Je t'aime, tu sais?

"You seem down," Dougie said, nudging Emily with his elbow.
"Hm?" She asked him, lifting her eyebrows and turning to look at him. She rested her nimble chin on her shoulder. The pair sat at Gregory's breakfast bar, facing a group talking excited in the kitchen with their backs turned on a game of cards about to go terribly south in the living room behind them.
The party was loud and fun and mostly full of men. Emily wasn't down, per se, but, a little perturbed at the lack of attention she was getting from its host.
"You're like a space cadet," Dougie chuckled, popping a boneless buffalo wing into his mouth.
"Am not!" Emily objected, snatching one off his plate and ripping into it with her pretty little front teeth.
"Are too-o," he sang, reaching for the ranch dressing.
"Whatever," she laughed, giving him a shove with her shoulder. She double dipped into his newly pooled portion of dressing and stuck her tongue out at him.
"Jerk," he laughed.

Adam sat on the couch, tucked away behind Johnny who was providing the music for the card game. Marchy sat on his heels on the floor, facing them over the coffee table, his knees tucked under the dark mahogany's surface. He was in black jeans and a patterened button down shirt; both were clearly from True Religion.
"Noo, noo, you can't do that!" Thorty jeered from across the table at him, smacking his hand. When the guys all got together and knocked a few back their Canadian accents really came out.
"Yes I can! Yes I can!" March cried, sitting up, kneeling fully on his knees.
"Noo! Noo!" Johnny, Thorty and Pie all argued, pointing at the deck of cards in the middle while Johnny waved a finger at the short winger. Johnny wasn't even playing but he seemed very invested. He sat with his back turned partially away from Adam, with whom he was talking with a second ago, a guitar sitting in his lap. He held the guitar back from falling forward with his right had as he scolded with his left, laughing.
Adam smirked, laughing at March.
"You just put a club down! You JUST put a club down!" He said in disbelief, gesturing to the pile of cards. "There! Right there! A two of clubs!"
"Doesn't matter!" Thorty laughed.
"Can't do it, March," Pie chuckled, shrugging and leaning back on the couch. "Can't do it."
Adam looked at Dougie and Emily over at the breakfast bar at the edge of the living room as the card game continued to bicker. They were joking with one another and he had her vehemently shaking her head and blushing.
Why couldn't he make her laugh like that?
Why did he have to be so damn sulky all the time she was around. Maybe she'd actually get to liking him if he was more upbeat around her.
He just got so shut down when the three of them hung out; he felt so socially stupid next to Dougie, who capitalized on his dorky, young, sense of humor.
"Anyway," Johnny laughed, turning back so he could talk to Adam. He fingered a few chords and strummed the guitar with the tops of his finger nails.
"Crazy awesome weekend off, eh? Big plans?" He asked, his eye brows high, his mouth open in a smile.
"Nah, not reall-"
The front door opened and Adam cut off, raising his head to see who it was.
"HEY!" All the men cheered, including Soups, Bergy and Looch who came sliding into the tiled kitchen on their socks holding ping pong paddles, their brows brimmed with sweat.
"Hey boys," Tuukka nodded, giving them a wave and a little smile. He stepped aside to let another man in behind him and shut the door. "Soups, I hope you don't mind but my brother is in town, thought we'd swing by."
"Nah man, not at all. Make yourself at home. Beer's in the fridge," Soupy said, making his way over to shake Tuuks' brother's hand. "We also ordered a hundred wings, currently being supervised by Dougie," he said, nodding to Dougie and Emily next to him, sitting at the bar. Dougie possessively slid the foil tray away from the new guests, jokingly.
"My name is Joonas," the blonde said to Soupy, smiling and shaking hands with the host.
"Oh! YES!" Johnny screamed happily, pumping his fist in the air and pointing to Tuukka's little brother. Any conversation that had picked up since the arrival of their goalie froze and Johnny Boy had all the attention.
Just like he liked it.
He furiously began picking at his guitar, in a song that was familiar to Adam, but he couldn't place it.
"STOP!" Emily cheered, pointing to him excitedly and the two made eye contact. Johnny gave her a big nod and she stood up from her barstool to sing with him.
"MY NAME IS JOONAS!" They sang as Johnny beat out a few chords.
"And I'm carrying the wheel!" Johnny quickly went back to picking, messing up a few times, whispering "fuck" and "you dirty sonuvabitch" to his fingers when they bloopered.
Looch gave a big "OH!" and then joined in.
"Thanks for all you've shown us! But this is how we feel! Come sit next to me! Pour yourself some tea! Just like Grandma did, when we couldn't find sleep!"
"Oh come on, you lazy sluts!" Johnny cried, standing up and gesturing to the room full of people to sing. "This is fucking WEEZER! WEE-ZER!"
Joonas and Tuukka looked horribly perplexed and Bergy had turned into the crook in the kitchen where the cabinetry around the refrigerator met the wall, his head under his bent arm, muffling his laughter.
"You all are the WORST!" Johnny laughed, his face red from embarrassment although he was never uncomfortable with his extroverted nature.
"You're all fired." He joked, gesturing to them all as he stepped around Marchand. "Especially you!" He said, pointing down to the little winger.
"From what?!" March laughed, his hands held up in innocence.
"From our friendship! I'm not friends with you guys anymore--I'm only friends with Weezer fans!" Johnny dramatically continued, making his way through the crowd and back into Soupy's recreational room to place the guitar back in its holder.
"Except for her. She's the shit!" He said, swinging back out around the door frame and pointing to Emily.
She blushed but happily played along, taking a sweeping bow.

Patrice savored the warm press of her lips on his own as he watched Jamie make her way around the breakfast bar and out of the kitchen. She grabbed her coat on the back of Emily's chair and spoke to her in French, telling her the same thing she just told Patrice.
It was only ten, but she had a lot of work to do. Now would be the perfect time to do it with Emily and Patrice busy having fun away from the apartment.
Emily nodded and promised to leave with Patrice or Adam and Dougie later in the evening so she wouldn't walk home alone, and then they kissed one another's cheeks.
Jamie said goodbye to a few people around her and locked eyes with him again, giving him an encouraging smile and a little wave.
"Jamie," Patrice mumbled in a pathetic attempt to call after her.
He excused himself from talking with Looch, Tuukka and Joonas and quickly skipped to the front door before she could close it behind her.
He slipped through it just in the nick of time and held her sides through her thick coat as she giggled.
"Mm, baby," she smiled, turning around and leaning into his hug. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, rubbing his cheeks into the top of her head.
"I won't stay long, I promise," he said, pulling her away from him gently and meeting her eyes.
"Please don't worry and please don't rush," she said sincerely, tracing his lips with her thumb. He closed his eyes and turned his face into her palm, kissing her hand. "I need the time to work."
"You work too hard," he complained, worried about her.
"I could say the same," she said, not even needing to finish her sentence as she gave him a challenging look.
He sighed and rolled his eyes.
"But Cherie, we were having so much fun. Weren't you having fun?"
"Yes Patrice, of course I was," she smiled, tracing his cheek. "I just... I'm having a bit of trouble with this chapter. I need to wrestle with it some more."
"You need to wrestle with me some more," he said, nodding sincerely.
She laughed, pushing on his chest as he fought to keep hold of her arms, laughing as well.
She leaned in for a kiss and then really pushed off of him, using one had to spin him back to Gregory's front door.
"Go on, I'll see you when you get home," she smiled. "Make sure Emily doesn't walk alone, alright?"
"Alright," he said, obviously let down he couldn't convince her to stay.
"Don't give me that," she laughed, shouldering her purse and entering the elevator.
He faked a pathetic attempt at a smile.
"I love you," she said, blowing him a kiss as the elevator doors started to shut.
A real smile slowly spread across his face as he waved at the last sight of her.

Emily sighed, her chin propped up in her hands. She was still sitting at the breakfast bar, but this time Dougie wasn't with her; he had risen to the occasion of being drafted for the unbeaten host's team and ditched her. She wasn't that mad, just sulky.
She continued to make eye contact with Adam, who stood with Milan, the guys with the weird names who was their goalie she thought she remembered hearing, and Patrice.
She didn't maintain eye contact with Adam for long because she was trying to eavesdrop, so she would continually refresh her phone screen and pretend to be preoccupied with that.
Patrice was taking some heat.
"I can't believe you invited him, dude," Milan groaned.
"Yeah, like seriously Bergy," Tuukka laughed.
Emily glanced up from her phone to see Tuukka rough Patrice's up, pushing him with his shoulder.
"Oh come on, aren't we all adults here?" Patrice asked, seeming genuinely upset.
"But seriously though, this is Boston. We are BRUINS," Milan said, just as perturbed. Tuukka and Joonas didn't seem bothered too much, and Adam was mostly quiet, observing the tension.
"Be mature," Patrice said, annoyed. He shook his head and pulled out his phone, preoccupying himself. He held a beer in his right and took a slug.
Emily had never seen Patrice take heat before, or be annoyed, really. She had never witnessed him and Jamie be tense, and couldn't honestly picture it. She wondered what he had done that made the other guys' hair stand on end.

This must be the unwelcomed guest, Emily thought to herself.
The man sat next to her on the couch, holding a tall glass of water between his legs and looking around, quite innocently.
He hadn't introduced himself, but when he sat next to her, moments ago, gave her a "hey" and a smile.
"So, who do you know, here?" The man asked her, turning to look at her. She noticed his thick neck and strong tendons.
She played disinterested.
"I know them all," she said, simply.
"Oh, uh. Cool," he responded, taking a sip of water and looking around again.
After a few beats of silence, she crossed her legs and asked, "you?"
"I, uh, know them all two, I guess," he shrugged.
She didn't work to maintain conversation. She knew she was being a brat, but, honestly, she couldn't help it. Men turned her off as much as they turned her on. Being a bitch was a bit of a defense mechanism until she could figure them out. She hated blatant flirting and always assumed men were hitting on her until she could prove them otherwise.
That's why her and Dougie were such good friends. Not once did he ever try and puff his chest out or dress himself up; he was always just Dougie. Goofy, a big kid, harmless.
Emily wondered where he was right now.
"Are you a hockey fan?" He asked, looking at her again, eager for conversation.
"Of course," she lied.
That was another pitfall for Emily. She hated being bad at anything.
She hated being inferior.
She supposed she had Marc to thank for that.
"Ah," he said, smiling.
"What's so funny?" She asked, crossing her arms, too. She reeked of protective body language.
He didn't seem to notice.
"How big of a fan are you?" He asked, still smiling.
Jesus, this kid had one hell of a crooked smile, she thought to herself. What's his deal?
"Huge," she stated, looking away from him.
She heard him chuckle and became enraged.
"Seriously. What's so funny?" She asked, snapping her head back in his direction.
"You're lying," he said simply, shrugging and taking a sip of water. She watched his Adam's apple glide. She noticed his dark hair, just beginning to curl at the tips. She watched him clear his bottom lip of his drink as he shifted his gaze back to her.
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Whatever," she said, uncrossing her arms so that she could push herself up off the couch to leave.
"If you were you'd know who I was," he quickly said, freezing her in her motion to stand.
Emily bit her lip, thinking, but refusing to look at her. She could see him smiling that hugely crooked smile in her peripherals.
She pushed herself up but he grabbed her arm and she faltered.
"But I'm happy you don't," he rushed as she gave him a look that could kill over her shoulder. He immediately removed his hand.
It was hot.
It felt like it might have burned her.
She was not happy with this gentleman. He was persistent and it made her uncomfortable.
He seemed controlling.
She had had enough of men like this in her life. Men who were full of themselves and found that she perfectly complemented their self-images and toted her around. She was a woman, after all, not an object.
Marc had done his fair share of things to her and she had spent a hell of a long time rebuilding. She wasn't going to fall back into poisonous relationships with men that didn't deserve her. She wasn't afraid of coming off as a bitch; it was worth it to her in the end, she had to protect herself. She knew she had to surround herself with good people, and live a happy life. She had accomplished so much since she had finally come up with enough courage to leave Marc, keep food down, and apply to the Boston Ballet. She had made it.
And she wasn't about to let some kid with dark brown eyes, a stupid smile, a perfect complexion, dumb curls and ugly lips ruin it for her.
"Please?" He asked.
She made to stand again.
Emily out, she thought to herself.
His hand reached out to grab hers again.
"Please? I have no one else to talk to. I'm not dumb; I'm not welcome here," he said, looking up at her, as vulnerable as a child.
She chewed her lip, never having felt this way before.

Jamie sat at the kitchen table with her knees folded up against her chest. She hugged them as silent tears fell down her cheeks.
She bit her lip and sniffed, clearing her sadness from her face and checking the time.
It was one o'clock in the morning.
She had to finish her little break down session soon, before Emily and Patrice returned to the apartment.
Pulling Patrice's oversized Harvard Hockey sweatshirt up over her fingers, she balled the sleeve's material into her fist and whipped her face, shaking her head.
"Oo... okay," she whispered softly, taking a big breath. Her fingers found the keys on her laptop in front of her and she stared blankly at her Word document.
This will be the third week in a row she hadn't added anything substantial to her thesis.
It was due in four months.

Patrice bid Adam a good night, who had accompanied him on his walk back to Jamie's place. They both shook their keys in their respective doors and nodded at one another over their shoulders to say goodnight once more before entering their dim apartments.
Patrice slid the door shut behind him, finding one of the most beautiful Jamie's he had ever seen in front of him.
She sat at the kitchen table under the only source of light in the entire apartment. A halo just for her.
She was folded in two, her feet flat on the seat cushion and her knees up by her chin. She typed furiously.
She worked so hard, he thought. She had hardly noticed his entrance.
He had been thinking of ways to celebrate her passing. Her thesis was due in four months, which meant she'd get her passing grade and diploma in around five. It would correlate directly with the end of their hopeful post-season run for the cup. It was early yet, but they were definitely in playoff position and he had a good feeling about the boys.
If all went according to plan, he'd sweep Jamie off to Aruba or some place to celebrate her crowning academic achievement and his new ring.
"Mon amour," he softly spoke, hanging his jacket up and making his way into the light of the kitchen.
"Darling," she smiled.
He made his way behind her chair and rested his big hands on her shoulders as she continued to type. He watched her closely, amazed at her concentration, her fine motor skills, and the words she was crafting with the click of her keys.
"How is it?" He asked, gently massaging her shoulders.
She didn't respond right away, but then shrugged.
"Where's Em?" She asked, softly.
"Coming home with Dougie later. Adam and I walked together," he answered. "That alright? If not I can go get her now."
"No, no. That's fine."
"Alright," he whispered, leaning down and brushing her cheek with his own. He sighed, contently.
"I missed you," he admitted.
She didn't respond but raised her hand to stroke his cheek lovingly as she flicked through files on her computer, saving them.
"Did you get a lot done?"
She didn't respond. He craned his neck to look at her face but she seemed to blush and look away from him.
"Jamie?" He asked, letting his hands slip down around her sweatshirt clad chest in a form of a hug. "What's wrong, mon amour?" He asked, concerned.
She gave a little sniff and then looked up at him, smiling.
He could tell it wasn't real.
"Nothing darling. Let's get to bed," she said, pecking him on the lips, and shrugging out of his grips. He watched her close her computer and rise, leaving him in the kitchen as she made her way to her master bedroom.
Patrice stood for a few moments, his heart beating anxiously. He felt his eyes loose focus with a few beers in his heavy stomach and his head filled with a tired uneasiness.
His heart felt funny.
He turned the microwave's nightlight on for Emily and shut off the overhead kitchen table light.
He followed her into her room, to find she had already undressed and slipped onto her side of the bed, turned away from his side, curled up into a ball.

Emily had made it her goal to drop the new kid and make an impression on Gregory.
And she had done just that.
She fell on her back on the king sized bed draped in an elaborately gold, red and orange embroidered down comforter and allowed Gregory to peel her shirt off.
He was drunk but she was unafraid because she knew he was broken hearted. She had no fear of him being malicious or self-absorbed; she merely wanted to feel good about herself and make him feel better, too. She felt like what they were doing was fair game because she, too, had recently endured a breakup, even if it was at her own will.
He pulled his own shirt off and she was struck with his beauty. He was pale and best of all? He was skinny. She could see where his bones ran into one another and feel his ribs slide along her own. She wondered how he ate to keep such a figure.
And how he didn't pass out with his high cardio career.
"You're so soft," he whispered, taking her ear lobe between his teeth and breathing heavily into her ear. She let out a soft moan, holding the back of his buzzcut head and guiding his face down her jawline and neck.
"How far can I go?" He breathed, lifting his face to spread her lips again with his own.
She was too high to give a response.
High on the fact that someone else would do these things with her.
To her.
Marc only wanted her for these things, and she felt obliged, being his girlfriend. This boy, Greg, never asked or pursued.
She sought after him.
And she got him.
He kissed down her chest, between her bra clad breasts and tongued her belly button as she lifted her back off of the bed and moaned.
"I don't care," she squeaked.
"Me neither," he whispered, lifting back up to kiss her and sliding a hand between her back and the bed, unclasping the bra.
"I feel guilty," he admitted, kissing her neck again.
"Don't," she urged, pushing her hips into his.
He groaned. "I feel like..." he panted, lifting her up from the bed and pulling her bra off of her arms. "...I stole you from Sid..." He laid her back down, his chest melting into hers.
"Who?"
"Sidney," he answered. "Crosby," he groaned in response to her tonguing his jawline.
"It's whatever," she whispered as he groped her breast and she slipped her hand between them, feeling the friction in his jeans.