Je t'aime, tu sais?

Patrice, Ferry, Looch and Soups all took their seats around a circular table in the back of an Italian restaurant in the North End. Patrice was freshly showered and they all were newly dressed out of their sweats and into casual wear.
He looked down at his left leg, bouncing up and down nervously and at his phone outline in the pocket of his dark wash jeans. He placed his hand gently over it, partially to determine if there was a text, and partially to quell his leg.
He always got jittery after a bad-ass workout. Like he could go again.
"Hell yeah I'm getting pizza," Soupy said, flipping open his menu and reaching for his water. "I'm famished."
"Same here," Ferry agreed, sliding the menu on his lap and bending forward to read it. Patrice quietly scanned the letters and words, unable to fully take them in as his mind swarmed. He had purposefully invited the guys out for advice; particularly having to do with Jamie and his upcoming trip to Quebec City. Ferry hadn't led him astray yet, and really followed his heart, a quality Patrice emulated in his old friend; Milan was the brutally honest one, good for telling you like it is and how he really feels, a quality in a friend Patrice was thankful to have; and although he wasn't as close with Soups as he was the other two, he knew Soupy valued privacy higher than anything else, just like he did, and he was comfortable that any information he divulged to him would not be discussed outside their party.
"Bergy?"
"Yeah, I dunno man," Patrice sighed, assuming they were still talking about food and running a hand through his still wet hair, cold from their walk from the Garden.
"The chicken parm is always good," Milan suggested.
"Yeah, I might go with that," he said, his French-Canadian accent thick. "No cheese, though."
The waiter brought them all waters and took their orders and Patrice waited for a lull in conversation about morning skate to broach the subject of his interest. Valentine's day was coming and he felt a swarming pressure in his head similar to that right before he heard his name called at the 2003 NHL Draft. He and Jamie were at that blissful yet awkward stage of their relationship where they were definitely together, but they weren't.... together.
Yet.
"You know what I'm fuckin' tired of hearing? Whitesides yelling at Segsy," Milan said, strongly gesturing with his right arm.
"The kid just needs to be more diligent, he's so good," Soupy said.
"Yeah, needs to hit the gym more; I invited him to Pilates but he won't go!" Ferry nodded, scrolling through his iPhone.
"Pilates?!" Soups said, scrunching up his nose as he and Milan laughed.
"Yeah what's wrong with Pilates?" Ferry asked defensively.
"Everything's wrong with Pilates, Ferr," Milan stated, incredulously. "Brittany does Pilates!"
"Oy, you guys better watch it; that's my little liney you're talking about," Patrice cautioned jokingly, straightening his tired leg and sliding his own phone out of his pocket.
He was going to text Jamie and ask her how her thesis was while secretly hoping she would respond to his invitation earlier to come to tonight's game.
He wasn't even sorry about shamelessly asking her. Even if she shut him down again, at least she would know he wanted her to come and was thinking about her, even during hockey.
"I just don't understand how you can seriously admit to going to Pilates; as a full grown man who plays in the NHL," Milan laughed as their waiter served the bread and olive oil. Each man immediately reached for a roll, their eyes not leaving each other and Patrice's not leaving his phone. Not a single one of them dipped it in the oil or broke it open to evenly smooth butter into its steaming surface; each roll immediately met its demise instantly upon its arrival at the table, between the sharp, white teeth of the hungry hockey players, who sighed lovingly into its soft, warm embrace.
"You're so conceited," Ferry said after a minute of nutritious bliss, shaking his head at Milan and dipping the last piece of his roll in the peppered olive oil.
"Wh--I am not! It's PiLATES!"
"Hey, I went to hot yoga once," Patrice offered, shrugging and slipping his phone back in his pocket.
"Bull shit," Soups said, his mouth open, eyes wide in disbelief.
"No way," Milan laughed.
"Yup. I did. At the Boston Sports Club out by Harvard. Just like, two weeks ago," he said, flashing Soups two fingers with his roll free hand.
"Your girl made you go," Soupy said, still in utter shock.
"No," he laughed, blushing and dipping his other half of bread in olive oil. "She bet me I couldn't keep up," he triumphantly declared. "And I did."
"Can you imagine Bergy in downward dog?" Ferry joked, putting his hands on the table and attempting to imitate the pose in his seat.
The men howled in laughter.

"I literally love your sister," Alex declared, hoisting Jamie's sliding closet doors open and facing her shelves of sweaters, leggings and suit jackets.
Jamie heaved a sigh and fell back on her bed. "I don't feel well," she complained.
"Shut up; we're going," Alex sternly said, pointing at her best friend severely and then returning to sliding coat hangers around in the depths of Jamie's closet, looking for the perfect outfit for the game in an hour. "No more bitching and moaning; you gotta support yo man," she said in some kind of thick accent Jamie couldn't place. By the looks of it, Alex couldn't place it either as they looked at each other confusedly and broke out into laughter. "I'm thinking tight jeans, tall black boots, and... shit... do neither of us have anything with their logo on it? We're bad Bostonians..." Alex's searching became more frantic.
"I'm thinking WINE," Jamie laughed, rolling off of her bed and disappearing into the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of red from its resting place on top of the fridge, and made her way back into her room with two glasses.
She sighed as she poured her and her friend a glass, and nursed hers in one hand and pulled out her phone with the other. She smiled as she reread her last exchange with Patrice in which he further bribed her to come to his game tonight a mere three hours earlier.
"These would be you and Alex's seats." He had said, attaching a picture he had taken while sitting in them. The bench was right on his right, and the glass was right in front of them.
"I can't tell where they are :(" She had responded, a trick up her sleeve.
"No?" He had texted back quickly. "They're front row." He had sent another. "And I'd be able to see you when I'm on the bench :)" He said in a third message.
"I can't tell. Maybe you should take another picture." She had texted him back slyly, remembering a grin teasing its way across her face as she closed her moleskine diary for a study break.
A few minutes later, he sent another picture of the actual two seats for which he had gotten tickets with the text, "Better??"
"Nope." She had responded, feeling a little cruel as she imagined him furrowing his brow and not understanding her humor. She hoped he wouldn't worry himself an ulcer over her playful teasing.
"AA1 and AA2..." he texted her back.
"Still can't tell!"
A few minutes later, she received a picture of Patrice himself, arm extended to hold the phone in front of him in seat AA1, his arm wrapped around an invisible Jamie hypothetically seated in AA2. He had a cheeky grin on his face, his eyebrows raised playfully. His text said: "Gotcha ;)"
"WHAT IS THIS" Alex shouted, her ass sticking out her Jamie's closet, her whole upper body lost somewhere in the dressers jammed into the side of the small space. She emerged holding Patrice's Bruins shirt. "Please tell me this is his. Please, James."
Jamie smiled a stupid, big, silly smile and blushed as Alex jumped on the bed next to her, screaming.
"YOU TWO ARE SO ADORABLE STOP IT!"

Patrice poked his head out of the private entrance on the ground floor of the Garden where he told Alex and Jamie to meet him. The very big security guard with the phony goatee raised an eyebrow at him skeptically, his earpiece cascading in curly-cues down the back of his ear and into his suit.
"May I help you?" He said, his voice thick with a Bostonian accent.
"Sorry. Waiting for someone..." Patrice mumbled, letting the door shut behind him and standing awkwardly next to the guard. He watched the man's beady eyes look at the tall pillar across from them that displayed a life-sized picture of Patrice in full gear with his Reebok hockey stick and trail back to him. They narrowed, trying to decipher his face under his Bruins baseball hat.
Patrice nervously looked down his front. He was in athletic shorts and sneakers with his long socks pulled up his shins to his knees to keep his lower leg muscles warm; he knew he probably looked dumb. He hoped the baseball hat and hoodie might help to deter people from recognizing him as they stood in line for their will call tickets.
"Does Charleen know you're bringin' people in?" The security guard asked after sharing a few moments with Patrice people watching. There were so many black and yellow fans.
"Uh, yup. Taken care of," Patrice nodded, his hands in his hoodie pockets, twisting his big knuckled fingers and repeatedly drying out his palms on the top of his opposite hand. Charleen was the usher for the private entrance section, as special guests weren't allowed in the locker room this close to the game. Anyone who was invited by a member of the team was allowed through the entrance and Charleen would take them immediately to their seat at the start of first period. That way they couldn't be spotted or singled out as personal invitees by the fans.
He was so excited for Jamie to come tonight; slightly nervous, but more so in high hopes that'd she'd fall in love with the sport or the team or the spirit that accompanied nearly every facet of his life. If she didn't love hockey, there would be immeasurable speed bumps up ahead in their relationship. Nothing he couldn't handle or wouldn't care to handle, it would just be a serious lifestyle adjustment for him.
He honestly wanted the girl he was crazy about to understand the part of his life he was just as crazy about.
And he'd be damned if he didn't pursue things the right way so that he could honestly think there would be a relationship between them to have.
There was going to be.
He was going to make it happen.
"Patrice?" His ears perked up as he heard his name and he raised his head to nervously search for Jamie.
"Hey!" He cried, extending his arms to wrap Jamie in a big hug. As she rose to her tip toes to fit properly against his chest, he happily breathed in, his nose in her hair, smelling that familiar smell of unfamiliar flowers. His body warmed and his chest glowed, his eyes closed and the hair on the back of his neck and arms stood up.
As they parted he kissed her cheek.
"Hi!" She squealed, smiling a big smile and then biting her lip. "We made it!"
"Yeah you did," he laughed, outstretching his arm to Alex and embracing her in a friendly hug. "I'm happy about it."
The security guard opened the private entrance door and Patrice stood to the side to let the girls in. Alex entered first, and as she walked by, Jamie grabbed Patrice's hand and they shared a smile.
"Just down this hall here," Patrice said, gesturing through the cement brick, boring hall way. In the distance you could hear men talking and laughing; the locker room was a few turns away. Somewhere from deep within the massive building, you could hear the rumble of a crowd and Kanye West.
"Traffic at all?" He asked.
"No, nothing too too bad," Jamie replied, turning to face him and taking a few steps sideways to keep walking. They smiled at one another again.
Patrice was dying to kiss her; he felt absolutely filled to the brim of his hat with happiness that she had come to see him play. He felt as if it was all he had ever wanted...
Save for last night, that is.
"Left here; this is Charleen," Patrice said, introducing their private usher. "And these," he pulled their tickets out his hoodie pocket and handed them to the older lady with curled red hair. "Are your tickets," he smiled.
"Are you sure we don't owe you anythi-" Alex started, quickly.
"Sure!" Patrice said, raising his hands in surrender. "No big deal!" He promised.
"Well thanks," Jamie said, turning to him again, biting her lips to fight off her smile. Alex examined the tickets with Charleen and before Patrice's eyes could make their way back to the beautiful girl in front of him, she had quickly pushed herself up against him, her hands on his chest, her lips reaching for his and her forehead knocking his baseball cap off of his head. He laughed as her lips met his and he grabbed the hat on his shoulder and pressed his other hand to the small of her back, steadying her in her eagerness.
Kissing, they shared a smile.
He sloppily fixed his baseball hat back on his head with one hand and properly wrapped his arms around her, meeting her lips again for a kiss just as eager but slightly more tame.
As they parted and blushed, he saw Alex and Charleen exchange sweet looks and if at all possible, his cheeks turned more red.
"Ooh, I don't mind him. He never has any guests so this is just the cutest thing!" Charleen said, waiving Patrice off.
"Aw come on Charleen! People come see me play sometimes!" Patrice laughed. "Give me some credit!"
"Mm hm," she replied with sass for a few laughs. "No one this pretty!" She gestured to the two girls with the tickets. Jamie looked back to him, giggled and waived goodbye as she walked backwards to join Alex and the usher, making their way through the door and into the big, cold arena.
"Good luck!" She mouthed, beaming.