You met a boy when you were at the bar with your girls, a hockey player, and he was flirting with you the whole night.

He asked you out on a date, to be exact. But you refused, saying if he scored a hattrick, you’ll go.

You arrived at his game a week later, confident he won’t make it, but he did. He scored four times.

You sat at your seat, dumbfounded as he came over to you.

“So, you free on next Friday?”

He asked with that stupidly charming grin of his.