Je t'aime, tu sais?

Patrice gently eased Jamie's bedroom door open and took in the sleeping girl, the moon and streetlight casting down across her tiny body, turned away from him.
He instantly felt relief wash over him. It was so intense he realized he had closed his eyes and gently leaned into the door frame.
He never thought the week would end.
He felt so unhappy, un-whole without her in his life everyday; he hadn't coped very well.
And all the pain, today, he thought, looking at his bandaged hand in the dark.
He lifted his duffel and set it next to Jamie's small roller bag by her door and shut her bedroom door behind him.
He undid his belt buckle and slid his dress pants down around his ankles, stepping out of them silently and kicking them away from the bed. With his good hand he popped the perscription bottle of pain killers and tipped it back, skillfully selecting a single pill with his tongue and dry swallowing them. He capped the orange bottle and set it on Jamie's nightstand. He loosened his tie and struggled with his dress shirt buttons, sadly thinking of his little liney, sitting in his big studio apartment all by himself, lonely.
Patrice had suggested Marchy hang out with Looch and Valentina. He had found out that Owen was hardly an infant anymore--he was four--but that was still just a boy, and if Marchy wanted to get Katrina back, he was going to have to show her that he could grow up, that he could be a man. Patrice knew a few things about being a man, but not much about having a kid; he suggested Marchy maybe spend some time with Looch and his new baby girl, as Milan learned how to be a father.
His fingers twanged with pain as he absent mindedly tried to use them to speed up the process of undressing. He quietly gasped and dropped his useless right hand, shrugging out of his dress shirt and jacket, mumbling profanity.
He let them heap on the floor.
His body tingled with happiness as he pushed back the lavender comforter and submerged himself in Jamie's warmth and scent and softness. He sighed as he gently laid his head on the same pillow as her and brought her close to him, cradling his hurt hand under his chin, away from underneath Jamie's neck, where it usually rested.
Jamie let out a long, contented sigh, taking hold of his good hand wrapped around her shoulders and bringing his knuckles to her lips.
"Mon amoureux," she whispered, snaking her other hand behind her and holding onto the back of his hot neck, his hair bristling with pleasure. She massaged him with her small, warm fingers until she gently dragged her hand back under the covers, stroking his forearm until they fell into slumber.
He happily groaned, rubbing his cheek all over hers, dispelling his hot breath along the soft skin on her face.
For the first time all week, he couldn't be happier.

"Patrice, what happened?" Jamie whispered, urgently sitting on the end of the bed and cupping his chin.
He squinted in the bright morning light, his hands above his head, stretching and trying to shield his eyes from the sun. When he could, he got a good look at Jamie. He was slightly disoriented from the pain killers and his lack of sleep.
"What time is it?"
"Five thirty," Jamie said. "We need to leave in a half hour. Patrice, did you get hurt?" She asked, nervously. "What's this?!" She asked, gently taking hold of the elbow of his hurt hand. "Patrice," she said, worriedly, his voice thick with French.
"It's nothing, it's nothing," he cooed, rolling to her side and hugging her. She was wrapped in a towel and still damp from the shower.
He groaned, rubbing his face alongside the towel wrapped around her stomach.
"Was this from the game? When did this happen?" She asked, holding his broken hand in her lap, tracing his bruised fingernails with the slightest of touch. "I watched majority of the last period before I fell aslee--"
"Last two minutes," he said, his voice husky with sleep. "Dougie got pushed and stepped on me by accident."
She sighed and shook her head, pushing him gently back into the bed and tracing the side of his face with the stitches, "and this, mon amour?" She whispered.
"Stick to the face before Dougie stepped on me," he said, looking at her with his dark brown orbs in a daze with a crooked smile on his face. The pain killers must be working, she thought, noticing how he was a little dopey.
"There's dried blood on them," she said, gently running her finger over a stitch or two. He sucked in a breath and she jumped, apologizing profusely.
"Let me run you a shower," she said, bending forward and kissing his forehead and making her way up off the bed.
"Jamie," he moaned, reaching for her with his good fingertips. She turned around, laughing.
"Patrice," she mimicked.
"Come back," he said, mock mad. She flashed him a playful smile and started her shower for him. He noted that she had folded his suit and it sat ready for him on her desk chair. She made her way out of the shower in a little night dress, her wet hair hanging around her face.
With grace, she tipped herself on top of him, sliding so that their hips, stomachs and chests were pressed together, and she propped her shoulders up with her elbows on either side of him.
"Yes?" She asked, smiling and blushing. Patrice couldn't help but beam, showing all his teeth and crinkling the skin around his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her small, bare shoulders and crashed his lips into hers.
"I've missed you so much," he whispered, between leaving small kisses around her face as she blushed even more. She even felt him pawing at her hips and the back of her thighs. When his fingers felt her smooth skin under her bum she noticed his breath caught in his throat. She smiled, relishing a bit in her control over him and rubbed her smooth legs against his scared and hairy ones, encouraging him to run his hands along her some more.
If there was one thing her and Patrice needed more practice with, it was the every day intimacies somewhere between not touching one another and going all the way. She could tell she wasn't the only one who was a little out of touch when it came to this, but she definitely was going to be the one to do something about it.
If they were going to act like a couple outwardly, they were going to act like a couple behind closed doors. That involved getting rid of a little of the bashfulness.
"Good thing we have all weekend together," she giggled, pressing her lips to his once more as he groaned.

"Tell me about your family, about you guys' apartment," Patrice said, tearing open his second egg white flatbread sandwich from a cafe in Boston Logan Airport as a cup of oatmeal steamed next to him, spoon at the ready. They had just reached cruising altitude and ever since the fasten seatbelt sign had been turned off, Patrice had been refueling from his game last night.
Jamie sipped her pipping hot tea, just delivered from the business class flight attendant.
"My dad will pretend he's not impressed with you; but, don't take any offense to it. He's very hard to please, but also very loving," she said, honestly.
"Good thing he's got daughters like you and Emily then, it sounds like," Patrice chipped in, unscrewing his cap on a 2% milk bottle.
"Well, it took him a long time to accept that Em wanted to be a dancer; not the most lucrative or academically rigorous business to get involved with." Jamie said, trying to not discredit her father too, too much. He loved his girls deeply, as they loved him. He was just a stern man, who always wanted the best for his family, even if that meant the hard road. "Are you really going to drink that?" Jamie asked, motioning to the small milk jug, her voice tinged with laughter.
"Yeah..." Patrice said, raising the bottle and looking at it, confused. "Why not?"
"It seems kind of... childish..." she giggled.
"It's not like its chocolate milk," he laughed, tipping the bottle back and washing away half of it. "I'm just a boy!" He joked, finishing it. "Plus, I bet you don't get nearly enough calcium in your diet," he said, pointing to her with the now empty bottle.
"Well thanks for sharing, then," she said, raising one of her eyebrows. "Actually, another thing about my dad, when Emily and I were little, he used to mix us chocolate milk and warm it up for us in the microwave and bring it to us in bed in the winter. A little warm surprise since he was usually at work most of the day and evening."
"And what does he do, again?" Patrice said, crinkling his empty breakfast papers and napkins and shoving them into the now empty bag. He had consumed two egg white flatbread sandwiches, a banana, and now bit into an apple. She was amazed at the damage his body could do at a breakfast buffet. He still had a styrofoam cup of plain oatmeal to get through, too.
"He works at the embassy; my mom used to work there too, but, she stopped working after she was diagnosed. She's a breast cancer survivor."
Patrice nodded, examining his apple.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, shifting his dark brown eyes to her delicately. "I'm glad she's clear though."
"Me too," Jamie smiled, touching his forearm, just because she could.

The plane shifted in the air, plummeting a several feet as the engines pulled back.
Jamie's hands fluttered and gripped the arm rests.
"You afraid, mon amoureux?" Patrice asked, taking hold of her right hand. He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles and kissed her folded fingers.
"Just a little, with turbulence," she admitted, meekly.
"Don't be," he cooed softly, gently pulling her head toward him with his bad arm across her and softly kissing her hair. "It's just the plane driving through air with a difference in temperature, or something," he smiled. "I used to be afraid too. Ferry can explain it better."
The plane shuddered again and Jamie closed her eyes, trying desperately not to make a fool out of herself. Patrice gave her hand a little squeeze and smiled at her, reassuringly.
"So," she said, steadying her shaky voice. "What's our plan for the weekend?"
"Well," he said, rubbing her knuckles and planting a kiss on them again. "When we land, Emily will be there, yeah?"
"Oui."
"So Emily will pick us up and take us downtown; unfortunately I have a photoshoot right away," he grumbled. Jamie even though she might have seen him roll his eyes, which intrigued her immensely. Patrice rarely put up a fuss about these kinds of things.
"What about your stitches?"
"They'll either keep them or photoshop them out," he said, shrugging. "Whatever works for the picture, I guess."
"Really?"
"Oui.
"Then what?"
"Well, that could take up to four hours, so, you and Emily should do whatever you like. Go home, freshen up. Would your parents like to go out to dinner? We could take them to dinner?"
"Oui! Yes, let's go eat out!" Jamie said excited, beaming. "You should come to the apartment first and freshen up though, we can all leave together. Dad won't get off work until close to seven at night anyway. You could have a nap."
"Where am I sleeping?" He asked.
"We have a library--it's my old room. Or you can have Emily's bed, she says she doesn't mind and she has her own apartment, it's very small though and wouldn't sleep either of us."
"You sleep in Emily's bed, you need good sleep," he said, firmly.
"We can talk about it later," she said, still smiling. "Then what?" She asked, full of excitement. The plane dropped a few feet again and she squeaked, holding onto Patrice's arm with both her hands.
"You're fine," he cooed, kissing her hands over and over. "You're alright. Let's see. My interview is Sunday afternoon, but after that Guill said he'd be more than happy to drive us to L'Ancienne-Lorette for the rest of the weekend, he was headed there anyway to spend some time with me but couldn't get work off till then."
"So Sunday night at your parents'?" She double checked. She was thrilled to be spending half of her time with her family, and half with his.
"If you don't mind," he smiled. "My mom might actually drive to Boston and kill me if I don't introduce you," he joked.

As they landed and made their way through Quebec City's airport and customs, Patrice kept checking to see if Jamie was still as happy as ever; and she always was, which made him smile even more.
She stood in front of him at customs and he admired her long, thick, coffee colored sweater, her lean legs clad in black leggings and her big, brown boots. For such a tiny person, she could strongly bare so much. Her thick, black winter jacket was folded over her arm as she jammed the keys of her phone, excitedly. Her kinky hair was pulled up into a series of knots and braids and every once and a while she'd look over her shoulder at him, checking to see if he was just as happy as she was.
Then, she'd go back to texting and giggling to herself, most likely chatting with Emily.
Patrice thought of his plan on extending their stay for another night, really taking Babs' advice. He had suffered an injury, he shouldn't rush coming back, even if were as something as small as a few fingers. If he couldn't play in Monday night's game, he should rest and relax.
And, he should work on his life outside of hockey; everyone should be well rounded, right?
What better way to celebrate Valentine's day?
His phone came alive in his pocket and he checked it, nodding and smirking as if divine intervention approved of his plan.
"Perfect! I will have a room ready for you two; look forward to talking business with you, as always," Jacques' text to him read. He pocketed his phone and leaned forward, hugging Jamie's tiny frame to his big chest.
"I have a surprise for you," he said cheekily, nuzzling his nose to her cheek. He thought of the hot tubs, cold tubs, steam showers, massage tables and private hotel rooms of Station Blu. He imagined Jamie and he in the dark in the hot tub, black bathing suits and condensation rising from their pool as they were surrounded by the snow and held big goblets of wine and each other. He imagined nibbling her ear as she sat on his lap, the sound of water droplets and jets rumbling in the background. He imagined her naked body sinking into the thick down comforter that donned the king sized beds he had advised his friend Jacques on putting in, her hands outstretched and ready for him.
"Whu-you don't! Patrice!" She said, batting him and whirling around. "What is it?"
"Can't tell you! Then it's not a surprise," he said, childishly, chuckling.
She narrowed her eyes and him, giving him a sexy, play-frustrated glare. He flashed his pearly whites at her and she whirled around, grabbed her bag and moved forward in line.
He followed her happily and blindly.