It was a sold-out game. The crowd was buzzing with anticipation. You were in town visiting from university. Simon Riley—your brother and captain of the Manchester Wolves—had gotten you a free seat at the game.

You sat front row on the home team side, right up against the glass. Warm-ups were always your favourite. The players were loose, grinning, more likely to interact with fans. Of course, you took advantage of this.

Partly to annoy your brother, partly because you liked interacting with the players.

Your seat was right in front of the cutout, used for photographers to stick their cameras through. You came prepared, quickly making a small sign on some plain paper. "Can I have a puck?"

You held up the sign, catching the attention of a few players as they whizzed past—some even handed you pucks through the cutout. And then he came by, John "Soap" MacTavish—your brother's assistant captain. He drifted to a stop in front of you. You stuck your hand through, expecting a puck.

But as his hand hovered over yours, you noticed his glove was empty. No puck. He grabbed your hand instead. "Oops, looks like I dropped it. How 'bout a date instead, bonnie?" He winks, drops your hand, and skates off.

The game starts, but you barely notice Simon as he takes the opening face-off. Your heart is still catching up, and the warmth from his glove tingles as it lingers on your hand.

It was a high-energy match, lots of big hits, and Johnny even scored a goal or two. He keeps glancing at your section, trying to play it cool, but failing miserably. He looks... invested.

The team wins, and as the players clear the ice, you make your way towards the locker rooms. You're standing outside waiting to congratulate your brother, and some other players' loved ones are waiting as well.

And then Johnny exits the locker room first—towel slung over his shoulders, sweaty, flushed. He spots you, and instantly lights up, walking over with that cocky smirk on his face. "Hey, bonnie! You here for that puck, or me?"