Winnipeg Jets One-Shots

“Guys, this is Dr. Francesca Martinez-Giron. She’ll be handling your pre-season physicals for Dr. Mackay while he’s on leave. Any general concerns, you go to her or see Dr. Teo as usual. Dr. Giron?” Paul Maurice gestured to the diminutive Latina in a bright red skirt suit. Her high heels made her 5’7, still 3 inches shorter than the smallest Jet in the locker room. Not the first time, not the last time, she thought to herself. She grabbed one of the folding chairs and deftly hopped up on it, heels and all.

“Good morning boys! I’m glad to meet you all, and I look forward to keeping you in top shape for an injury free season. I’ll see the rookies first; we should have all your physicals done over the next two days. Do you have any questions for me?”

A few heads shook, no one raised their hand. Frankie stepped down from the chair. “Thank you all for your time. I look forward to seeing,” here she glanced at her schedule, “Mr. Hellebuyck in a few minutes.”

She walked out of the locker room, head team doctor Pete MacDonald holding the door for her.
“I think you made quite a nice impression on the boys, Francesca.”

“Thank you, doctor. And please, call me Frankie. Francesca is my grandmother.” Pete laughed, Frankie certainly had the right sense of humor for this bunch. They walked down the hallway under MTS Centre and he said goodbye once she reached the primary care suite.

Her first day on the job passed quickly, a veritable flurry of young muscled men in top shape. A blood pressure slightly high here, a vitamin D level slightly low there: nothing serious to report on any of the young ones. Tomorrow she’d start seeing more of the veterans, and Pete had mentioned some on-going issues to monitor. She read over her notes again as she fell asleep in the apartment the team had rented for her.

* * * * *

“I don’t want to go first, ceaux salauds. I hate physicals.” (those bastards) Mathieu Perreault whined, having been made to skip morning skate and sit in the locker room with Shawn Matthias, Paul Postma, Tyler Myers and Michael Hutchinson.

“I guess that’s our punishment for being young, am I right?” Hutchinson tried to joke.

“Shut up, Hutch.” Perreault was in no mood for the weirdo and his sense of humor. Perreault hated getting up early, especially if he didn’t get to skate.

“Maybe they think you’ll need extra time. You’re injured, like, constantly.”

“Hutch, je te tuerai. I’ll kill you. Shut. the. fuck. Up.” Perreault started stripping the tape off his stick to distract himself.

“Why doesn’t he like physicals?” Hutch asked Postma.

“Because of the injuries. Shut up, Hutch.” Postma shook his head. Kid couldn’t take a hint.

Unlike Perreault, Frankie was in a great mood. She’d gotten to the rink early, had everything set up the way she liked it and was ready to go.

She popped her head in the locker room and called, “Mr. Perreault?” No one stood up, and the shortest of the four glared at her, so she racked her brain, remembered he was from Quebec and tried again. “Monsieur Perreault?” Her French was passable at best, she’d learned enough to get by when she immigrated to Canada 10 years ago and gotten scant practice since. The short brunette got up, his glare having been replaced by a small smile which he quickly schooled into a frown. He followed Frankie down the hall, and she asked over her shoulder, “Don’t like the doctor, eh, Perreault?”

“Non, madame.” (no, ma’am) “Never have.”

“I promise it’ll be painless. You’d think a world class athlete would be used to physicals.” They’d arrived at the primary care suite and she beckoned him in the open door. “Take a seat, s’il vous plait.” (please)

Perreault smiled again, “I’m used to physicals, oui, but too used to rehab and physical therapy and surgeries also. Your French accent is terrible, by the way. Where did you learn?”

“Michigan. My family comes from Guatemala, so my Spanish is good enough; but coming to Canada I thought French would be useful.”

“Useful for setting cranky hockey players at ease?” Perreault’s eyes sparkled at his own joke.

Frankie laughed, still in a good mood. “Yes, particularly stubborn Québécois boys.” She handed him a gown and told him to change. When he came back, she’d pulled up his charts and was reviewing them.

“D’accord, allons-y madame,” (okay, let’s go.) Perreault sighed as he hopped up on the table.

“Appelle-moi Frankie.” (call me Frankie) “I’m not that much older than you boys, save the madame for your aunties.” Frankie smiled, and Perreault returned it, albeit a bit more nervously. Frankie worked her way through the usual things - testing flexibility and reflexes, listening to his breathing (which she could have sworn quickened when she touched his chest...).

For Perreault, the whole exercise was excruciating. This doctor was positively exquisite. The other women on staff were just other physicians or assistants, he had no problem keeping his hands off them. This was far more challenging for some reason. Obviously it was completely forbidden, it’d ruin her career and be horribly uncouth besides. But her curvy, even chunky, tanned little frame clicking around the table in those sky-high heels…. He was sure she noticed his heart skipping beats and his breathing accelerating.

Frankie made her way around the front of the table, having checked Perreault’s ears. She turned on the light to check his eyes and held out her hand, “Look here, please.” Perreault was looking directly into her eyes, a bit too intensely. She felt a flush rising in her cheeks and cleared her throat, “Regarde ici, Monsieur.” (Look here, sir.)

Perreault blinked, still caught up looking at her face. Like a painting, he thought, how can someone have such perfect features? Her brows knit together in a worried expression and he snapped back to reality. “Pardon, pardon,” he muttered, but her concerned expression didn’t fade.

“How often do you zone out like that, Mathieu?”

Christ, did she have to use his first name? If she’d stuck to ‘Monsieur’ he might have kept it together. Perreault shifted on the table, trying to send blood back where it belonged and away from his penis. “It’s nothing, I just got distracted. Not a neuro concern, I promise. I haven’t been hit in the head for months.” He hurried to explain away the fact he’d been staring at her.

For her part, Frankie didn’t think he had a concussion. She knew that look, and she was fighting fiercely not to acknowledge it. This French Canadian, with his lush brown hair and beard, his deep brown pools for eyes, was looking at her like he - no, stop, Francesca Maria Angelena, stop.

“Okay. You’ll let me know if it happens again, yes?” Frankie asked, and when Perreault nodded she again raised her hand, “Look here, please.”

After his eyes, she had to check his face for cranial nerve integrity, jaw and mandible function and lymph node irregularities. Normally, no problem. With this one, standing between his legs and touching his face was making her heart pound altogether too fast.

Perreault was having very similar thoughts. Her lab coat covered up everything very neatly, but he’d always possessed an upsettingly vivid imagination. He suddenly recalled how her breasts had strained in the suit jacket yesterday; how beautiful her Spanish accent was - even if her French was poor.

“Détendez-vous,” (Relax) Frankie cooed, internally scolding herself for the tone. As she reached up to touch his temples, those big dark eyes burned into hers again. She forced herself to focus on the exam, on the small reflexive motions of his skin under her fingers. She definitely did not think about how, up close, you could see the strong, sloping chin under his beard. Absolutely was not thinking about the heart shape of his face and his beautiful thick eyebrows. She was not wondering when his beautiful smile and pearly whites would flash her way again. She wasn’t!

Perreault was definitely not thinking about how luscious her maroon lips looked, parted slightly while she concentrated. Absolutely was not admiring her high cheekbones and beautiful caramel skin. He was not getting hard just from the assertive touch of her delicate, small fingers. Yes, he was. Merde. (Shit)

When Frankie stepped back and asked him to, “Hop down,” Perreault hesitated. Like a teenager all over again, he willed his penis to go down and go away. Frankie standing there with one eyebrow raised expectantly was making it worse, if anything. He tried to slide off the table without letting her see, but the tent in the gown was unmistakable.

Frankie joked, half to put him at ease, half to stop herself saying something stupid and untoward, “I bet Dr. Mackay doesn’t have that effect on you guys.” Stop thinking about sex, she scolded herself.

Perreault cleared his throat, his cheeks bright red. “Maybe on some of the others,” he joked back. Perreault thought about roadkill and Queen Elizabeth and Byfuglien’s socks until he got himself together.

Frankie managed to finish the exam, somehow. She never had this much trouble - sure, hockey players had great bodies; and she’d been involuntarily celibate for months, working too hard. None of that explained why the Quebecois charmer on the table was bothering her so much. Luscious hair and a beautiful face are no reason to jeopardize your career, she thought, hoping to convince herself. “Right, we’re all set. Merci, Mathieu. Please send in Mr. Postma next.”
Perreault had to stop from groaning when she called him Mathieu again. What kind of randy rookie was he, getting hot for the team doc? Shaking his head as he walked down the hall, he tried to get the image of her bright smile out of his mind. No such luck.

* * * * *

The pre-season went on with just minor sprains coming across Frankie’s desk. Nothing serious enough for orthopedics, so she wrote the prescriptions and handled the follow-up visits. November dragged on, and Frankie, never fond of the cold in Manitoba, bundled up like an Arctic explorer every morning. She’d successfully put the dashing Perreault out of her thoughts, until one morning she stepped on a patch of ice in the parking lot. Before she fell, strong arms were holding her up as her feet scrambled for purchase. She turned to thank her savior, but the words were lost when she saw Perreault’s face.

“Hi,” he said softly, his breath puffing out white in the cold air.

“Thank you,” Frankie said, “Nice catch.”

Perreault’s winning smile lit up his face and Frankie felt her heart stutter. He held a gloved hand above her head, “I think you have to throw them back if they’re shorter than this, though.”

Frankie laughed and batted his hand away. “You’re one to talk. 5’10”? Not by my measurements!”

Perreault clapped a hand to his heart and looked shocked, “Comment grossier de tu!” (How rude of you!) “I’ll have you know I was just having a short day that day.”

Before she could stop herself, Frankie shot back, “In height, maybe, but not in other things.” She covered her mouth with her giant mitten as soon as she’d said it, regretting the breach. But Perreault was laughing.

“Fougueuse!” (fiesty) “J'aime ça,” (I like that) he said. “May I escort you to the door?” He offered his arm to her.

Frankie hesitated, realizing she’d gone too far with the dick joke, but not wanting to pass up the opportunity to touch the bearded beauty. She accepted his arm; and when she lost her footing on another patch of ice, her mittened hands grabbed his bicep and kept her upright. Perreault grinned down at her, so short in winter boots instead of stilettos.

He tried to tell himself she hadn’t really been looking at his dick during his exam. Tried to convince himself she was off-limits. But her red nose and cheeks, and the giant knit hat that left her dark hair static-y and scattered over her shoulders, their happy banter - it wasn’t working. The lady doctor was simply intoxicating.

They reached the lobby and he sketched a bow in farewell. Frankie huffed a laugh and turned toward the medical suites. Perreault watched her go - even in a big puffy coat, he could see her hips swaying as she stomped away. What’s wrong with you? he thought, She’s probably married, just being flirty so we’ll like her. But another part of his brain answered back, No ring! And no one else has mentioned any flirting...

Perreault shook off those thoughts and headed for the locker room. The season was underway in earnest, and sex, especially sex he’d never have, was not to be thought of. The team was headed to Columbus to play the Blue Jackets tomorrow, so practice today was important. They’d just lost to the Blues at home, and needed to turn this around on the road trip. Perreault skated hard, focused hard, but when he changed out of his skates that afternoon he still couldn’t get Frankie’s playful smirk out of his mind.

* * * * *

The team came back from a successful road trip and Perreault was in such a good mood the next morning, he didn’t notice Frankie’s car not in the lot. He did notice when he went down for a morning massage from Al that her office was dark.

“Dr. Giron call in sick today?” he asked Al as the older man manipulated his leg.

“Nope, she’s gotten a job out at the hospital. I’m out a helper, but with Mackay back we couldn’t have kept a quality doc like that on as my assistant,” Al said jovially.

Perreault tried not to look sad - what player gets attached to a physician? But his mischievous brain was back, goading him: If she’s not the team doctor anymore, you’re not her patient anymore. That means no more conflict of interest, boy. That thought carried him through practice, lunch, and afternoon skate. They had the night off, and Perreault had a plan. He got Frankie’s number from Pete, claiming he wanted to congratulate her on the new job, that was all. He also asked her out to dinner.

Frankie received a text, saying “Congrats on new job. Meet me @ Kiwa Korean 1930?”

Somehow, she had a suspicion it was from Perreault, so she texted back, “Qui est-ce?” (Who is this?)

Perreault saw her response, cursed himself for the oversight, and responded with a selfie instead of an explanation.

Frankie couldn’t help the rush of warmth through her body when she opened the picture: an apologetic smile lit Perreault’s face, his dark eyes and eyebrows open and honest, his beautiful hair and beard framing his face. Shit, I was trying to forget that face. Well, she didn’t work for the team anymore…. “You ask all the team doctors to dinner, Mathieu?” she sent back.

“I would never date a member of the Jets staff” he replied, hoping she caught the implication.

She did. “Kiwa Korean, 7:30,” was all she sent back.

The date went well, all things considered. It was awkward, given their history; it was pleasant, they enjoyed each other’s conversation. Frankie hadn’t had time to change out of her work clothes, but Perreault had worn a casual suit, so she didn’t feel too out of place. Perreault kept catching himself staring into her eyes, watching them crinkle as she smiled or grow wide as he told a story. After dinner, Frankie tried to say goodbye on the sidewalk.

“I thought maybe we could go for drinks,” Perreault offered.

I’m too old for this, Frankie thought, better put a stop to it. “Look, Mathieu, this has been really nice and I’m all for a second date sometime. But I don’t sleep with guys on the first date, and I don’t sleep with patients, ever.”

Perreault wasn’t going to let that stop him, “I understand, madame, I didn’t mean to imply either of those things. I was enjoying getting to know you outside of, erm, work. Just a couple cocktails, nothing more. S’il vous-plait?” (Please?)

Frankie was fighting hard against her better judgment here. She was horribly, inexorably attracted to him - had been since they met. And now there was no doctor-patient or employment consequence. But she had standards, dammit, personal and professional standards. “D’accord, allons-y.” (Okay, let’s go.) She heard herself say.

They adjourned to a bar nearby, and continued to enjoy themselves over a few beers. The bar was warm, and Frankie had hung her blazer on the back of the chair. Her top was conservative but when she leaned forward and laughed, Perreault caught glimpses of dewy cleavage. Her tanned arms were toned but not too muscled, her face was even more beautiful now - extra expressive thanks to the alcohol, and her eyes glittering with happiness. Lovesick pup, Perreault chided himself.

At some point Frankie caught herself gazing at Perreault rather too intensely; another time, she was twirling her hair like a schoolgirl; the last straw was catching herself stroking his arm as it rested on the table between them. Nope! That’s enough! Frankie thanked him for a lovely evening and started to gather her purse and coat.

“Restez.” (Stay) Perreault said. He meant to ask, but it came out rather commanding. Frankie’s left eyebrow rose, challenging. “Ah, please stay?” he tried again.

Watching him bend to her will at just a look was too much. Let’s try something…. “Non, venez avec moi.” (No, come with me.) She grabbed her coat and started walking away. Before she’d made it out of sight, Perreault threw some notes on the table and was catching up to her. Frankie felt his presence behind and smiled to herself. Once she got outside the bar, she turned to Perreault. “Take me to your apartment.” Surprise flickered across his face but was quickly replaced by excitement. He grabbed her hand and hailed a cab.

“What about your rules?” Perreault asked on the ride.

“No questions,” Frankie ordered.

Perreault had noticed a shift in her demeanor - she was still bright, happy Frankie but more commanding. Her voice was slightly lower, her eyes fiery. If this was what she was like when aroused, he was all in. He’d never admit it to the team, but he loved when a woman took control…

They arrived at his building, he paid the driver. Before he could be gentlemanly and escort Frankie inside, she grabbed his hand and nearly dragged him through the doors. Perfect, he thought, his pants already tighter than before. Perreault wasn’t keen on heights (no jokes), so he always took the stairs to his 2nd floor apartment.

When he steered them toward the stairway, Frankie didn’t comment and seemed happy enough to climb in her practical workday heels. When they reached the landing, Perreault reached for the door, in a hurry to get to his place. Frankie’s strong hand flat on the surface held it shut though, and when he looked at her he got lost in her dark eyes until she said “Kiss me.”

“Avec plaisir,” (with pleasure) he murmured. Perreault stepped forward and bent his head down. Frankie titled hers upward, her eyes open and demanding. Perreault felt a tingle go up his spine at the look she was giving him before he dove in and pressed their lips together. Quickly her tongue darted out, exploring his lips and when he opened his mouth she bit down on his bottom lip, eliciting a moan. Her hands were around his waist now, pulling him closer as her tongue probed his. They explored each other’s mouths, their hands roving over jackets.

Frankie ran her fingers through his hair, relishing the soft, long locks. She pulled away, recognizing that Perreault was exactly the kind of man she needed, and she was exactly what he needed as well. She yanked open the door, and followed him to his door. Once they were inside, she hung up her coat and after he’d done the same, she sat down on the sofa.

“Enlève.” (Remove (strip)) She said, crossing her legs and leaning back.

Perreault considered retorting something, or telling her to take off her clothes, but he was enjoying himself too much. Watching the little Latina boss him around, her body confident and assured, Perreault was definitely into it.

As he shed his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt and removed his belt, Frankie clarified, “Enlève tout.” (Remove all of it.) Perreault shivered with anticipation, watching her sit there still fully dressed while he slipped out of his boxers and stood fully naked, semi-erect. Frankie licked her lips, looking him up and down. This is why we get involved with hockey players, she sighed to herself, looking at his powerful legs, his beautiful chest with a light covering of dark hairs. Finally she allowed her eyes to settle on his manhood - well groomed, smooth skinned and quickly growing to the impressive gown-tenting size she’d seen once before. Frankie stood up, and started to shrug out of her blazer. “Take me to your room,” she ordered him.

“Oui, madame.” The obedience in Perreault’s voice set Frankie aflame. Suspicions confirmed. She enjoyed the view of his round, toned ass and glorious back muscles as he led her down the hall. Once there, she stepped out of her dress pants, keeping the heels on, and pulled the silky top over her head.

“Kiss me,” she instructed again, and Perreault closed the distance between them quickly, rejoining their lips where they left off in the stairwell. She could feel him growing harder against her stomach, and pressed against him. Their tongues danced, she bit his lips lightly, and worked her fingers through his hair. Still kissing him, she disentangled one hand and smacked his ass, grabbing it. Perreault groaned and ground his hips against her. Perfect, Frankie mused, and pulled away from him again. She kicked off her shoes now, making her a full half a foot shorter than Perreault. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and pointed to the floor in front of her.

Perreault understood the gesture, and once he’d gone to his knees and moved up to the edge of the bed between her knees, he waited for instructions. “Not your first rodeo, eh?” Frankie teased him, recognizing his experience.

“Non, madame. May I touch?” his voice was quieter than when they’d flirted before, almost plaintive. Frankie felt her sex come alive at the tone, and nodded her permission to him. Perreault's hands caressed along her thighs, his eyes locked with hers. He gently pushed her legs wider, and she scooted her butt forward so she rested on the very edge of the bed, inches from his face. His thumbs ran along her mound, fingers splayed on her legs. He broke their eye contact, instead looking at her folds hungrily. He licked his lips and Frankie wanted to feel his beard, his moustache, especially his lips and tongue on her.

“Lèche-le,” (lick it) she commanded. A smile lit Perreault’s face as he surged forward, one powerful stroke of his tongue up her slit making her shudder. “Yes,” she moaned as he lapped at her swollen folds. “Make me come, Mathieu,” she said and he hummed as he kissed at her clit. “No fingers,” she instructed - she wanted this to last, and she’d always preferred fellatio to fingering anyway.

Perreault was only too happy to oblige. She tasted amazing, a savory honey flavor. Her labia were darker than her skin, chocolate begging to be devoured. He could kneel here all night, exploring her folds with his tongue, sucking them with his lips and nibbling her clit. The soft moans she made were intoxicating. Neither of them was drunk, barely tipsy, but Perreault was dizzy nonetheless. Frankie was everything he’d dreamed of - had he been responding unconsciously to her dom nature during his physical, not just how gorgeous she was? Frankie was panting harder, and Perreault licked faster at her entrance, letting his nose press against her clit as he dug his face into her.

Frankie was ecstatic with the rough feel of his beard on her inner thighs, the incredible delicacy of his tongue roving over her and the pressure on her clit. “Yes, oh, Mathieu, yes!” she called out as she came, her hips shaking under him. Perreault pulled away, licking his lips. He ran a hand over his beard to smooth out the moisture from her arousal and smiled up at her. Damn that smile, she thought. “On the bed,” she told him, “Get yourself ready.”

Perreault again murmured, “Oui, madame,” as he climbed up, stroking himself with a fist.

Frankie tied her hair up in a messy bun, and stood at the foot of the bed, watching him. “You did so well with your mouth, I’ll give you the chance to impress me with your cock.” Frankie started climbing up the bed on all fours, Perreault watching her with hooded eyes. His breath was fast and when she came close to him she licked the tip of his penis as he jerked himself. Perreault gasped, and she kissed a trail up his stomach and chest as she kept crawling upwards.
With their faces perilously close, Frankie reached underneath and tapped the hand surrounding his cock. He obediently let go, and she grabbed on, lowering her hips so just the tip probed at her folds. She held his eyes with hers, letting him see them roll back and flutter shut as she impaled herself on him. The long moan he let out as she settled down drove Frankie wild.

“Please, madame, may I touch?” Perreault asked, his voice strained.

“Fuck yes, touch me, Mathieu,” Frankie responded, grinding her hips in small circles. As her walls adjusted to the incredible thickness of his smooth cock, he reached up to cradle her breasts, thumbs rubbing her hard nipples. As Frankie started a rhythm of rising up and thrusting herself back down, she inclined her head to capture his lips in a kiss. Perreault’s hands came to her waist to keep her balanced as she bounced on him, his lips nipping at hers as she moaned into his mouth.

Frankie angled her hips so every thrust hit her g-spot, and her moans got more intense.

Perreault watched her thick caramel thighs shaking as she rode, his hands now gripping her hips, keeping her angled. “Dios mio, Mathieu,” (My god) Frankie muttered, her pussy clenching around his cock as she came a second time. As she rode it out, Perreault thrust upwards, keeping the rhythm as she came down. She let out a long breath, and sat up. Perreault stilled, recognizing the look she gave him. Frankie’s mind was cloudy from the orgasms, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted him on top of her, so she could run her hands through his glorious hair, or wanted him to take her from behind, always her favorite. There’s one way to decide, she thought. “Mirror?” she asked him.

The beatific smile returned, and Perreault responded, “Spare bedroom.”

“Let’s go,” Frankie said, dismounting and standing next to the bed. Perreault led her there quickly, and she was pleased to see a large dressing mirror on the wall next to the bed. “Mon vilain garçon,” (My naughty boy) she sighed. She stood against the bed, facing the mirror, and commanded him, “Behind me.”

Perreault was only too happy to oblige. Her rounded ass bouncing on his thighs was wonderful, but watching it from this angle would be exquisite indeed. Frankie let her hair down, and spread her legs. Perreault lined himself up and pushed inside her, watching her face in the mirror. Her hips rocked back against him, taking him all the way in and as he bottomed out, Perreault groaned.

Frankie echoed with a moan, and looked back over her shoulder. “Grab me, fuck me hard, and watch in the mirror.”

Perreault was happy to comply. His strong hands grabbed her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Frankie leaned on her hands, arms locked. Perreault set a devastating pace almost immediately, slamming into her. Frankie’s moans quickly became screams, shouting his name. As his cock drove into her, Frankie watched her hair shaking, her breasts swinging, in the mirror. She met Perreault’s eyes, pleased to find him fixated on the sight as well. Perreault’s breathing was heavy, but he showed no fatigue. And this is the other reason we mess around with hockey players, Frankie thought, Stamina. Perreault kept his pace, and Frankie dropped her head to the mattress, increasing the angle. Perreault let out a ragged moan, burying himself into her. He stayed in, leaning over her back.

“Madame, may I come?” he asked, his voice tense with the control he was exerting over himself.

Frankie smiled and a rush of pleasure ran through her, “Such a good boy to ask. Get me off once more and you can come whenever you want after.”

“Oui madame, un de plus.” (Yes ma’am, one more.) Perreault stayed bent over her, drawing slowly out of her. He stood up and rammed in again. Frankie kept her head down, and when Perreault gathered up her hair with one hand and pulled back she pushed her hips back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Soon she felt her thighs shaking, her pussy spasming and another orgasm rocked her.

As she rode it out she felt Perreault shudder and his cock twitched inside her, filling her with hot cum. He stayed buried in her, letting them both catch their breath. She met his eyes in the mirror, and said breathily “Bon garçon, oh mon cher.” (Good boy, my dear.) Perreault ran his hands over her back softly, trailing a finger down her spine. She shivered and he pulled out of her. Frankie rolled over onto her back and Perreault joined her.

Perreault, mischief in his eyes, looked over and asked, “Still interested in that second date?”

Notes

Sorry this got a little long. I actually cut out about 1,500 words after I wrote it....Perreault's just too cute!