Tangled Heartstrings

James sits peacefully in a high, elevated stool at the restaurant where Ayla works. She's just finishing up her Friday shift and he offered to pick her up when she was done. Sure, he's a little early, but he couldn't wait. The thought of seeing her appealed to him. He watches her make an alcoholic Shirley Temple with sprite, orange juice, grenadine, two shots of peach snaps, and a shot of raspberry sour puss. It's surprising how early people start drinking booze. She adds a straw, a sword, and three coloured cherries before turning around the wall to deliver the beverage. James sighs at her departure.

Thankfully for him there's a re-run of an Olympic hockey game playing on the TV. It's the quarter final game between Russia and Finland that was broadcast-ed last night. The penguin feels guilty that he didn't watch Geno's game but he was busy skyping Ayla. He did, however, text him after it had ended.
Russia lost 3-1 leaving their players mortified, disappointed, and overall upset with themselves. It's easy to tell, now that he's watching it, how devastated they truly were. You could see it in their faces. It's heartbreaking to watch, James can't keep his eyes on the screen. As he motions to turn his head someone comes up behind him and puts their hands over his eyes, thank god for that coincidence.

"Guess who." A familiar, female voice demands.

"Hmm, is it the incredibly attractive girl who I have the honour of driving home from work?" He asks knowing what her voice sounds like, how soft her hands are, and recognizing the smell of her signature perfume. The scent never gets old.

"It is." Ayla responds leaving her standing position and sitting in the chair neighbouring his. She's on the edge of the seat. Her face is an inch away from his and the moment that they meet each other's gaze James impulsively plants his lips on her cheek. It turns into a quick peck on her mouth. As much as he wants to make out with her right here and now he can't, it's a professional environment where she works. He could get her in trouble.

"That was nice." He reluctantly pulls away. "Can I have one more?"

"I'd love to once I give the bill to my last table and get changed. Can you wait until then?"

"I suppose." The twenty six year old feels a vibration in his pocket when she leaves. It's his phone. Without hesitation he views the text curious to see who it is. He can tell by the contact picture that it's Geno. It was taken at the beginning of the season at West Point, he was wearing a grey strength and conditioning shirt while holding up the other end of a heavy branch. James had messaged him last night feeding him encouragement, trying to convince him not to take it to heart; easier said than done. He couldn't help it; he was concerned about his line mate.

Geno: "I'm fine Lazy, you don't worry about me." His words don't convince him but nonetheless he responds back as if he buys the lie he's telling. Hockey players are tough and stubborn; they ignore all pain or suffering. Once his message is sent he awaits Ayla's return. She walks out of the bathroom in black leggings and a done-up denim jacket. It suits her eye colour.

"You look beautiful."

"I don't look as good as you do." She flirts recognizing that his shoulders are intentionally rubbing up against hers as they head for the side exit. Ayla links her arms in his. There's a sensation of comfort that runs through her veins and reflects in her body language. They approach the door leading out to the snow covered patio. Two of the twenty three year old's co-workers are stationed behind the bar-tending counter. The two females are happily looking at the pair. "Hold on a second, there's a couple of people I want to introduce you to before we leave. Is that alright?"

"That would be great."

"Joanna and Kirsten, this is my date, James." Ayla pauses to take a breath. "James, this is Joanna and this is Kirsten."

"It's nice to meet you both." He states stretching out his hand towards each of them. The first woman to accept it is Joanna. She's an older lady who's been working in the establishment for thirteen years and counting. When Ayla first got hired she showed her the ropes, trained her, and gave her advice. Needless to say she's a very caring woman. Next is Kirsten, a twenty seven year old who is happily married to her husband and occasionally joins Cassidy and her for girl nights. She's a natural ginger, wears black glasses, and she's tall. The Vancouver native is envious of her height, she's five four and a half.

"It's a pleasure to meet you; she talks about you a lot." The red head adds. Ayla can't help but blush and gaze down at the floor, hoping that James doesn't look her way. He does. Surprisingly he doesn't mind that she's been discussing him with her friends, he's proud and delighted that she likes him as much as she does. It's a weight off of his shoulders.

"I'm honored." He laughs lightly nudging his companion in the side. Her eyes are still glued somewhere else and she's twirling a strand of her hair avoiding the topic. James finds it adorable. "Are you there beautiful?"

"Yeah, sorry I was just distracted." Ayla picks up bits and pieces of the rest of the conversation, however, overall she's decided to tune out. It's embarrassing for her to be called out on her previous conversations with the girls who were dying to hear some gossip. They knew the look on her face after James visited her work on Valentine's Day. It wasn't hard to notice. She was glowing all day long and was being awfully chatty with customers. She was indulged into each discussion she had that day, unlike the one she's participating in currently, which was her idea in the first place.

The thing that wakes her up is Joanna and Kirsten collectively congratulating her on dating again and explaining that not all boys are bad. She watches as James tilts his head in confusion. Nothing can describe the joy that floods into her when he disregards the topic. The conversation ends with a series of the traditional, complementary It-was-nice-talking-to-you's before they evacuate the building, much to Ayla's relief.

Out on the patio beside the parking lot is a group of older men smoking. The substance blows out of their mouths and blows back into the pairs lungs. Coughing under his breath, James covers his face with his jacket and calmly turns away from the gentlemen. One of them, he knows all too well.

Every morning when he pulls into Consol the mystery man asks for an abundance of autographs from not only him but the whole team. Of course the Penguins don't mind that: it's a part of their job which they've come to embrace. What they don't tolerate is being followed around the city like they're prey for a giant tiger. It's impossible for them to go out in public without running into their biggest fan.

"What's going on?" Ayla questions evidently concerned. She's never seen him panic since he's a calm guy, but right now he's monitoring all three hundred and sixty degrees behind him. To be honest, it's scaring even her.

"Don't look at the guys on the patio, do you understand me?" He clarifies wrapping his arm protectively around her waist, keeping her close. "One of them works for an online Newspaper that exclusively covers our team. He takes his job a bit overboard, following all of us everywhere and snapping pictures without consent, allowing us no privacy at all."

"Gosh that's terrible."

"James I see you, I'd recognize your car anywhere." A dreaded voice calls out loud enough for the entire parking lot to hear. Many turn and look, to any new listener the statement would sound normal as if they were friends.

"You're right, it's horrible." Number eighteen confesses struggling to take a clean breath. It's not only due to the toxins he inhaled: there's no relaxing when the press is around. His hands are shaking and his body's trembling. Ayla acknowledges his stress and impulsively slips her hand down his back, rubbing circles that he can feel underneath his coat.

"Neal is that your girlfriend?"

It takes all of his effort to not retaliate, be violent, or be physical. Instead, he puts on a brave face and opens his date's door for her like a chauffeur. The news reporter is still positioned in his original place outside the restaurant, he may be meters away but James doesn't feel safe with his eyes on them. Quickly he bolts around the perimeter of the car and literally jumps in. "I need to man up" he tells himself.

"Do you want to go straight home or hang out for a little bit?"

"I say we go out for a coffee." Ayla proposes receiving a nod from the driver. He pulls onto the newly paved road travelling at exactly the speed limit. Normally he goes ten over, much to his captain's disapproval, but it's different with a girl in the car. He feels protective, cautious, and vigilant; he doesn't want to inflict any harm upon her. In addition he wants more time alone with Ayla to chat. When he's with her he feels energized, he's a new kind of happy. Even her puckering her lips is enough to make him hypnotized. He's glad to be a victim of her spells.

They arrive at the closest Starbucks, it's no Tim Hortons but it will do. The line is short and moving fast. In no time they're up at the front and the barista is taking their order. James requests a coffee, he's tempted to say a medium but he knows that the sizes are different here. Luckily the menu up above him is pretty self-exclamatory. Ayla doesn't have to look, she orders her usual. They wait at the side and watch the workers make their drinks. James's comes out first, it's nice and hot; steam is blowing out from the top. Soon after, the other beverage is placed on the counter along with a green straw.

"Where do you want to sit?" James asks.

"Those chairs by the window look nice." She states scouting the room and all the available spots. The only other person in the room is a woman in her thirties with blonde hair, a laptop in front of her, and a Microsoft word document open with almost a full paged typed. The girl, who's clearly a writer, is occupying a long table meant for a group of people. Other than that, they're free to sit wherever they want without restriction. The location that Ayla selects has two black, leather seats.

"You picked a good spot to sit; it has a nice view."

"I love watching sunsets. The only thing that would make it better is if we were on a beach." She states visualizing paradise. The Caribbean seaside has always appealed to her with its palm trees, clear water, grainy sand, and rocks making the area gorgeous. She smiles at the thought of summer. It's the nearing the end of February and the snow is having no mercy on North Americans. Ayla's tired of her car struggling to start.

"I hate to break it to you, but I doubt you'd want to go there right now." Nealer points out.

"I was only joking." She pauses all of the sudden finding a loop hole. "Unless we were in Florida because let's face it, they have sun all year round. "

"That just means a greater chance for sunburn. If I were you I'd take my chances with brain freeze, it's less painful that way."

"Cheers." She states holding up her Frappuccino cup before banking it off of his, she's careful to ensure that she doesn't do it too forcefully. It would hurt if it bounced back and spilled onto his hands. He needs those for hockey.

"Cheers."

They both devour their drinks. The waitress doesn't have the opportunity to drink or eat sometimes when the restaurant's busy. James just really likes his coffee. As they swallow their separate beverages they lightly chat while looking out the window. The sky quickly transitions from being lit up by an orange sun with the clouds rippling through to a pitch black atmosphere with grey, fluffy masses craving to release stored water. Sheets of snow hammer down from the sky as fast as bullets, they land on the ground outside, not that they can see that. The storm is so heavy their surroundings are faint; all their eyes detect are the series of snowflakes melting on the window. It's a shame.

"It doesn't appear to be slowing down, we should probably head back." James concludes monitoring the conditions. His company nods her head and grabs all of her winter gear before braving the blizzard. To her relief they parked in the first row of the lot against the building so she doesn't have to walk far to receive shelter. Upon request she stretches her arm to the back seat and grabs his snow and ice scraper. It's blue and double sided.

He shuts the door to avoid freezing air sweeping in prior to tossing Ayla his keys to start the car. She catches them and inserts the moulded object into the ignition. Immediately it lights up. While she waits she searches through all of the radio stations. He can hear something muffled playing from inside the car while he slaves over the front hood. James's muscular arms push as hard as he can while he grunts trying to push the layer of ice off. Considering the conditions he completed the whole car fast.

"That was quick." Ayla observes as he sits in the driver's seat.

"It would have been sooner but it's horrendous out there. I swear I saw the abominable snowman walking down the side walk." He laughs warming up to the heat. There's snow scattered in his hair, his jacket is covered in white, and his hands are bright red.

"James Neal, why aren't you wearing gloves?"

"I don't have any." Before she can protest by saying that he's from Canada and that he should know how important it is to wear gloves during the winter months, he mutters "Shit!"

"What's wrong?" Ayla asks concerned oblivious to what's going on. She's surprised to learn that beside them is the same mystery reporter that was on the patio at the restaurant and recognized James by his car. That's evidently how he followed them here. A smirk emerges from the man's face as he rolls down his window and holds out a film camera.

James leans forward so that he's facing the car to their right and shakes his head. He can prevent him from getting an interview or statement out of him but the one thing he's going to have trouble doing is getting rid of him. The man can't follow them. He can't join the trip to Ayla's house and find out where she lives. Though she may not fully understand it, having that man stalk her would be absolute hell. They need a plan.

"Are you okay with crashing at my place tonight? I could set you up in the guest room or you could have my bed if you want. I just don't want that creep to find out where you live."

"I'm okay with the guest room." She concludes being adaptable. A part of her is scared and wants to kiss James on the cheek for comfort but she can't, the man beside them would capture it on camera and all sorts of rumors would be running around.

"I'm so sorry about this." He apologizes pulling onto the road; a car pulls out behind them as predicted.

"Don't worry about it; I knew who I was dating when I agreed to go out with you. You're famous, you can't help it." An exasperated sigh hangs over him. Her relaxing words are the equivalent of a hug at this moment, he needs some reassurance and she's giving it to him. It's a relief to know that she's not mad at him. Ayla's too gorgeous and too much of a sweetheart for him to lose. Ever since James saw her that first night something within him changed. He was excited and now he has a person to look forward to seeing, a person who he can't get off of his mind, and he has someone to miss during road trips. He has someone to care about and to pour his love into.

On the drive home he feels conflicted. He's not sure whether to drive slowly because of the weather or to speed up due to the stalker behind him. The snow covers his windshield and needs to be whipped away, it's being pushed away from the glass but not fast enough. James fights for his vision. Both of them are surprised when they make it to his lane way safely. He lets her out ahead of him and directs her to the front of the house. She waits at the mailbox while he takes care of the incoming fan behind them.

"Here's the deal." James says with his arms crossed as he steps out of his car. "You leave in the next ten minutes and I won't call the police, you wait a second after that and I'll pull out my phone."

"Wow, I'm making a deal with the Real Deal. "

"You're very funny. Now, are you going to leave or do I have a situation on my hands?"

"This process would be a whole lot simpler if one of you guys just gave me a picture once in a while." He explained sounding innocent.

"It really wouldn't. If we keep refusing maybe at some point you'll stop following us around and earn it like the rest of the fans. So, will it be the cops or are you going to get out of my lane way?" James laughs as he piles back into his vehicle and evacuates his property. Once he turns around the stoplight and he's certain that he's gone he joins Ayla and unlocks the front door. She's shivering and her pearly, white teeth are clattering together. When their boots are placed on his welcome matt and their cold jackets are taken off, he pulls her into his side and puts his hand at her waist.

When they finally touch they can't control themselves. Ayla is head over heels and stands on her tippy toes in order to reach his face. There's stubble over it and his breath smells like mint. She adores the smell as their lips connect and she closes her eyes, her heart melts when their bodies are mirror opposites. James's hands push long strands of her hair behind her ears slowly as if he's treasuring her locks. A groan escapes her. He has her in the palm of his hand.

The couch behind them is calling out their names. Ayla points to it and he leads her there, not disconnecting the whole time. They're sitting close together on the same cushion so they can get comfy, they sink into the leather. From there it's all off of impulse and instinct, there's no thinking involved in their make-out session. James is kissing anywhere that there's skin, on her neck, her cheeks, forehead, hands, or her chest once she removes her sweater.

Ayla leans back into the love-seat with her head resting on the arm of the couch. The hockey player climbs on top of her. It's taking all of his self-discipline to avoid removing all of his clothes. He does, just like Ayla did earlier, remove his hoodie that's making him hot and sweaty. It releases from his hands and hits a figure climbing up the stairs. It's when the word "ouch" is muttered that they turn their heads only to find a certain Russian emerging from his basement.

"Lazy, who is girl?" James finds Geno standing at the top of the stairs. Something tells him that they both have a lot of explaining to do.