The sitter

I found myself glued to the t.v for the second night in a row, watching an interviewer asking Quick pointless questions that he had no doubt answered before. Not that I had anything against the guy, but the game would have probably started if he wasn't running his fucking mouth.
After what seemed like three years, but was only three minutes, the puck dropped. Patrick started, and that made me happy. I may not know hockey as well as everybody else, but I knew at least somethings about sports, and starting was something good.

It was like this last night, too. Me, glued to the t.v screen, yelling at anybody that came near Patrick (no doubt scaring Jaxon in the process), and swearing at the refs for giving him a penalty, when clearly, the other guy hit him first. By the end of the second period, the Hawks were up by one, courtesy of Duncan Keith, and left to go in the dressing room, leaving me twenty minutes to do nothing other than wait. I decided to call one of my friends from Mexico.

"Hola Puta!" Was the first thing I heard. All though Molly was technically an american citizen, she had lived in Mexico city since the ripe age of three, and her family hosted me through out high school and college. This lead her to visit me in Cali, and then lead to us being the best of friends, resulting in many drunken adventures, and an extremely close bond.

"What's up?" She asked, getting right to the point.

"So theres this guy…" And I spilled. She had no idea who he was, so I had to explain, but I knew that she would never really get him unless she actually met him. And she apparently read my mind.

"I'm so coming to meet him." She said, with a laugh.

"No, Mol. You can't fly up here just for that. No matter how much I want you too." I replied.

"Yeah, about that…"

"Wait, what?"

"My dad wants me to spend some time in America. So I thought, why not Chicago. He bought me a place and everything. Somewhere called Lakeshore East. And I already applied for a job, told them I was from an island and they hired me. I won't be there until June. I was going to call you tomorrow but… Are you okay?" She was probably asking about the sounds I was omitting.

"Puta Madre's together five-evah!" I yelled laughing at our old bar-call.
The rest of the night was me talking to her, and watching Patrick skate. The only time we weren't talking was when Patrick scored, because I dropped my phone doing a flip-flop. Also when Patrick was doing a post game interview about the two game winning streak, and I was literally five inches away from the screen.

"Damn. So he is a legit professional athlete. How's the sex?" Molly asked casually. We were always super chill about this. We both knew that when we were in College, neither of us were saints, nor secret keepers.

"I would't know." I admitted.

"Wait, is he celibate or something?" She asked, her voice shocked.

"Oh god no!" I said, laughing. "He's only just asked me on our first date one Tuesday." Tuesday. Two whole days away. What would I do?

"That's never stopped you before, remember Ryan- Wait, you've know him how long?"

"About five days." I said, rolling over the couch. I found it impossible to sit still when I thought about Patrick. Even harder to sleep.

"And you're this obsessed? Damn." Molly said. I knew she was right. I was going all in and Patrick probably just wanted something so bone.

"I know, I know. I'm in deep." I sighed, because it was true.

"Oh honey, if he's seen you, he likes you. Now call me tomorrow, because it's fucking four am here, and i'm tired! Night, snake!" I said goodbye, and then exited out of the call. Before I shut it off, I noticed something. "88PKane has followed you on twitter!"

The sound I made was probably similar to what it would sound like if you microwaved a hamster. The hight I jumped was that of an olympic track star. I threw my phone on the couch and ran into the kitchen. Then I ran back, looked at my phone, and ran into my room. I felt like an excited dog.
"Okay, Mel. Calm down. It was probably just a parody account." I said, while I opened my phone. Twitter couldn't open fast enough. When it finally did open, and I saw the little blue check, I knew it was THE Patrick Kane that followed me. After repeating what I did earlier, I did something I hadn't done since college. I tweet-stalked.

It was mostly me laughing until I cried about how guarded his tweets were. Things like, "Merry Christmas to everybody back in the us. Lots to be thankful for. Hope to see you all soon!"
Things like that. Things a grandmother would tweet. I decided to dm him after I chucked a follow, and let him know that I did in tact watch the game, and to see if he followed me on purpose. It took me about twenty minutes to decide on how to approach him. Funny, serious, send him a nude, etc, etc, etc. I decided on serious then to funny. Maybe a nude. It depends. Because if Patrick asked, there would be a strong chance I would do it.

M: Saw the game, saw the goal, most definitely saw the post game interview!"

Patrick replied about four seconds after.

P: I just threw it on net, your words.

M: Ok, so maybe you have some skill

P: I definitely do ;)

A. WINKY. FACE?!?!?! I thought about going to my purse to grab my inhaler, or go to the eye doctor to see if my glasses prescription was up to date. But I still had to reply, and I decided to fuck funny, and go to flirty. After all, we were going on a date.

M: You'll have to show me sometime

P: I plan on it

M: Well I have a date with a guy on tuesday, maybe sometime after that? ;)

P: Who's this guy?

M: He plays hockey for a team called the Blackhawks, have u heard of them?

P: I thought they were a basketball team?

M: HA HA

P: Go to the next home game and wear his jersey then

I dropped my phone on my toe, making me swear, making Jaxon cry. I speed changed his diaper and put him to bed, and looked at the dm again, not believing my eyes.

M: Maybe he should call me then.

P: I think he forgot to ask her for her number…

M: Is he asking now?

P: Yes!

I laughed, typed in my number, and hit send. About two seconds later, I had a call from an unknown number.

"So I heard you got invited to the Patrick Kane skill camp!" Patrick said, making me laugh.

"Yeah, Tuesday night, and maybe Wednesday morning too." I replied.

"Oh, so it's a sleep away camp?" He asked smugly.

I blushed before I spoke. "Aren't you supposed to sleep at those?" There was silence before Pat finally spoke.

"Tell me if I have to kick Jonny out now, before anything else."


I laughed out loud.

"Isn't there some 1-800 number for this?"

"I don't know… Lemme ask Tazer." We both laughed at this.

"Another thing about Tuesday…" I said, changing the conversation.

"Tuesday day or Tuesday night?" He asked, trying to put it back where it was before.

"The date, you dope. Is it a dress place, or nice jeans? I hate asking, but I hate not knowing." I explained.

"Well, you could wear anything, I suppose, because, ya know, you'd look good in cardboard." I blushed and groaned at the same time. "Okay! It's a dinner."

"With cloth or paper tablecloths?"

"Cloth. With candles. That's all I can tell you, I swear."

"When are you back?" I blurted.

"Soon. Monday, tomorrow morning. And I won't have practice on Wednesday, so…" We both fell silent when we thought about what was likely to happen after our date. The silence was interrupted by noise on Patrick's end. It sounded like people coming in his room. I laughed when I heard Patrick yell, "Come own, Shawzie. No-" I was progressively moving farther away. I assumed either I was in the bathroom with Shawzie, or Patrick was in the bathroom. I assumed the first when I heard, "I'll flush her if you don't tell me details!" Suddenly, I heard his voice in my ear.

"I'll need your name, date of birth, origin of country, and what you do for a living, other than Patrick."

I chose to ignore the sexual innuendo. "I'm Melanie, I was born July 8th-"

"Year, too."

"I was born in 89 I'm from the states, and I publish."

"Books?"

"Books, Papers, scripts. Ya know."

"Does it pay well?"

I rolled my eyes. Does everybody assume that I can't hold a high paying job and needed to date somebody for financial support? "Yes. It does."

Patrick must have finally gotten in the bathroom, because the next thing I heard was shuffling and yelling. Then, I heard Patrick's voice. "I'll call you tomorrow, when I'm back. I gotta go beat Shawzie. Bye!"

I laughed, said bye, and then hung up. I laid down on the couch, looking at the ceiling. Then I got up, and stripped down to my underwear, and crawled into bed. I fell asleep for the fifth night, thinking about Patrick Kane.


***


I didn't see Patrick Monday, which means that he didn't see me. Which means that I have to look especially good. We did have a 4 hour phone call, which consisted mostly of talk that would go on between people that actually knew each other for over a week, and the occasional sexually loaded comment.

Jaxon was with his grandma for the whole day, and would be staying with her until Wednesday night. Which meant that Patrick and I could take our time. It was currently 3 o'clock, and he was picking me up at 6:30. This gave me time to think about what I wanted.

I could hook up with Patrick, and then have him think I'm easy and have him expect me to put out all the time.

Or, I could not, and have self respect for my self, and be proud to say that I resisted Patrick Kane. And if I did that, if we finally did have sex, it would be great.

Okay, Mel. This is what you are going to do. You are going to say goodnight, and then go to bed. He can jack off and take you on two more dates.


The second choice. For sure. Then i'll get two more dates.

I decided to take a long shower, and wash my hair and blow-dry it. It would kill time until the date.



***



Patrick's POV


I found myself doing something I never thought I would. I was practicing pick up lines in the mirror. Because I was actually nervous for this date.

I told her that I would be there at 6:30, so do I show up on the dot, or early? Maybe just two minutes early, so if she thinks i'm weird, I can say I set my watch to the wrong time. 6:28. That gave me eight minutes to kill.

Flowers? Check. Semi-nice "I look like i'm not trying but it actually took about 45 minutes to pick" outfit? Check. Cologne? Probably too much but check. Condoms? Check. I didn't expect her to put out too much, but just incase. By now it was 26. Fuck it. I'm going over early.


Mel's POV


Patrick picked me up at exactly 6:27. I didn't expect him to be early, but it's not like he could be late because he lived next door. It's not like I wasn't waiting though. I had curled my hair into fluffy curls, done my makeup in a barley there look (including gloss), and gotten my outfit, which consisted of a tight (but not short) grey dress and nude pumps, by 6:15 and spent the next twelve minutes working

I could have thought about Patrick, and how horribly wrong this date could go (I could fall and break an arm, he could fall and break his arm, there could be a fire in the restaurant, etc.), and focus on a script for an upcoming adventure movie starring Jennifer Lawrence and Liam Neeson.

I found a red pen, and was on the third page by the time I heard a knock. Patrick.

I quickly did a squat to expel the nerves, and opened the door. I was greeted by flowers and the smell of man.

"I got these for you." Patrick said, putting the red roses in my hands. I smiled.

"I'll go put them in water. Come in!"

I laid the roses on the table, and began looking for a vase, which proved to be actually quite difficult because I didn't know where the William's kept them.

"Need some help?" Patrick said with a laugh.

"I don't know where the vases are." I replied.

"Just fill the sink up with water and put them in there!" Patrick said, shrugging. I groaned.

"You are such a guy." After I finally found a vase, and safely put the roses in with water, Patrick led me down to his car.

The drive was quiet until Patrick broke the silence.

"You never did tell me what you said that day."

"What?" I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.

"When I offered you spanish lessons, and you just whipped my ass in the language department. Showed me up."

I laughed at the memory. "I told you, I lived in SoCal with my mom. I picked up on some things. I think I said something like, I know everything. Or something."

"Oh, so you know everything?" He asked, dragging out the "v" in every. "I doubt you do."

"Oh really?" I asked, accepting his challenge.

"I bet you don't know how to play NHL14, or 13, or even 12." Patrick said, being a guy per usual.

"I bet I could kick your ass." I responded.

"Oh? Tournament. My place tomorrow. You bring the snacks, and your A game."

"And i'll bring some tissues too, for when you cry after being beat by a girl." There was date two, before date one was even started.

We continued to banter until we reached the restaurant. It was a quiet, cute looking italian place.

When we walked in, it was warm, dimly lit, and smelled amazing. The waiter led us to a table in the back, with candles and a real tablecloth. After Patrick pulled out my chair for me to sit on, and sat down himself, he gave me his game winning, earth stopping, panty dropping smile.

"You were right." I said, taking a sip of my water.

"What?"

"Real candles. Fancy napkins. I can't imagine you come here a lot." Patrick laughed, and my chest tightened. Now I can put on my resume "Made Patrick Kane laugh".

"I take my Family here when they're up. 100% mom approved." This made us laugh, but we were interrupted by the waiter.

"Excuse me," He said, with a snotty voice. "Would you like any wine?"

Patrick raised his eyebrows at me and I grimaced. I suppose growing up indicates that you are supposed to like wine, but to me it tasted like stale feet, if possible.

"Nope." Patrick said, popping the p. The waiter turned on his heel with a "humph." and left.

"I fucking hate wine." Patrick said.

"Me too. And what an asshole." I said, drinking more of my water.

Patrick laughed, and nodded in agreement. Eventually, the waiter came back and took out orders. He got spaghetti, and I got chicken Alfredo.

We talked so much that when the shitty waiter finally brought out the food, we didn't even notice right away. When we did notice, he put our plates down and we kept on talking.

The food was great. Patrick ate his plate in about .2 seconds, and some of mine. I laughed.

"So, Language master. What else do you know?"

I smiled, and replied, "English, spanish, and sign language."

"Sign language?" He sounded like I just told him that I knew Jesus.

"Yeah. My dad's deaf. My mom was too." I simply stated. I expected sympathy, like everybody else when I told them that I was partially raised in a deaf community. I was surprised when he said, "So you must have been able to really blast your music!"

We were once again interrupted by the waiter. "I suppose you two want dessert?" Jesus. Even his mustache was annoying.

"You know what? How about you just bring the tab." Patrick said, surprising me. The waiter complied, and Patrick didn't even let me look at the bill.

After he paid, he ushered me out the door and into the cold night air.

"Do you want this?" He asked, holding out his blazer. I smiled and nodded, and he put it on me. It was way too big. It hung past by butt, and my hands drowned in the excess fabric.

Patrick laughed, and tried to roll up the sleeves, but failed miserably. "Let's just go back into a warm household." I suggested.

We found his car, and began the drive back. Patrick played 117.5, which surprised me.

"Do you play this in the locker room?" I asked.

"Nah. I listened to it before we played LA, though. And I scored." Pat said, looking at me over the console.

"Oh, shut up. You get goals almost every game." I retorted, slapping his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, hey. You can't hit the driver. We're almost back. We can fight then."

He was right. We were almost there. In fact, we were pulling into the parking garage. He parked, and we began the trek up to the suites of the Trump towers.

The elevator was awkwardly silent, and full of tension. Probably because he had fucked somebody in this elevator before. Whatever. Things happen. I found myself outside of his place, leaning against the door.

"I had fun tonight-" I began.

"You look really good. Like an easy twelve." Patrick interrupted.

I blushed. "Well, that's high, coming from a guy who's at least a twenty on his bad days. He laughed, and looked down at his feet. Was he nervous. Suddenly, he looked up, and kissed me.

It was needy and passionate, so passionate that I found my ass to the wood of the door. But I kissed just as hard back. Patrick was fumbling around wight the key to his room, so I grabbed his hand to stop him.

"Patrick," I began, but he kissed me again. "Maybe we should stop…" He groaned. In that moment, I made my decision.

"So you can open the damn door."

Notes

This literally took me about three days to write