force a pancake or two down his throat after; don't worry about that. He's a softie when it comes to my kids." He winked and Jamie blushed, as she looked down at her pizza.
"You should do it," he continued, nodding at her. "My buddy really likes you--I mean, you should do it if you like him, too, y'know? Don't do anything you don't want to do." He took another half moon bite, licking his lips. "Ever."
Jamie laughed.
"But, in all seriousness; he's crazy about this crepe place in Cambridge." Andy flashed her a dashing smile and Jamie bit her lip, flushing pink.