Je t'aime, tu sais?

Patrice tried to play it cool but he could hardly contain his anxiety knowing Jamie and Emily were bound to show up at any time.
He wanted to jiggle his leg up and down as it descended over the side of the couch, bent 90 degrees at the knee, but instead, he sat in a relaxing position in the corner of his white sofa, his legs slightly spread and a craft beer held loosely in his lap, his healed fingers wrapped around the cold, smooth glass. It was a Friday and they were given Saturday off in time to rest up for a matinee Sunday game against the Rangers. With Emily's arrival coupled with the much needed cheering up of Soupy and Marchy, that could only mean one thing:
They were going out tonight.
Patrice didn't normally "go out" go out as much as he went out for dinner with some of the older guys to make it home in time to take a bath and loosen up and stretch before getting a full seven hours of sleep, but, he had a feeling tonight would be filled with loud music, a few drinks, and maybe even some dancing with Jamie, if he was lucky.
Soupy sat on the other end of the couch, his boots kicked off and piled by the front door. He sat with his polka dotted sock clad foot on the couch and his elbow resting on his bent knee, his own cold beer resting in his other hand on the arm of the furniture. He wore camel colored pants and a checkered black and white button down, his eyes rimmed in big round glasses, the frames a deep merlot. With his arm propped up on his knee next to him on the couch, he ran a big hand over the top of his short hair and occasionally rested the side of his head in his palm, taking a deep swig of the IPA and blowing a thin stream of hair between his lips held taught.
Patrice could tell the man was stressed.
Over an early dinner after lifting, Soupy, he, and Marchy showered and headed to the North End for some grub. Over their food, Soups had divulged a little bit about the past year or so of his relationship with Meghan. He knew she didn't love him anymore; she used to have her hands all over him, constantly had her arm wound around his, would touch him every time she looked at him or talked to him, always wanted to cuddle. She'd call him by his full name all the time, and when she did it, her eyes would crinkle 'cause she'd smile. But then, she started calling him "Greg," and following his name with a sigh. She stopped waiting up for him or waiting for him to finish work to go out; "just meet me there, Greg" or "I'll be back later, don't wait up Greg," was all she really said at the end. When she'd get back late at night she'd crawl in bed, not facing him, and pretend to be fast asleep if he reached over to sleep alongside her.
Like he said though, he wasn't upset. And Patrice believed him. He didn't love her anymore either. She had been swept up in his fame and enjoying this Bostonian high life without him on the daily. Even though she herself wasn't famous, she could play the part with his salary. No corporate businessman cared whether or not the money was hers; she sure did look pretty.
Soupy said he more felt lost than anything. And angry, but he couldn't pin point why. Maybe, he said, it was because he spent so many years with her, thinking (or was it tricking?) himself into believing she was the one. She had been with him all throughout his juniors career, they had survived the long distance relationship while he played in Florida and she stayed in school in Toronto, and she had finally moved in with him in Boston and it all seemed for nothing.
Soupy was a practical and logical guy, but, Patrice was getting the feeling that he believed in happily-ever-afters and soul mates. He could see the frustration he was feeling with being wrong about this one.
Marchy sat behind them at the breakfast bar, mopping up ketchup with the soggy french fries he couldn't finish at the pub and reaching for the bottle opener for his second brew. He wore black, expensive jeans with heavy white stitching around the seams and the pockets with some kind of grey decorated v-neck, hugging his biceps and broad shoulders.
Patrice knew he was hurting, too.
His little liney still hadn't had a call returned from Katrina and it broke Patrice's heart when he was finally invited up to his studio apartment, a teammate's home only Seguin had ever witnessed prior to Soupy moving in with him for the week.
Now Patrice knew why.
The apartment was one big, high ceilinged room, with a small attached bathroom and bedroom. A very luxurious, expensive, big room, with access to a hot tub on the roof. It was modern in stature, and Marchy had big plants and ferns throughout the space to add some color to the brick, cement, metal, and hard wood flooring in the naturally colored space. A huge king sized bed rested in the corner of the main room, complete with a canopy half-heartedly belted to the bed pillars, revealing its unmade surface. The kitchen was rounded off with a big metallic breakfast bar, mostly clean save for a few boxes of takeout licked clean, pizza boxes picked empty, and water bottles used for making protein shakes after a workout. In the small, attached bedroom, however, was a tiny little bed, complete with a guard rail to prevent it's ex-tiny little owner from rolling out of it at night. It had a beautiful plaid purple, blue, and green comforter on it, complete with a big, brown bear stuffed animal. The walls of the room were painted a sea foam green and littered with hundreds of little kid drawings, a super hero poster, and a big Spoked-B clock.
Owen's room.
The little bed wasn't made, but that's because Marchy had been sleeping in it; he gave Soups his king bed in the main room, promising the sheets were clean and insisting he didn't want to sleep in it anyway, reminded him too much of his girl.
He was a little awkward, showing Patrice where he lived, blushing at how it was kind of unkept with two bachelor's living in it, but ended up laughing it off, as Marchy always does, and knocking his elbow against Soupy's chuckling, "now all we need is that brute of yours waltzing around; bachelor PAD!" He sang, gesturing to the space around him.
Presently, the three sat relatively quietly in Patrice's apartment, watching a Celtics basketball game, arguing against calls made against the men in green, and breathing steadily.
"So, your girlfriend's sister is coming to town?" Soupy asked, looking across the couch at Patrice and taking a swig of beer. When he brought the bottle back down from his lips, he played with the loose film wrapping it, showing off its Harpoon identity.
"Well, she's moving here, actually," Patrice said, propping his other elbow up on the arm of the couch and playing with his ear. He'd always had this bad habit of folding the cartilage in it when he was anxious. It was another method of taking out stress without wobbling his leg and shaking pieces of furniture and making the floor creak.
He didn't know why he was so nervous, really. He had already met Emily and he simply adored her. She was the kind of person that was passionate and acted on the way she felt without a second thought. Patrice found that quality laudable, mostly because he couldn't get away with anything without heavy calculations in his own mind, first. Emily was the kind of person someone like he or Jamie needed in his life, and the fact that Emily was so willing to be a part of Patrice's life, that she already felt so open and close with him, made him... well, excited, really. But also anxious.
And he couldn't quite put his finger on it as to why.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, she's a dancer. She just got picked up by the Boston School of Ballet," Patrice nodded, allowing some of the carbonated liquid to slide down the back of his throat.
"What, are they like, drafted?" Marchy asked, chuckling from behind them, cramming some more fries into his mouth.
"I dunno," Patrice laughed, shrugging. There was a knock on his door and before he could answer Milan let himself in, winged by Quaider, Dougie, and Brittany.
"Gang's all here!" Looch called, shutting Patrice's door behind him.
"Oh man," Soupy laughed, sitting up off the couch and giving Brittany a welcoming hug. He looked as if he planned on making it short and sweet like how most players greeted another's significant other, but Patrice saw Britt wrap her arms tightly around his middle and sway him back and forth a bit, an action Soupy immediately allowed to happen, as if relieved for some human contact.
"You'll be fine," Patrice heard Brittany say, patting his back, nodding to him as he nodded back, all within the background of his now filled apartment.
"Just one!" Dougie complained, getting his hand slapped again by Marchy as he tried for a fry. "You're a jerk!"
"You can have a beer, McQuaid," Milan laughed as Adam politely declined one of Marchy's Harpoon IPAs the hulking man was offering him.
"Yeah Quaider; here. Would you rather a pale ale?" Patrice asked, making his way into the kitchen, his sock clad feet padding lightly on the tile. He swung open the fridge and tossed the tall defensemen one of his.
"Thanks man," Adam nodded.
"No worries, bud," Patrice confirmed, also with a nod.
"Hey, where's Joyus Noel?" Milan asked, still referring to Jamie by her Christmastime nickname. Patrice laughed and blushed as he tossed his beer in the trash and cracked open another one, offering the bottle opener to Quaider.
"I promised these two duds fresh meat tonight; the sister's in town right?"
"Oh god, babe!" Brittany scolded him, turning around to give him a warning look from her conversation with Soupy.
"You should've seen Dougie's face when I stomped into their apartment and said we were going out with a pretty girl," Looch laughed, winking at a red-faced Dougie. "I've never seen him put on real clothes faster!"
"Hey, I look good!" Dougie objected, rising to his full stature and gesturing to his outfit, forest green corduroys and a white button down, exposing a bit of his Bruins white and green St. Patty's day logo t-shirt underneath. Standing tall behind him, Quaider, his room mate, made an iffy face, causing some laughter and earning him a punch from Dougie as he turned around to catch him just in time.
"Hey listen for the door, I gotta change, Jamie's on her way, I dunno if she'll knock or ring or what," Patrice said, placing a hand on Soupy's shoulder and speaking into his ear as the noise level increased in his place.
"Got it," the center responded, lifting his beer in acknowledgement.
Patrice slipped into his room and shut the door, pulling his Bruins t-shirt off and fishing for a club worthy shirt.
He rambled through his closet without any luck, and slipped off his jeans deciding on a nicer pair to help set the tone. He pulled on a tighter pair of black jeans, opting for a white button down he figured would be safe. Before buttoning it, he made his way into the bathroom to freshen up, running his hand alongside his cheeks to judge whether or not his five o'clock shadow would rough Jamie's skin if he kissed her.
The door bell rang.

"Hello?" Jamie asked, poking her head inside Patrice's loud apartment.
"Ooh man," Emily laughed as they entered, surprised at the crowd.
"Hey! Jamie!" The man named Gregory Campbell called, excusing himself as he made his way around Brittany Lucic. Jamie internally heaved a sigh spotting Milan's wife, happy her and Emily wouldn't be the only girls involved in tonight's outing.
"Hey!" Jamie smiled as Gregory moved in for a quick hug. He was warm and hard, like Patrice, but more her size. She was always so surprised at how warm they were; it was like she expected them to be cold like the marble she thought of when pressed up against their muscular bodies.
"James!" Milan called, waving from the other side of the breakfast bar. She recognized Adam McQuaid as he nodded to her and Marchy as he waved with an ear splitting smile. There was a very tall, redheaded boy behind him, picking at his french fries.
"Hey, Gregory, this is my sister, Emily," Jamie said, pulling Emily out of her analyzation of Patrice's apartment and everyone in it and focusing her attention on the man in front of her.
"Hi," he smiled, wrapping her in a one armed hug. "You're a dancer, right? Bergy was telling us about you."
"Really?" Was all the normally rambunctious girl managed to say. Jamie looked at her sister with suspicious eyes. Normally, she was much more talkative.
"Yeah, you got drafted by the Boston School of Ballet or something; sounds awesome!"
"Drafted!" Emily laughed, snapping out of her daze.
"Something like that," Jamie laughed as Soupy looked between the two, smiling but embarrassed.
"What--I dunno how it works! I just know you must be pretty damn good though!" He surrendered.
"I am good," Emily laughed, shrugging.
"Fair enough," Greg chuckled. "Can I get you a beer?" He asked, gesturing to Patrice's kitchen "I think Bergy is the only one with any left."
"Yes. Excellent," Emily smiled, following him.
"I'll be right back," Jamie said, breaking away from their line as they made their way to the kitchen. She tossed her coat on the couch and Emily followed suit, exposing her little black dress and teal costume necklace, immediately turning some heads in the kitchen. Jamie smiled, shaking her head, knowing it was bound to happen, and made her way to Patrice's room, easing his door open.
"Mon amour?" She asked, shutting the door behind her.
"Hey," he said from the bathroom. She heard the toilet flush and he kicked the bathroom door open with his foot as he reached to turn on the sink.
"Why hello there," Jamie sang in French, stepping into the bathroom and hugging him from behind as he washed his hands. Her hands crept up his bare chest, his shirt hanging open, unbuttoned.
"Hello," he responded, leaning his head back to gently bump against hers as if they were affectionate animals.
"Do you need some help?" She asked, running her hands down his loose jeans, unzipped and unbuttoned still, his belt hanging wide open. She felt the lean muscles in his stomach tense as he pleasantly closed his eyes for a moment.
"Depends on what you're offering," he laughed, drying his hands and turning around. He leaned back on the sink as she leaned into him and they shared a kiss, his hands running up and down her bare shoulders. "I love your outfit, by the way," he purred, tracing his fingers--finally free of bandages--along her bare back. She wore a tiny white shirt held over her shoulders with the tiniest little straps that met in the back and trailed down halfway down her back in some sort of series of knots before meeting with the rest of the fabric of the shirt, leaving her shoulder blades exposed. The shirt was so perfect as it hung loose around her thin frame, the skinny straps accentuating her collar bone and the tendons that twisted in her neck. She was in skin tight black leggings and a little pair of heels.
"Yeah?" She asked, giving him a flirtatious smile as she drummed her fingertips on one of his exposed pecks.
"Yeah," he said in a gruff voice, giving her a smug look. "Where's your bra?" He asked inquisitively, running both his hands along her bare, exposed shoulder blades.
"You can't know all my beauty secrets, Bergeron," she joked, pulling his hands away from her back, jokingly, and then with a sly smile pulled them down along her backside, taught under her tight leggings.
"Ooh," he happily cooed, quickly exchanging his look of mock defiance for a grin. He gave her bum a playful squeeze and then reattached his hands to the tops of her shoulders and traced his big fingers across her neck, gently taking hold of the back of her head and guiding her to meet him for another kiss. They parted and he rubbed his nose alongside hers, making her giggle softly and wrap her arms around his torso.
"Emily and I looked for apartments this afternoon," she said, gently running one of her arms up and down his back. His heavy hand rested on the back of her neck and shoulders, warm and much appreciated.
"Yeah?"
"Mm-hm, she thinks she found one she likes in the North End, just one bedroom though, and she can afford it."
"Yeah?" He asked, more excitedly.
"Yeah, she's super excited," Jamie said, resting her chin on his bare chest and looking up at him, smiling.
"That's great you don't have to move," he chuckled. "I'd hate to be more than walking distance from you," he said, bumping noses with her again.
"I know; but I'd be walking distance from the Garden if I moved with her, thought," Jamie reasoned, shrugging.
"True. And a ton of the guys live there, so, if you ever needed a hand before I could get there..."
"You worry too much," Jamie laughed, bopping his nose.
"Do not," he sneered back at her, mashing his face into the side of her cheek for a sloppy kiss. She giggled and tried to wiggle away.
"Love birds!" Someone called, thumping on the door. "We're headed out to Exchange, let's go!"
"Looch," Patrice told her, bending forward for one more kiss and then zipping up his pants and playing with his belt. Jamie took a step away from him and helped him with his shirt.
"I've made the executive decision that you're not buttoning this up to the top," she said slyly, leaving the top two buttons of his collared shirt undone, showing just enough of his collar bone to see his skin begin to slope with his pecks.
"You can do whatever you want to me, Jamie," he purred, bending forward to slip his wallet into his back pocket and kissing her full on the mouth again.

"Emily's comin' with us!" Looch hollered throughout the small garage as Patrice unlocked his car.
"I am?" She called back, laughing, as she shouldered her purse over her newly fastened coat.
"Hell yeah you are! The promise of your pretty face is the only reason I was able to pull these single guys away from their bratwurst bachelor dinner and xbox party!"
"We were playing Madden!" Quaider sighed defeatedly at Milan. "You make it sound like we're weird Halo kids or something..." He grumbled, ducking into Looch's big Yukon Denali.
The laughing group looked at Dougie, his roommate, who shrugged and admitted to liking Halo just fine.
"Get in the car," Milan laughed, pushing the rookie toward his vehicle. Emily bounded her way from Patrice, Jamie, Soupy and Marchy and toward Milan and Brittany without a second glance. Miss social butterfly, Patrice mused internally. He took note to be more free more often, more like Emily.
"There's room for more if you guys need it, I know March probably fits just fine in the back of your little sports car, Bergy," he joked.
"Oh, funny," Marchand responded, making a face similar to that of a child sticking out his tongue towards his aggressor.
"I'll ride with you guys," Soups said, jogging his way over to the bigger car.
"See you there!" Patrice called, pulling his seat forward so that Marchy could clamber on over into the back.
"Seems like Emily is no stranger to making friends," he remarked as Patrice and Jamie fell into the Audi A5 and they began their drive downtown.
"Yeah, isn't she awesome?" Patrice asked. Jamie blushed, loving that he loved her little sister.
"She's nothing like you, James; she's fun!" Marchand joked, leaning forward and roughing Jamie's shoulder playfully.
"Oh come on! I'm fun!" She laughed.
"Fun enough to take your sorry self clubbing!" Patrice teased, winking at him through the rear view mirror.
"Hah!" Jamie laughed, pointing at Marchy accusatorially, wheeling around and facing the back seat. "And RUDE! I'm fun, too! See? Look!" She cried, turning on the radio and dancing to whatever song came on. It was definitely a Macklemore song (1), one Patrice liked a lot that they played often in the weight room.
Jamie cranked the volume up as Marchy "OOOOOH"ed from the back seat and she moved her hips and shoulders and shook her crazy, kinky hair out of its tight bun and raised her skinny little arms in the air, singing the few words of the chorus she knew.
Patrice swerved driving, laughing as he reached for the volume knob to reduce the decibel thundering through his speakers.
"Aw! Now you're no fun!" Marchy whined from the back seat, defeatedly slouching back in the back row he had entirely to himself.
"Yeah, come on babe!" Jamie laughed, swatting his hand away and increasing the volume, just in time for Marchy to barge between the front seats to join both Patrice and Jamie in singing: "RETURN OF THE MACK!"

Emily sat in the pilot seat across from the guy named Gregory. Milan and Brittany were in the driver's and passenger's seat respectively, deep in a discussion that put Brittany buried in her phone, searching for something. Behind her and Gregory, in the way back sat roommates Dougie and Quaider. She knew they had the whole nickname thing going on on the team, so she knew Milan was also referred to by his last name, Lucic, and by his nickname, Looch. She had met Dougie and shaken his hand, and since that was how he introduced himself she knew he did in fact go by Dougie, but the man with the moniker Quaider hadn't been introduced as anything else.
So, as Emily would have it, she turned around in her seat to face the gentleman in the back.
"Hi," she smiled.
"Heyy," Dougie answered, all adorable like. He even gave her some jazz fingers. "Joining us in the back of the bus, eh?"
"Oh yeah," she laughed. Quaider quietly looked on as they joked. More and more he seemed to her like one of the contently wall-flowerish like types, one who didn't mind being alone or with people, because either way he kept to himself.
"So, you're Dougie," she asked, pointing to the warm, open, young man as he bit his lip and smiled, nodding eagerly.
"Yup. Dougie Hamilton," he said, giving her a wave.
"Alright. And you're... Quaider?" She asked the quiet, composed one. He looked from the dark outside through the window to her and nodded.
"Is that your real name? Like your given name?" Emily asked, curiously.
"No," he said, laughing a bit. Was he even blushing a bit? God. She hoped he wasn't going to be like one of those friend stallions that you had to break and beat down their brick walls with your friendship sledgehammer just to get a decent conversation out of them... "It's what they call me though," he shrugged. "My name is Adam."
Fair enough, she decided, internally shrugging
"McQuaid," Dougie said, filling in his last name for him.
"Hi, Adam McQuaid," Emily said, outstretching her hand for a shake. He took it, pulling his lips to the side, bashfully, as if hiding a bit of a smile.
"Here ya go, Quaider! I promised you Brittany had some of your tunes!" Milan called to the back, cranking up a song Emily had never heard before (2). There was a crash of guitar and a synthesizer and before she knew it, they were listening to country music.
"AW NO," Gregory moaned, letting his head drop into his hands.
"Oh don't be such a music snob!" Brittany said, twisting in the front seat so she could swat at Gregory, who giggled and recoiled into the back of her own seat.
"Yeah, not everyone likes dance music, Soupy!" Dougie teased from behind, joining in the swatting party.
The massive car filled with truly feel-good sounding music Emily had never heard before. She immediately curled one of her legs under her so she could better turn in her seat to face Adam, who sat behind her, keeping a beat with his hand on his red pant clad knee.
"What is this?"
"Awesome," he answered, a smile playing on his lips as he continued to bob his head. She looked at him incredulously, the music giving her those really kind of awesome goosebumps you get when you know something really great is about to happen.
She was a dancer.
She felt music.
And this music made her feel great. It made her feel hopeful; it made her feel as if a new life was about to start for her, as if she had the whole world in front of her, the whole night to herself, to do whatever she wanted, be whoever she wanted, and finally start over.
Finally start whole.
To be whole again.
She was torn away from her daze at Adam, admiring his dust red pants and blue, white, and red plaid button down with the tiniest stripes of green blended just perfectly, all hidden underneath his navy down jacket and his clandestine smile by Gregory.
"Seriously? You like this?" He asked, gesturing to the front of the car as if Brittany had brought something so distasteful into the world he might be sick.
"It feels so good," Emily said, closing her eyes, tipping her head back and beaming as if she had just had a sip of the finest wine in the world. Gregory blinked at her, unsure of what to say.
"It doesn't make you feel good?" She asked once she had landed back on earth from her high, justifying her answer. After a few more moments of his blank stare, he blinked again, cocking his head.
"I guess it makes me feel like I want to spoon my eyes out with a spork," he said, matter-of-factly, shrugging. Seconds later, a big palm came from behind and thumped him on the back of the head.
"Don't be dissin' my Florida Georgia Line," Adam said, giving Gregory a mock menacing look, narrowing his eyes at him from the dark in the back seat.
"RUDE!" Emily laughed, pointing at Adam, and sticking up for the man they called Soupy.