Je t'aime, tu sais?

"I did something really bad," she told him as he opened the door.
"What?" Dougie guffawed.
"Is Adam here?" Emily asked, raising her eyes from her feet and looking over her friend's shoulder.
"Kind of, he's sleeping," Dougie shrugged.
"I need to talk to you?" Emily squeaked, making an uneasy face and playing with her fingers.
"Yeah, yeah, of course," Dougie said, stepping out of the way, getting more serious.
"I just got into a fight with my mom and Jamie," she announced, striding into his apartment and slipping her ballet bag off of her shoulder and onto the floor. "Not like a big fight; we kind of like, I dunno, scuffle a lot. They don't stay mad at me very long, though, thank God." She confessed.
"And then I slept with Greg," she huffed.
Dougie followed her into the living room, picking her bag up and setting it on the counter, all while trying not to make a big deal out of the bomb she just dropped on him.
"Uh..." was all he could muster. "Again?"
She stepped out of her shoes, leaving them at the foot of the sofa, and fell across it's arms, her knees wrapped around it, dramatically laying on the couch sideways and heaving a sigh.
"Can we start with my family first?" She asked.
"Uh, yeah," Dougie laughed. "That might be a good way to ease into this debacle." He said as he sat in one of the big leather arm chairs on either side of the couch. "What happened?"
"It's that stupid Sidney Crosby!" She groaned, throwing her hands in the air.
"Woah," Dougie gasped, his hands covering his mouth. "Em, seriously, he's like... the best player in the world..." he said, cautiously.
"So?" She said, sitting up, ready to pick a fight. Dougie couldn't help but smile at her and shake his head; she was so feisty. "Just because he's some superman doesn't mean he's entitled to whatever he wants whenever he wants it; he just waltzed right up to me at Gregory's party the other day and acted all suave as fuck like he could take me home whenever he wanted and do whatever he wanted with me, like I'd be some pretty little arm candy--"
"--okay," Dougie interrupted, holding up his hands to signal her to silence. "Even if Crosby thought that, he had to of known literally point two seconds into his conversation with you that you're not that kind of girl." He raised an eyebrow to her.
"Will you just let me finish?" She groaned, falling back onto the couch and attempting to kick him with her toes. They giggled.
"But, so, like, not a fan. And he's got those stupid big lips. And like, no sense of style--"
"--get on with it," Dougie joked, kicking her back with his sock clad foot.
"So LIKE I WAS SAYING," she said, dramatically, speaking with her hands. "I was supposed to meet up with James and my mum at Patrice's place after ballet to verify some plans for tonight--I guess we're going to the game and going out to dinner afterwards--"
She thought back to the interaction.

"Oh, seriously?" Emily asked as Sidney opened Patrice's apartment's door.
"Emily!" Her mother scolded from the living room.
"Hey, nice to see you too," Sid shrugged, giving her a grin.
Emily brushed past him and deshouldered her ballet bag in the middle of the hallway. Sid picked it up after she stepped over it and into the living room, hanging it on the coat hook.
"What's he doing here?" She asked, motioning to him over her shoulder with her thumb.
"Don't be like that," her mother hissed disapprovingly as Sid smiled smugly, sitting on the other side of the couch from Mrs. Delacour. Emily huffed and slumped in Patrice's arm chair.
The room was tense for a moment, except for Sid as he smiled like an idiot.
Emily could feel her mother staring daggers into her, mentally pleading with her to be nice but Emily knew these types of guys; she wasn't about to fall victim to another one.
A door somewhere in the apartment opened and Patrice and Jamie filtered out holding hands and Emily couldn't hide her rolling eyes.
"Hey," Jamie chirped, smiling. She made her way into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Patrice made his way over to hug her mum and tell her how excited he was for her to come to the game tonight.
"How was ballet?" Patrice asked, flopping on the couch between Mrs. Delacour and Sid. He scratched his knee through his black corduroys and yawned, just having woken up from a nap.
"You dance?" Sid asked, his ears perking up.
"Are you retarded?" Emily blurted out before she could stop herself.
The room went dead silent. (Even Dougie, as she retold the story, had to pick his jaw up from the floor. Apparently everyone in the world knew Sid had suffered a concussion but her.)
"Em," she heard Jamie whisper from the kitchen. But it was too late, now. She had already committed to tearing this man down once and for all, so she was going to do it.
"When you were stalking me at Greg's the other night it's all we talked about," she said, her voice thick. "I dance at the Boston Ballet," she said, pointing to her black sweatshirt with the pretty cursive lettering. "We were just told we're dancing Cinderella this spring, I'm auditioning for the lead roll," she continued, her voice getting sterner and sterner as she stood. "You even wished me good luck! We talked about this for like, thirty minutes, how can you not remember?!" She demanded, all of her suspicions about the madly blushing man with thick, curly black hair being reaffirmed.
And those stupid lips.
"No, Em," Patrice said, reaching out to her.
"Emily, I didn't mean it," Sid pleaded with her, also standing.
"Oh just... just eat shit, Crosby!" She yelled, shouldering her bag and thundering out of the apartment.

Dougie stared at her with wide eyes.
"You..." he whispered, his hand still covering his mouth. "You told Crosby to 'eat shit'?"
"Yes!" She cried. "And I meant it, too! Like, don't you see where I was coming from?" She pleaded with him. "I felt like he was--well, no--I feel like he IS this kid with this entitled sense of self and that he was praying on me at Greg's literally TWO nights ago, and then he just forgets everything we talked about? AND I was only talking to him out of pity; I was really hoping to bore him into stupidity by talking about dance but he was so interested."
"Em, you know he's suffered a--"
"I know that NOW! He can't fucking remember shit because of his stupid concussion!" She said, frustratedly. "Jamie sent me an angry text explaining that his short term memory was no good, so he could remember me but not what we talked about... for whatever reason..." she huffed. "Sounds like selective memory, to me," she mumbled to herself.
"And so I stormed out of the apartment to go get ready for this stupid game--"
"Hey!" Dougie frowned, interjecting.
"--sorry!--and legitimately bumped into Gregory at the bottom of our complex?" She said, not truly believing it herself, either.
"Oh jesus," Dougie sighed, holding his head in his hands.
"And he was like 'oh,' and I was like 'hey,' and he was like 'can I talk to you for a minute?' and so like, I invited him up and then he just stood in my apartment kitchen like an idiot; like, I think he had something to say to me but I got all freaked out and didn't want to hear it so I just started making out with him and one thing led to another..."
"Oh sweet jesus," Dougie sighed, laughing into his hands. He shook his head.
"Don't shake your head at me, Douglas," she moaned, tossing her legs over the arm of the couch and finally sitting on it like a normal person. "He didn't try very hard to say much else or try to stop it so we could talk. We just fucked," she reasoned.
"God, can we use a different word?" Dougie asked, looking mildly uncomfortable.
"Don't be such a kid," she joked before heaving a great sigh and mimicking his position and they both lowered their heads into their hands and shook them in disbelief, seconds away from bursting into laughter at Emily's pathetically funny afternoon.

"I feel really terrible about Sidney," Jamie whispered to Patrice as they walked through the bowels of the Garden after their victory against the Columbus Blue Jackets. "I mean, I totally get why he didn't want to come, but, like, he's all alone..."
A few paces behind them walked Mrs. Delacour, who walked with her arm around Emily, comforting her while at the same time delivering a stern lecture.
Sidney had politely declined their invitation to join them for dinner.
"The thing with Em is, she's just... she's just been so hurt," Jamie tried to explain, sighing. "And has these stupid defense mechanisms. She acts so tough but really she's not..."
"Mon amour, you don't have to justify it," Patrice promised, looking down at her as he slung a suited arm around her shoulders. "You two already explained enough after she left; I think Sid was a bit frazzled but, he'll be okay. Everyone has secrets," he said, nudging her hair with his nose.
"I love you," she whispered, smiling and awkwardly turning toward him to give him a hug as they continued to walk.
He inhaled sharply as her hand held his other bicep, furthest from her, and she quickly released him as he let go of her to cradle it.
"What happened?" She asked, using her now free hand to fall to rest on the small of his back.
"Nothing," he shrugged, shaking his head and arms as he tried to forget about it.
"Did you get hit?" She urged, looking up at him sincerely.
"Kind of," he laughed, slinging his arm around her shoulder and bringing her towards his chest for a kiss. "We can talk about it later, alright?"

"Hey man," Patrice said, shutting the front door to his apartment behind him.
"Sup," Sid said, muting the TV and getting up from the couch.
"Hey, again, Jamie and Mrs. Delacour apologize profusely," Patrice said, giving him a sympathetic look as he sat a big paper bag on the kitchen counter. "I hardly think Emily would've said half those things had she known of some of the... the... repercussions you were going through," Patrice awkwardly said, motioning to his head and metaphorically his concussion.
"Hey, hey, no worries," Sid said, blushing, meeting Patrice at the breakfast bar. Patrice noticed he was still in his jeans a t-shirt combo from earlier in the day; he felt bad Emily had scared him off of coming to dinner. Really bad.
He had ordered an entire meal to bring back for him, though.
"I, uh... I actually kind of feel like shit for making her think I was attacking her... or... coming onto her or whatever..." he admitted as Patrice pulled take out containers full of a 16 oz filet mignon and mashed potatoes and collared greens for his friend.
"What? No," Patrice said frowning and shaking his head. "You definitely weren't, man," he said, sincerely trying to tell Sid he hadn't overstepped any boundaries. "Like Mrs. Delacour said, she's been through a rough past relationship-wise. Don't let her make you think you were out of line. I know you; you're a respectable guy," he assured him. "Here, eat," he said, gesturing to the food.
"Oh, me?" Sid asked, shocked.
"Yeah you; I'm not going to invite you out to dinner and then never call again," Patrice joked as he lifted his arm to grab a plate from the cupboard as Sid chuckled a 'thanks, bud'.
"Ah, jesus," he whispered, grabbing his right bicep as his muscle twitched and throbbed warm pulses.
"Ooh, you alright?" Sid asked, quickly standing from his barstool and reaching for the plate, worried for his friend and for the porcelain dish.
"Yeah, yeah," Bergy groaned, handing it to him and massaging his arm.
"What's up?" Sid asked scooping some collard greens on top of a slice of steak and licking the spoon.
"I got this shot today, after the game..." Patrice mumbled, slipping off his sky blue sport-suit jacket and unbuttoning his button down shirt. He pulled his lean arm out of half his white shirt and inspected his bicep. "It hurt so goddamn bad," he laughed, poking the skin around it. "And I have to get two follow ups," he groaned.
"What kind of shot?" Sid asked, watching him as he slid a bite of steak into his mouth.
"An HPV shot," Patrice said, pulling his bandaid slowly off with a hiss.
"Just close your eyes and yank," Sid offered. Patrice obeyed and ripped the sticky surface from his skin, holding his breath and then releasing it in a gush of hot air over his lips.
"It's not red," his friend observed, noting the silver lining. "What's an HPV shot?"
"It's, uh," Patrice wasn't really sure how to answer him without telling him everything. He folded the bandaid and stepped on his trashcan to open it and dispose of the hell-raising sticker.
He untucked his shirt from his black dress pants and pulled it back over his arms, leaving it unbuttoned, exposing his undershirt. "It prevents against a couple different kinds of cancer, but mostly cervical cancer," he shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.
He grabbed two glasses and began to fill them with water from the spout on the fridge.
"I guess the only way women can get cervical cancer is through HPV--or maybe it's not the only way--maybe it's like the main way?--but, either way, it protects against the transfer of HPV, which we can carry but not know we have, which if they get, they can get cancer," he explained. He chewed his bottom lip and changed glasses, filling the other now.
"Safe," Sid said after a few moments of silence. Patrice returned to the breakfast bar and gave him his glass. He was relieved to see him nodding, as if in approval. "Thanks," he said, nodding toward the water.
"No worries," Patrice nodded back.
"Does Jamie have a history of cancer in her family?" Sid asked, slicing into another piece of steak.
Patrice valued his important, yet non-intrusive, curiosity.
"She does," he nodded.
Sid nodded too.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said after a while.
"Me too," Patrice sighed, letting his chin rest on his chest. "I've been talking about it with Babs, our trainer at the Garden, and he said he'd do some research for me. Turns out he said getting it is actually a smart move and could really narrow any potential risks of Jamie getting anything, so, I didn't have to think too hard when he asked me if I wanted him to get it for me..."
"You guys are really in it for the long haul, huh?" Sid asked, mopping up the last of his potatoes with his fork. "I mean, not that it wouldn't be good to have for any woman you'd sleep with, hypothetically..."
"Oh," Patrice laughed. "Yeah, all those women," he joked, raising his glass to his tooth grin, knowing he and Sid got around as much a car without wheels as single, professional hockey players. The two shared a moment of understanding, shaking their heads and thinking to themselves.
"But seriously, that's awesome," Sid said, turning the conversation back to Patrice and Jamie. "She seems really tough and sweet," he noted. "I'm happy for ya, Berg."
"Hah," Patrice laughed.
He smiled, thinking of Jamie and how lovely their dinner had been with Em and their mother. He loved the way she smelt and the way she touched him every once and a while just to make sure he was still there. He loved her apartment and how her boots weren't pointy in the toes and how she wrapped her scarf around her neck.
"Yeah man, thanks..." he smiled. "I couldn't live without her."