Dear Patrick

*Lana's perspective*

Me, Pat, and Johnny all sat on Patrick's way-too-big dining table.

"I say we go out for breakfast." Toews spoke, breaking the early morning silence. "We have practice in like four hours. It'll be fun. We'll bring the guys, they all miss Lana anyway."

Kaner nodded in agreement, "Yeah, why not? Are you up for it or do you still want some time to be home?" He looked over at me.

I stared into his eyes. They were brighter than ever. His blink broke my digressing thoughts. "Can we just save it for later? Like dinner or something. I'm sort of in the mood for cereal."

Patrick got up instantly. "I only have the healthy stuff you hate." he called out, walking to the kitchen. "I think the most unhealthy thing I have is Fruit Loops."

I smiled at his cuteness and got up to follow him to the kitchen. He peered over his shoulder to see me approaching, "Go sit Lana. Let me do something for you for once."

"You do do stuff for me."

"Okay well let me do this. I just want to. Besides, you left Tazer on the table by himself."

"Yeah because Tazer's such a stranger."

He turned completely around, "Are you okay?" He asked seriously.

"What do you mean?" I asked, blushing.

"For one thing, your face is red as fuck."

I reached my hand up to my cheeks and pressed firmly, feeling a vibrant heat radiating out of my face. "Oh, shit, I don't know. Probably because the atmosphere change from Norway to here."

Patrick paused. He sensed the lie. I know he did. But he ignored it for peace's sake and nodded in terribly obvious artificial agreement, "Probably." He said it quietly. The way you spoke when you were hurt by a conversation but had no intention of showing your feeling. I was about to say something but he turned back to the pantry, shuffling through boxes of cereal too healthy for my liking.

I returned to the dining room. Toews turned around, nodded at my entry, and returned to face straight, head down and eyes staring straight at the space in front of him. Suddenly, his head propped up again and he looked at me. I felt his stare as I reached my seat opposite him. "What?" I asked.

"Are you okay?" Toews asked, concerned.

"What?"

"Your face is red." He said quietly.

I blinked at him a couple times before I gathered up the courage to say anything worth saying. "I didn't tell him anything."

His chest lowered in relief but rose in guilt.
We made shameful eye contact.


We'd eventually have to tell Pat.

**

Long after Toews had left, I sat comfortably on the bright red leather couches. "It's a good thing you're good at hockey, Pat, because you fucking suck at picking furniture." I had told him once. "Shut up Lana I could teach you a couple things about interring design." "For one thing, moron," I had laughed, "It's interior design." I stared at the room and at myself. I stared at the ESPN "sports" highlights and at the geometric pattern on the carpet. Guilt was a bitch. My phone rang. It was my alarm. Time to get up, shower, and get dressed for a dinner with a bunch of 200 lb. ice skaters.

Two of whom I slept with.

**

The best part about hockey players was I never had to worry about them taking me to any super fancy restaurant. I never had to worry about looking sexy or wearing short little dresses. I tied my curled hair into a high, loose ponytail. A few strands of curls squirmed out; I left them alone, though. I decided not to wear my Kaner shirt, although I really did want to. Instead I slid my legs into a pair of black, skinny dress pants. I put on a super-low-cut maroon silk tank top and slipped my hands through a black, leather jacket, making sure I showed a lot of cleavage. I folded up the sleeves until they reached just below my elbow and put some foundation on my finger to hide me and Patrick's secret tattoo. I didn't usually wear make-up but I did anyway.

When Patrick got home he looked at me and then looked at my boobs and then looked at me and then swallowed hardly. "If you're not in the mood to go out, we could always just stay home and do other things."

I smiled. "But pizza sounds so good."

I saw the hunger in his eyes when he was talking to me, "Dessert's on me then."

I smiled at him and he smiled back.

I turned around to get my cell phone off the coffee table and noticed him looking at my ass in the reflection of the cool lamp shades on the table.

"Listen pervert," I turned around, grinning, "If you check me out again, I'll take these off."

"Take them off and put different clothes on or take them off period. Because if it's #2, I'm all for it."

I laughed at him.
I loved him.
God, I fucking loved him.

Notes

the awkward moment when you start to believe that the actual patrick kane is similar to the patrick kane you write/ read about.

ily

jk

comment :)