"So the way I see it, you have two options…" Gale starts as we lace up. Granted, we don't have a scheduled practice today, but we agreed that this was our season. We're winning the cup even if it means working ourselves to death. I double knot my skates and tuck in the ties to avoid any issues. The rest of the team isn't showing up today; it's Sunday, which is a day of rest. We have to be here tomorrow morning, bright and early. Sometimes, I think we live in Voorhees.

"I didn't know you were…" I pause, heaving myself onto my feet, "Such an expert on the women." I bend each leg, pulling the guard off each skate. They aren't freshly sharpened like my game skates, nor have they been sharpened within the last few months, but I'm not going to be picky.

Gale snorts. "Listen, you kept looking at her every time you passed by, thus the chin." He stands and follows me onto the ice. "So again, how I see it is that you have two options. Option one, don't talk to her ever again; you got big shit going on this year. Option two, you man up and put her up in the box every time she comes to a game so you don't take any more hits to the face. They can only put your teeth back in so many times."

He skates over to the sound system on the other side of the rink. "I already have a fake one, too. Maybe I should steal Finnick's mask?" I ask just as Jump Around by House of Pain starts playing through the speakers. We start this practice like we would any other. Slow laps at first to warm up our legs, then suicides the width of the rink. "I still think I should. I mean, I was single last season and we made it to the Cup. Maybe…" I trail off as we strap our gloves on. "Finnick would be better at this type of thing, you know?"

I throw the puck ahead of me and leisurely pass it to Gale. "Yeah…" he taps it with the front and back of his stick, skating forward.

"How's Jo?"

He slaps the puck to me full force, "Still in Montana, still being a bitch…"

"Gentlemen, Please! Language, there's a lady present!" Finnick roars from the boards; his girlfriend is bundled up, though she still looks like a stick compared to him.

"Sorry, Annie!" Gale hollers.

Finnick gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before skating over to us. "Yo, pass me the puck," he demands. Being on the front lines of everything, Gale and I have learned to predict each other's moves. Fortunately, Finnick's head is too far up his own ass sometimes to catch on. I still have the puck so when Gale makes a one eighty, I pass it to him and he's off.

Finnick doesn't even have pads on so he can actually get across the ice at a reasonable pace to chase after Gale. "So Annie…" I start skating over to her.

"Yeah, Peeta?"

"When he takes the ice at warm-ups, Finnick does this thing where he does a split and like… shuffle thrusts? He says the ladies love it. Is this true?"

She slaps her forehead, understanding Finnick's ego. "Finnick!" she shouts over the music. He stops dead in his tracks, right in Gale's path.

"Odair down!" he shouts, laying on his back on the ice. "What do I look like?"

Gale skates around him and jumps over him, "A speed bump that shouldn't leave the crease."

We coerce Finnick into donning all his gear. "This shit fucking reeks, guys! Smell my gear bag!"

"No!" we shout together. My pads smell like death warmed over, and they aren't thick foam like his leg pads. Finnick is great to play with. "I got my eyes on you," he points to his eyes then to me. "Oh! Mellark's going to pass to… no… no… just kidding! He's going to love tap the puck into the goal two minutes into first period! Or this one… sneaky fuck Hawthorne!" I lazily tap the puck from side to side. "Also, what am I better than Gale at besides hockey?"

"Get on the line, man, we'll see… But remember that chick Peeta pitched a bottle at?"

"Asshole tried to pin it on me… Annie! Go put on Jump Around! Please!" Instead of cutting across the ice, she walks around the rink saying nothing. A few seconds into the song, Finnick starts jumping in a small circle. I pass to Gale and he scores. "Hey no fair! I wasn't ready!" Finnick hollers.

"Is that what you told the Blackhawks?"

"Oh, shut up! But no, what about the chick you beamed a water bottle at?"

"I got her number," I say as he passes me the puck. I shoot it, but he stops it.

"And you're going to…"

"I don't know?"

"No, idiot. The correct answer is," he explains, blocking another easy shot from Gale and tossing it back. "You call her. She was kind of cute. Not my type, but she had those braids. You could use them like reigns!" This causes me to swing at full force, the puck coming off the ice and passing through the top corner. I barely know this girl and I already feel the need to protect her modesty. "Or don't. But seriously," he passes it back, "Pros and cons. Pros? Sex, that's the biggest one. She's someone to come home to when we're not away. Someone cheering for you and only you besides Mom and Dad," I nod. "There's also companionship; that's important, too."

"Now, cons. She could be a distraction. You only have the potential to see her like fifteen days out of the month until the summer. And you barely know her… plus, distraction."

I lean my weight on my stick, weighing both sides. I did tell her it was only dinner after all…what's the harm in that?

When I get home from practice, I decide to call her.

"Hello?" she asks, an edge of mistrust in her voice.

"Katniss?"

"Oh, hello, Peeta. Sorry, I'm trying to grab lunch, so don't mind my chewing while I get off my feet for five minutes."

"It's two o'clock," I say. Even we take a break for lunch!

"Yeah, tell that to the fucking Eagles… They're losing, so I take comfort in that. So what's up, stick jockey?"

"Stick jockey?"

"Calling you 'shoulder pads' just didn't seem to fit…" she sighs. "Too nineteen eighties…then you might think it's okay to grow a mustache." She doesn't wait for me to respond, "So before we get off topic, to what do I owe this honor?"

Here we go, just dinner, see if you hit it off. Just one dinner to see if she's more than just a pretty face and if maybe she's worth the distraction. "I was wondering if you were free tonight?"

The dull roar in the background turns into a chorus of people yelling 'touchdown'. "God dammit…" she grumbles.

"Are they this loud for the Flyers?" I ask.

"Well, haven't you ever watched a game live?" The noise dies down.

I slap myself in the forehead, "Well… no."

She pauses for a second, "How come?"

"Because I'm playing in them?"

I hear her slap her forehead. "Oh God, you must think I'm an idiot. It kind of slipped my mind. I'm really not this much of a goof, it's just been a long day," she sighs and chuckles sheepishly. I can imagine the embarrassed blush on her cheeks; the same one she got in the cold last night, just pink enough. "Um… Peeta?" she asks, "Still with me?"

I shake myself out of my daydream. "Yeah, sorry, what was that?"

"I said, what did you have in mind slash what time?"

"My place for dinner whenever you get off work?"

"Hmm… No coffee?" she teases.

"Only if you need it," I tell her, playing along. She makes a choking noise on the other end.

"I get off work in about an hour, but I need to get ready. Where do you live?"

"I'll pick you up," I offer. I don't know whether or not to tell her my living situation, but her aversion to cars isn't going to help her get to the house Gale and I share with his kids. "It's a far drive."

"No, you won't. Then it's like I owe you something. This isn't my first rodeo, shoulder pads." When I give her the address, unwilling to argue with her, she sighs long and hard. "You just lost a lot of points, Jersey Boy, but I'll see you at six."

"What are you doing?" Gale's youngest, five-year-old Celeste, asks for the hundredth time. While my attention is focused on my cooking, the little girl hops off her chair and tugs on my pants. "Uncle Peeta!" she whines, but the doorbell distracts her and she goes running off, her stuffed rabbit dragging behind her by the ears.

"Celeste!" I holler. Gale is taking the kids back to his ex-wife's house tonight. Unfortunately, getting three kids ready to do anything is harder than running on water. "Ne pas ouvrir la porte d'entrée!" Gale likes speaking French to his kids because it's something his ex-wife doesn't do with them. My mother's first language was drilled into my head even though we lived in a predominantly English speaking area. The security system pings as the door swings open.

I run after her, sliding on the hardwood on my socks. Katniss is slack jawed, nervously clutching her black coat, as if the equally confused little girl is a dog ready to attack. Her eyes find mine. "You… You have a kid?!"

I put my hands up defensively. "I don't, Gale does!"

"Je pensais que tu étais maman…" Celeste sighs, disappointed that the woman at the door isn't her mother like she expected.

I sigh. "Votre père vous a dit qu'il vous emmène à la maison de votre mère après qu'il se préparait ton frère."

She's even more disgruntled now, knowing it's her brothers holding her up. "Are you going to come in?"

She nods nervously and waits for Celeste to run upstairs, yelling for her brothers to hurry up the entire time. Katniss' coat goes down to her thighs; the only part of her outfit that's exposed is her light blue leggings and brown boots. I suddenly feel under dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. "Should I go change?"

"No, you're perfect…" she cuts herself off, like she was going to say more and blushes. There's an awkward silence, so she grabs her braid and strokes it nervously.

"I thought this wasn't your first rodeo," I tease, holding out my hand. "Here, I'll take your coat."

She's still blushing, but awkwardly takes off her coat and hands it to me. Her sweater dress has ridden up enough to expose her entire right leg and through her leggings, I can make out the faintest outline of her red thong. "I'm just used to going out in public where we both have to pretend to be normal. At your house there's a zoo of children, well zoo of one child-"

"Three. Celeste is the youngest, she's five. Then there's Ethan and Parker. The twins are… ten? Yeah, that sounds right. But Gale's taking them to Madge's because they have school, though Ethan gave Parker a bloody nose over Madden." Her eyes widen and she nervously plays with the low V-neck of her dress, drawing my attention right to her breasts.

She clears her throat. "So, what's for dinner?"

"I had no idea what you would eat, so Chicken Marsala."

Katniss chuckles. "A man of many talents…"

Gale and the kids leave right before we sit down to eat. "You know the rules, don't leave the stove on, no eggs in the microwave," he cautions.

"Ethan did it!" I explain as Katniss sips on her second glass of wine, watching everything we do.

"And no girls in the bedroom!" She freezes at this, not bringing the glass down as if it is some type of camouflage for her blush.

"So where did you learn to cook?" she asks while we eat.

I wipe my lips clean. "Well, I was living alone in Center City for three years and I found the Food Network. It was kind of a 'learn by doing' thing." She nods and takes another bite, chewing slowly. "Where are you from?" I ask.

She swallows, "Newfoundland… Pennsylvania, that is. It's kind of two hours north of civilization, which is Allentown… But I moved to Philadelphia when I was young, so I guess there. Yourself?"

"A little town called Hearst in Ontario. If you want to talk about 'away from civilization' as you call it, try being about one thousand kilometers north of Toronto." Katniss clears her plate, but doesn't ask for more. Instead, she grills me on everything about my past.

"So why do you speak French?" she asks, finishing her third glass of wine.

"Why do you say water with an O?"

"Because… I do?"

I grin, "Exactly."

Her cheeks flush red again. "I'm sorry. I feel like such an ass around you sometimes. I'm always saying the wrong thing!" She rests her hands on the table, twisting her napkin around her index finger. I cover her hands with mine.

"You're perfect," I tell her.

I save the dishes for tomorrow after practice and we settle on the couch in the den, one of the three rooms in this house that are mine. It's a large room in the back of the house, right next to my bedroom and bathroom. The kids aren't allowed in here, which is a relief.

"So what do you want to watch?"

She shrugs and moves a little closer to me, her arm touching my side. My arm rests on the back of the couch. While she thumbs through my DVD's, I pull the tie out of her braid. "Excuse you…" she mumbles, closing my binder full of movies. She twists around to get the hair tie from me, but I hold it over my head and she's straddling my lap. "No fair! Your arms are long!" she complains. I laugh and fling the black band across the room. She twists to follow its path, still in my lap. While her head is turned, I unbraid her hair.

"Why do you wear your hair back like that? It's nice," I tell her, winding a section around my finger. She faces me again slowly, watching me play with her hair, which is wavy from the braid. I let the strands fall from my fingers and place my hands on her back on the off chance that she falls backwards.

I look down. Her dress has bunched up, exposing almost all of her sky blue leggings. Then her hands come down and she lifts the garment over her head. The fabric crackles from the static as it passes over her hair. Her white shirt does nothing to hide the red lace bra she is wearing.

"Sorry… It was getting warm…" she mumbles. I place my hands on her back again and press her flush against my body.

"Is this better?" I ask as she rests her hands on the back of the sofa.

"Yeah…" she whispers before leaning in. Her lips just about touch mine and the static build-up from her sweater removal passes between our lips. Katniss jumps back, flushed again. "I am so sorry, P-" I put my hands on her cheeks and pull her in for a second attempt at a kiss. They're a little chapped, but she returns the kiss with equal force and desire. Her hands tangle in my hair as she opens her mouth, her tongue rubbing against mine. As I cup her backside, the tip of her tongue rubs against my top row of teeth. I feel her moan vibrate into my mouth as I squeeze the mounds of flesh.

She pulls away and the tips of her fingers brush against my stomach. She doesn't even ask, already knowing the answer. My shirt gets caught on my chin and then my ears. "Oh my God!" she gasps. "Peeta!" I look down at my chest, where there's a dark purple bruise the size of her hand. "What did you do!?"

"I took a guy's shoulder to the chest. It happens, pads or no pads… I have another one on my leg, but you're not seeing that one."

She leans in and kisses the bruise. "Does it hurt?" she asks. Her face is still close to my chest, her big grey eyes wide with concern.

"No, but don't worry about that. It's an… occupational hazard. Just like this," I say, pointing to my chin. "But if you want, you can kiss it again." She bites her lip and gets out of my lap, sitting on her legs, knees touching my leg.

"So much for just dinner…" she chuckles nervously. "But you have the Sex and the City movie and Boondock Saints, so I can forgive you."

I roll my eyes. "I am NOT watching Sex and the City!" I put my hands on my knees to help myself stand and kiss her nose.

"Well, you have both movies, so…" I put in the Boondock Saints DVD and sit back down.

I wrap my arms around her shoulders as she lays her legs over mine. "Why are women always so cold?" I ask while rubbing her arms.

She yawns. "It's all the blood going to important places. I don't need arms and legs, but I really need an appendix." She rests her head on my shoulder for about half the movie, "And Shepherds we shall be. For thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand. Our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee. And teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomeni Patri, Et Fili Spiritus Sancti."

"How many times have you watched this?" It takes a lot of effort for Katniss to move, but soon she's back in my lap.

"Enough…" She rests her head on my shoulder.

"Oh, you're tired?" I ask and she nods. "Excuse me - you kept me out until three am and then I had practice this morning, but here…" she yelps as I grab her ass again and moves so she's on her back. "These pants are ridiculous," I tell her, kneeling between her legs.

She covers her eyes with the backs of her hands and laughs. "Prim helped me get dressed. If I had known we were going to be so casual, I would have stayed in my t-shirt and jeans!" I reach down and hook my finger in the waistband of her leggings. She removes her hands from her eyes and watches as I move my finger back and forth, but makes no effort to stop me. I pull my hands away and she shifts so I can lie down next to her.

I lay my arm across her waist and she lifts her head so she can rest it on my arm. She ends every long kiss with a shorter softer one, her hands running through the hair on my chest and head.

I reach my hand under her shirt and run my fingers along her flat stomach. She squirms a little, pulling away. "Stop that!" she giggles.

"Oh, you're ticklish?" I move my hand to her ribs, running my fingertips up and down until she squirms her way off the couch. "Holy shit, Katniss, I'm so sorry!" I peek over the edge of the couch where she's laying on the floor, her shirt pushed up so her bra is exposed.

"Dirty fighter!" Her hand comes up lightning quick, grabbing the collar of my shirt.

My jaw drops. "Excuse me, ma'am. What are you accusing me of?"

She sits up quickly, fixing her shirt. "'I'm sorry, ma'am?' Just how old do you think I am?"

I think for a second. She doesn't have that nervousness women in their early twenties seem to have about intimacy. On the other hand, she isn't just putting herself out there. "Twenty… five?" I ask.

She kisses my cheek after she gets up off the ground. "Close enough. I'm twenty-six. Twenty-seven in May."

"Twenty-six in March," I tell her. "I've always wanted to date an older woman." I look up as her eyebrows knit together. She puts her hands on her hips.

"Who said anything about dating? This was just dinner."

I sit up and grab her hands, guiding her into my lap. "Oh, I don't know," I kiss her cheek. "I figured we'd go out a few more times and see where this takes us…"

So I can see whether or not this is something worth pursuing, or if the benefits outweigh the risks.

"We'll see… let's just make it through this movie…"

It's a little awkward for a few minutes. I lay with my back against the couch and she presses her back to my chest. We lay in silence, all the while my anxiety builds, making it almost impossible to talk. That is, until she rolls over and looks me dead in the eye while smiling, her lips brushing mine. At first, the kiss is innocent and soft. She brings her leg over my hips and I move onto my back, forcing her on top of me. She's a slight little thing, but I've been single for so long and most of my social interactions are with guys in hockey pads. It's so strange to see her on me, and even stranger when she lifts off her shirt. "You know I'm not here because you're a hockey player, right?" she asks.

"If you were, those insane pant things wouldn't have been part of the outfit."

Katniss narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her small chest. Her breasts are about a palm full, the perfect size for her small frame. "You're a cocky little ass, you know that? But that's not important right now. Where's your bathroom?"

"Next door on your right through my bedroom," I explain. She hops off of me, ignoring the fact that that position made me hard. She picks up my t-shirt and pulls it over her head.

"Peeta Mellark, just because you wined and dined me doesn't mean you're getting into my leggings!"

She leaves the room just as the movie ends, so I switch the TV to ESPN. They're just finishing coverage for the NFL and go into the NHL. "SportsCenter, really?" Katniss asks. I mute the coverage of the game I was actually there for. "I'll spoil it for you. The Flyers won, you took a stick to the face, Gale punched a guy and Finnick did something that resembled the electric slide when he kept the thing from going into the other thing…"

I put my head in my hands. "Katniss Everdeen, if we're going to continue this, you need a crash course in hockey terminology." The couch shifts as she sits next to me, and I turn the volume on again.

"What does icing mean?" she asks after the announcer mentions it for the fifth time.

I think for a second about how general I need to be with her. She seems smart, so I choose to explain it how I learned it. "Alright, so…" I take the coasters off the coffee table and kneel in front of it. Katniss rests her elbows on her knees and cradles her chin in her knotted fingers. "Actually, one second." My knees crack as I stand up and rush to my bedroom. I grab a handful of belts and head back into the den where Katniss is watching coverage of the Blackhawks game. I shudder a little.

"I don't like the Blackhawks' uniforms," she tells me as I lay belts across the table where lines on the rink are. "They look obnoxious." I place the center line down, marking it with a black belt and showing center ice with brown belts. At the ends, I have two more black belts and a remote marking each goal.

"The team doesn't particularly enjoy the Blackhawks in general. Alright now, besides the faceoff circles, this is… kind of right except the rink is a little wider." I run my index finger along the center line. "This is the red line dividing center ice in half. The remotes are the goals. This one," I say, tapping the one to her right, "Is the defensive zone; the other one is the offensive. Which makes this…" I drag my finger from left to right, "The direction of play." I decide to make this lesson on icing into a crash course on the very basics of hockey. "You never really hear anyone say offensive zone and defensive zone. It's just which ever team's goalie is in the goal."

"So wait, the puck can only move from left to right?"

"No, it just depends on who has possession of the puck. So the Samsung remote can be Finnick, and the sound system remote with the name I can't pronounce is the other team. Okay?" I'm amazed at how she actually listens, not getting impatient or bored.

"So where are you on this… coffee table?" she inquires. I place a coaster close to the center line on the Samsung side.

"I play center and these coasters," I place two closer to the edges of the table, a little behind the one representing me but still at center ice, "Are right wing and left wing. The three of us try to score goals while these two," I place two more in the back, closer to the center of the defending zone, "Are the defensemen. They try to get the puck to the three of us and keep it from getting to Finnick."

"Who is the goalie and keeps the other team from scoring."

I nod. "There's hope for you yet."

"So what is icing?"

I remove the unnecessary coasters, leaving only the center coaster and pushing the left wing coaster up just past the center line. "Say I shoot the puck from here," I point to the center coaster. "And no one from either team could possibly pick it up and it passes the back line where the insane sound system remote is, that's icing. It has to pass two red lines, the last one being the goal line, to be considered icing. Though, if this coaster was to do the same thing just past the red line, it would just be annoying."

"What's the point?" she asks, sliding off the couch and kneeling on the other side of the coffee table. She absent=mindedly pinches the end of one of the belts between her thumb and index finger.

"When it happens, there's another faceoff. That could change possession, so it's both a defensive and offensive move."

She nods and looks at the table. "You have a lot of black belts and coasters." I sigh and let myself fall back on the floor. "What? Oh, don't be dramatic!" She walks around the coffee table and stands over me, her feet on either side of my arms. I finally realize that when she was in the bathroom, she lost the leggings. I quickly look away as she kneels down, barely resting her weight on me. "Thank you, though, for the lesson." Her lips land on my cheek, "Your whole face lights up when you talk about hockey."

"It was my first love," I answer honestly.

She kisses my cheek again and runs her fingers through my hair. "What was your second?"

"The Nintendo 64 my parents got me for Christmas one year."

"Good choice…"

"So what's icing?" I ask.

"When someone shoots the puck across two red lines, the last one being the goal line, with no chance for someone to play it."

I bring my hand up and brush some of her hair away from her face. "That's my girl…" I whisper.

She smiles and I can't help but hope that she's worth the risk.


If you so wish you can contact me either here or on my tumblr or via email:

ask or at Falafelwaffelfics

See you all in chapter 3!