Je t'aime, tu sais?

Patrice lay in his queen sized hotel bed exhausted. They spent all morning flying, had an hour on the ice and an hour after for a light lifting session and were given the evening off at three in the afternoon.
Patrice had returned to his hotel room without his key, and frustratedly had to obtain another one from the front desk.
After that, he stripped himself of his suit and climbed into his bed in his boxer briefs and a huff.
He reclined watching the NHL network, a carton of raspberry's resting open on his shirtless chest. He stuffed one of his arms behind his head, helping to prop it up, and the other lay close to his phone beside his blanketed hip. Every once and a while he'd pop a few berries into his mouth but would always return his hand to his phone, just in case Jamie was done with work and would call.
As if on cue the device came alive, vibrating the down comforter that surrounded it.
"Hello?" He asked excitedly.
"Mon cherie!" His mother cheered from the other end. It was all Patrice could do not to demonstrate his disappointment verbally.
"Oh, hey mum," he said, doing his best to smile.
"Did I wake you?" She asked in French.
"No, not at all," Patrice answered. "I'll be in Montreal a week from today, can you and Dad make it?"
"Of course; of course we'll be there," she said.
"I want to take you guys out to dinner, after, too," he said, relieving his arm propped up behind his head of its duties and stretching it toward the ceiling, emitting a grunt.
"We'd love to go to dinner; will Beautiful Jamie be joining us?" Patrice could hear the smile in her voice.
"Noo," he laughed, mashing his fingers and thumbs into his temples, blushing. "She's in Boston working," he sighed.
"Writing her thesis still, right?"
"Yup," he said, sitting up against the hotel bed's headboard and popping a berry in his mouth.
"And she said it's due next Christmas?" His mom confirmed in disbelief.
"Yeah; isn't that crazy?" Patrice agreed, tossing back a small handful more of the red berries. "I can't imagine working on something so long."
His mother laughed. "Patrice, you've been working on hockey since you were three."

Jamie stomped the snow off of her boots outside of Patrice's apartment and then unlocked the front door. She tossed her tote bag on the dark granite where she sat just this morning with her beau.
For a second, she stood and looked at the spot where she had draped her legs over his chest and kissed him, longing for his touch, the light scent of his breath, and the gentle push of his lips, followed by that of his hips.
"Nope." She declared, hanging her coat on the barstool he had occupied in all of his shirtless glory and strutting into the kitchen, opening the fridge. "Nope, nope, nope," she declared to herself, not wanting to get bogged down on the first of seven partnerless nights, alone in his bed that smelled so much of him but was void of his body heat and affection.
Hopefully her hungry stomach would help distract her, she decided, moving a jar of peanut butter out of the way. As she rummaged through the refrigerator, her phone buzzed alive from the back pocket of her suit pants.
She straightened up and eagerly retrieved the phone, excited to hear from Patrice, but was only met with disappointment to see her friend's text.
"Care for Panera? Haven't seen you in forever :(" Alex had typed.
Jamie punched back the address and told her to come over for a quality girl's night; lord knows she needed the distraction, she decided, finding herself sitting on his couch with a pillow stuffed underneath her chin and her lonely arms wrapped around it.

Patrice heard a card slide outside his hotel room door and turned around from his trip to the bathroom just in time to see Marchy, Ferry and Looch invite themselves into his hotel room.
"Aw, seriously? Jesus Christ," he laughed, bending forward to retrieve a pair of sweat pants from his opened suitcase on the desk.
"Oh my god, you filthy animal; you just walk around fucking naked all the time?" Marchy asked in mock disgust.
"I'm not naked!" Patrice retorted, straightening up and showing Marchy his palms, gesturing his innocence.
"Cover up, my GOD," March said, continuing his jest.
"Just make yourself at home, then," Patrice laughed, shrugging, as Marchy fell back onto Patrice's unmade bed wrapped up in his tight spandex and backward baseball hat, spread eagle. Patrice pulled his sweats on over his boxer briefs and fished for a shirt, chuckling at the irony that was March being more naked than he was. Although a lack of clothing was something that never embarrassed the close team, Patrice never really liked to be clothe-less unless just quickly changing. Marchand loved hanging around in his spandex, and Looch never thought twice of dropping his draws and hanging out in his spandex shorts on the jet. Ferry was in his usual baggy athletic shorts and Bruins Reebok t, pretty modest, like Patrice.
Now that he thought back on it, Patrice wasn't even sure he had ever taken an interview without being fully clothed...
"Where'd you guys get my card?" He asked, sinking back into the couch that sat pressed up against the floor to ceiling hotel window. He pulled his knee up on the couch and wrapped a newly clothed arm around it, stretching a bit.
"On the floor of the locker room this morning," Marchy answered very matter of factly, stuffing one of Patrice's pillows under his knees as Patrice made an unfavorable noise.
"And you didn't think I'd like to have known?" Patrice asked.
"We'd rather just show up uninvited," Ferry winked, taking a seat next to him on the couch. He reached forward and pulled Patrice's pillow from beneath Marchy's legs and lobed it onto the young winger's face as he "oof"ed.
"Does this stuff really work?" Looch asked, pulling out a can of Tinactin foot spray Patrice had packed in his suit case.
"No, really guys, please, make yourselves at home," Patrice chuckled, gesturing to his room.
"Thanks man," Marchy said, mulling over the carton of raspberries Patrice had left on the hotel bedside table, looking for the plump ones.

"Look at you," Alex laughed at a blushing, giggling Jamie.
"What? It's nothing!"
" 'I love you' is a pretty freakin' big 'nothing', Ms. It's-Nothing-Special," Alex teased, lifting herself from the barstool and collecting the empty bowls from her and her friend.
"How long have you two been dating?"
"Actually? Or just together?" Jamie asked, taking the extra space to reach for Alex's empty wine glass and pour her some more.
"Just together," Alex answered, washing the bowls.
"Uhm... well the first time we hung out really was a couple days before Christmas... god, so like, two months?!" Jamie asked herself aloud. "That's like, way too fast, huh?" She asked her friend, sullenly. She let her shoulders slump as she held the base of her big goblet of wine with both hands and watched it, sadly.
Had her and Patrice moved too fast? Were they merely just in lust? She thought about how often they slept together with a pit in her stomach expanding greatly, as if a black hole was about to swallow her whole. Were they just lusting after one another? She knew she had deprived herself of many basic human delicacies, like love, and sex, and socialization, in favor of performing well in school, getting into a Harvard doctoral program, and now writing a strong thesis... and from what Patrice had shared with her, he had given a lot of the same things up in favor of pursuing a--in her opinion--flawless professional career... were they just two sexually repressed individuals in desperate need of companionship? Were they just two lonely, diligent, people, obsessed with perfecting a craft that isolated them? Were they not even in love? Was this whole thing stupid? Was she just an idiot who only understood arabic numbers and the quick flick of a page full of black and white typeface and answers?
What did someone like her know about love?
"Am I just a flipping idiot?" She asked Alex suddenly from across the kitchen. She showed her friend the palms of her hands in an uncomfortable gesture asking for an honest answer. "I mean, seriously. Am I just fucking naive?"
"Woah, woah, woah," Alex said, peeling off her rubber gloves and letting the water drain out of Patrice's sink.
"But, like, really though," Jamie asked, letting her head rest on her propped up hand and the other fall into her lap with heaps of lackluster. " I mean, honestly. We've known one another for two months."
"Yeah. So?" Alex asked, walking across the kitchen to lean on the breakfast bar and face her distressed friend.
"That's so... that's so stupid. How can someone as emotionally dimwitted as me fall in love in two months?!" Jamie asked exasperatedly.
"You just know, Jamie," Alex answered, laughing gently. "You just know."
"But still, that's so little time!" Jamie protested, nervously. She pressed her thumb and her finger into her temple, sighing. "I don't think we're in love--"
"No; stop it," Alex warned. "Are you hearing yourself? We just spent all dinner talking about how crazy you are about him--and how crazy he is about you!--"
"Yeah, that's it: I'm crazy. He's crazy. We must be... in lust or something. What person in their right mind knows they're in love in two months?!"
"Stop it. Right now."
"But honestly--"
"But honestly? Listen to yourself. Jamie you haven't stopped smiling since I walked in the door! I've never known you to be this happy in our two years as friends!" Alex urged.
Jamie heaved a sigh.
"Here:" Alex continued. "When was the first time you two even slept together? Hm? How long after you started being together was it? Hm?" Alex asked, taking charge of the direction of the conversation.
"I dunno... I guess like two weeks ago, a week before Quebec, and we've been back a week so..."
"Yeah? I remember. You told me about it," Alex said, nodding approvingly. "And I also remember you telling me about how he wanted to wait, he didn't just want to be some couple with no labels knocking boots, am I right?" Alex asked. "Am I? Right?"
"Yeah..." Jamie sighed.
"So what does that tell you? He's not in this to get in your pants."
Jamie pulled her lips to the side for a little smile.
"And, like, I know he's amazing in bed and everything, but, you're not--"
"No, I'm not in it to get laid," Jamie admitted, knowing where her friend was headed.
"So?" Alex said, asking Jamie to continue to think aloud with her body language.
"And... we only had sex once before Quebec--"
"--and then he met your parents--a pretty serious step. Guys don't just go and meet everyone's parents."
"And I met his," Jamie offered, nodding. She looked into her glass of wine with eyes far away, thinking.
"Yeah..." Alex nodded.
"And we didn't have sex at all until he took me to Station Blu--" One side of Jamie's lips curled into a devilish grin and she looked slyly across the breakfast bar at Alex. "And then we had a ton of sex," she admitted, biting her lip.
Alex shook her head, shaking in laughter as she reached across the granite to scold Jamie, batting her forearm in jest as she reached for her own wine glass.
"You are too much, Ms. Delacour," she chuckled, taking a big sip of the Merlot. "What else has he done that's been really cute?" She asked, nursing her goblet.
"He downloaded this word of the day app," Jamie admitted, blushing furiously. "He'd be SO embarrassed if I told you but I just think it's too adorable" she gushed.
"Wait, what?"
"He thinks I'm like this super nerd that's too smart for him, so he downloaded this word of the day app on his iPhone and I catch him studying it all the time and slipping really big words into casual conversation--it's SO adorable," Jamie laughed, blushing as she hid her face behind her palm.
"Are you serious?"
"He's so intimidated sometimes. And it's like, I study numbers, I'm not a genius--"
"--But James, he thinks you are! He probably thinks you're the smartest girl in the world!" Alex cooed, adoringly.
"He does! It's so sweet! Like honestly," Jamie laughed, a hand over her heart as it ached, missing her amoreaux.

Across the country Patrice slipped into his hotel room around 9 pm after grabbing dinner with a few of the guys. Although it was still early in Vancouver, Patrice's internal clock had grown Bostonian over the years, and it was nearly midnight in his mind.
He hadn't spoken much with Jamie yet, just a few texts were shared between them when he landed and before he went to dinner. She had just gotten out of work when he texted her before dinner and said she was meeting Alex for dinner, but he had urged her to just have Alex come to his place to save Jamie any trouble of having to brave the cold Bostonian winter any more.
He shrugged off his suit jacket and wonder what the summer would be like with Jamie, smiling at himself in the mirror above the hotel desk like an idiot.
Would she have a summer break from school like they did when they were kids?
He had summer's off.
They could travel.
He could take her to Portugal; she could show him around. He didn't really like the ocean but he could convince himself to like the beach if it meant Jamie sun bathing in a bikini.
He began undoing his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt, watching himself thoughtfully through the silver glass.
His black eye was mostly gone, but, other than that, his face seemed fairly soft. His tie hung loosely around his exposed chest and he leaned forward, planting the palms of his hands on the desk in front of him, lowering his face close to the mirror.
He looked into his warm brown eyes, darting back and forth between focusing on the bruised left and then the right.
Then the left.
Then the right again.
Did he deserve to be loved?
He looked at the bruise under his left eye. He gently touched it with his finger tips.
He looked at his lips.
He licked them.
He thought so.
He thought he deserved to be loved. Really.
He had never asked for much, and the things he did as for he worked for, so.
He smiled at himself and straightened back up, pulling his tie free from his collar.
He made his way over to his suitcase and flipped it open with a quick turn of his wrist as he undid his zipper with his other hand and his suit pants crumpled to the floor. He stepped out of them and combed through his bag, looking for his toiletries bag.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me..." he groaned, unable to find it. His shoes were stacked and tucked into the bottom of the suitcase, and his suits were properly folded in the center (except for the jackets, which were hung in an travel bag), and usually his bag sat sideways along the edge of the suitcase...
"What?" He asked, his left hand hovering of the spot where he normally packed it. He dislodged a ball of dark gray material, not remembering packing it.
He unfolded the sweatshirt and read "Harvard Hockey" in Crimson block letters across the chest.
Jamie had packed him a gift.
He smiled like an idiot as he quickly pulled it over his naked chest and took in her scent as his stomach flipped and flopped in joy and butterflies.
He lay back on the hotel bed, no longer giving a damn about his toiletries bag, and pulled the hood over his head and turned his face to nuzzle into the material. He pulled a pillow up under his head as he rolled on his side and stuffed his hands into the big pocket that lay on his stomach and found a note.
Jamie's beautiful, small cursive occupied the tiniest amount of space on the post-it, and he read aloud, mumbling.
"I've been wearing this around for a few days before I packed it for you.
I hope it smells like me.
Yours, Jamie."