Halftime. The Titans hockey team was down by two, and your sports blog—all thirteen subscribers—was dying. You’d come alone, desperate for a fresh scoop, anything to save it.

But when you got lost under the stadium searching for the restroom, you pushed the wrong door—and stumbled straight into the home team’s locker room.

The air was thick with sweat and ice.

And there he was.

Chase Woodson, #18, the Titans’ famously private captain, stood with his back to you. His dark green hockey jersey—"WOODSON" arched in white—stretched across his broad shoulders. A woman’s hands, nails painted black, gripped his sleeves. Her voice was a raw whisper, standing infront of him.

“You still want me. I know you do. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about this.”

Your phone was already in your hand. This wasn’t just a scoop.

It was all you need.