Je t'aime, tu sais?

Patrice always warned himself not to do this, but he always did. He always overbooked himself, and never really got enough time to do what he wanted.
Well, that was kind of unfair, he thought to himself. He had Jamie in a cabin in the woods surrounded by hot tubs, trees, and snow for a whole night; he shouldn't take that for granted. He was being selfish in thinking that it wasn't enough time, really, and he knew it.
It was unfair because, as far as he could tell, he would never have enough time with just Jamie. He was more than happy to spend an evening with the Delacours, and knew there was no way out of spending an evening with his folks, but as he sat in the cozy cafe by the airport, his hand resting on the back of her chair and one of his good fingers on the other hand looped through the cup of espresso that sat cooling before him, he couldn't help but sigh contently.
Finally.
Time for him and Jamie to actually act like a couple.
As far as he was concerned, there was a lot more that went into being with someone than just satisfying them in bed. (Although, he wasn't going to lie to himself that he had spent a few nights awake worried about having to do so; not having to sleep with her. God, no. A few weeks ago he would've killed a man to run his hands up and down her soft, tan body. But Christ had he been nervous. He had been out of play for a long, long time, and because of his lack of emotional intimacy with his previous partners, could never really tell if he had been anything special between the sheets.) Now, he finally got the chance to try on his new boyfriend outfit. He was dying to hold her hand as they walked around, to double check what she felt like having for dinner, to help her carry her bags or playfully roll his eyes at her when she asked him for the umpteenth time whether or not he had everything.
He finally got to see if he had a real knack for being the guy of her dreams.
He hoped he did.
Jamie made her way back from the restroom and took her seat next to him, giving him a smile.
"Welcome back," he said softly, moving his hand from the back of her chair to her shoulder. He sat diagonally in his chair, turned toward her as they faced the picture window from their table facing the side of the coffee shop.
"Thanks," she smiled, picking up her mug of tea with two hands and blowing on it. He watched her lift her knee and place it over her other knee, crossing her legs tightly. He knew she was watching him watch her, but he really just couldn't help it.
He slid his hand down her arm and pushed his fingers between her crossed thighs, midway down her leg and leaned back in his chair, raising his cup of cappuccino to his lips. He could feel her pull her toes up and down in a relaxing foot jiggle.
"This is great," he breathed, setting his small cup down and letting his head roll on his shoulder so he could look at her. "Yeah?" He checked with her.
"This whole weekend was great," she confirmed in a giggle, looking up and over at him. Those teeth, he thought. The way her nose crinkled.
She was in dark plum colored pants with tall, tan boots and the softest, cream colored sweater he had ever played with between his fingers. Her hair was tied up in a kind of braid, bun thing--he didn't know. But what he did know was that it let a few, randomly beautiful lengths of curls cascade from her small head and frame her face.
"I loved it all," she said, smiling at him.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she nodded.
"I'm not going to lie; Station Blu with you was my favorite part," he laughed, raising a cheeky eyebrow at her, causing her to smirk.
"I can't imagine why," she said, sarcastically.
"What? I can't spend time with my girlfriend?" He asked, jokingly. "Good, quality time," he teased, bending forward, his elbows on his knees and reaching for her, wrapping her up in his long arms as she giggled.
" 'Quality time,' oh there it is," she laughed. "What a euphemism!"
Patrice pressed a kiss into the side of her face and continued to look at her, smiling, and shake his head.
"Yup. Dunno what that word means," he laughed, letting her go as he went for more of his hot drink.
"You--" she started, laughing. She put her mug down and pointed at him.
"Me?" He asked, quick to pick up on her playful attack. He smirked at her devilishly from over his shoulder.
"You... you are so short when you don't understand something!" She tried to explain, failing and giggling even harder.
"Nope. No idea what you're saying," he said, trying not to laugh and shaking his head in mock sternness.
"No! See?" She laughed, tugging at his shoulder as he leaned forward on his elbows on the table, slightly away from her, trying to hold his laughter.
"When you don't understand something--" she tried to explain, laughing still.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Jamie," he said, looking up and out the window, further away from her, playing into her gentle criticism. He was playing back at her but really knew he had to work on stuff like that. He was so good at one thing. If someone ever criticized him or came to him with a suggestion concerning his play in hockey, or his work ethic, he would more than seriously listen, and engage in whatever conversation, training, and even defense necessary.
But, when it came to things outside of hockey, like using proper punctuation and spelling in text messages, pronouncing his "th"s, math in general, or--as Soupy, Seguin, and Marchy pointed out when he first started seeing Jamie--women, he was a sore loser. Not a loser, per say, but, he gave up on himself quickly, like he'd never come to understand the subject. He had little faith in himself outside of the realm of ice.
He knew what she was saying, and he was sure as hell getting a good little rise out of her by playing into it.
"Patrice!" She laughed, playfully pushing his shoulder as he continued to ignore her, scrolling through his blackberry. She huffed and leaned back in her seat, giving him a playful glare as she sipped her tea.
"Euphemism!" He cried, spinning in his seat to face her and holding the blackberry in front of him. "Noun, a mild or indirect word used as a substitute for one considered to be too harsh or blunt--" he read from the phone's dictionary. He loved that as he continued to read, Jamie's eyes grew wider and her mouth hung open, shocked.
"You! You are such a sore loser!" She laughed, grabbing at his phone as they playfully tussled.
"I like to think of myself as 'informed'!" He teased, holding up his other arm to keep her from his blackberry.
"You mean self-educated?" She joked, crinkling her nose up at him. "Or perhaps you'd like to refer to yourself as an autodidact?" She asked, making her eye brows dance at him as he looked at her incredulously.
"Bless you?" He asked, never having heard such a word before and pretending she had sneezed.
They tried to maintain their serious looks but ended up bursting into laughter at the expense of the few other people in the cafe, who may or may not have been giving them a few looks for being rather rambunctious.
"I should look that up," he stated, smugly. "Y'know, since I'm so... self-educated," he said, with what he thought was an academic snear. She barked a laugh, clapping her hand over her mouth as they both chuckled and bent forward, trying to keep their voices down.
As they were close, he turned to give her a sweet kiss on the side of her face, but was pulled out of his high by the vibrating of his blackberry against the table.
They straightened up and as he brought the small device toward him to read it, he showed it to Jamie. "It's for you."

"Me?" She asked, curiously. She took the device and read "Emily Delacour" on its screen. "You exchanged numbers?" She asked him, smiling. She was so warm inside with the thought of Patrice and Emily communicating without her; as if they were already growing closer.
"We did," he nodded, smiling. "You better answer it," he chuckled.
"Oh, duh," she mumbled, laughing. "Oui? C'est Jamie," she answered.
Her ear was assaulted with a loud hysterical screaming. She responded immediately in a hushed French, worried for her sister.
"Emily? Emily?" She made eye contact with a very concerned Patrice, leaning toward her, trying to listen in. Her heart was hammering in her chest. Her little sister; what was wrong with her?
Emily sobbed into the phone, unable to speak comprehensively.
"Oh Jamie," she squeaked, her breath jagged.
"Emily, Emily--you listen to me. What's happened?" Jamie said sternly as Patrice leapt up and motioned for the waiter, pulling his wallet out to pay for their hot drinks. He pulled his jacket on and readied Jamie's as she stood, shaking.
"I'M GOING TO BOSTON!" Emily finally shouted into the phone.
"What?!"
"I've been accepted into the Boston School of Ballet!" Emily cried, laughed and sobbed, all at once.
Jamie heaved a sigh and heavily fell back into her seat, raising her hand to her brow.
"What? What is it?" Patrice whispered hurriedly. He placed both his hands on Jamie's chair's arms and leaned his ear down, pressing it to the other side of the phone. Jamie found herself reaching for his face, her hand over his ear and pressing him into the phone. She wanted him close, she wanted his support.
God, she loved his thick, strong hair and the way it felt.
"I can't believe I did it; I made it," Emily cried.
"I'm so proud of you," Jamie laughed, relieved her sister wasn't harmed. "I didn't know you had auditioned!"
"Where are you?" Emily asked, ignoring her older sister. Jamie gave her the name of the coffee shop as Patrice, still confused, took his seat next to her, her coat folded up in her arms. Emily said she'd be right over and hung up.
Jamie, as if moving in slow motion still reeling at the events that had just unwound, handed Patrice his phone, smiled and shook her head.
"What's happening?" He asked, gingerly taking his phone and sliding it into his jacket pocket. He returned to Jamie with his arms outstretched. She allowed him to hug her and then finally laughed.
"I can't believe her!"
"What?" Patrice persisted. "What's going on?"
"She's been accepted into the Boston School of Ballet," Jamie breathed, incredulously.
"What?" Patrice asked, raising his eye brows and smiling.
"Yeah, she's been accepted," Jamie laughed, showing him the palms of her hands in disbelief himself. "She must've... she must've auditioned somewhere... She's moving to Boston."
"Wait, really? Does Boston have a good ballet school?"
"Yes, very," Jamie nodded. She shook her head and laughed again. "This girl; I didn't even know she was applying! Did you?"
"Did I? Why would she tell me?"
"I don't know," Jamie laughed. She looked into her empty mug of tea. "That girl works in mysterious ways. I need another drink," she joked.
"We'll split a glass of wine on the flight back," he said, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders and kissing the side of her head.