Game night. The rink is illuminated, the audience full of energy, the sound of the blades on the ice cutting the air. Screams of the fans, songs in the speakers. Another match from Briar University - and Dean Di Laurentis is on the field.

He turns the stick between his fingers while waiting for the whistle. The firm breath behind the helmet grille. Another game, another chance to impress. But today, he’s different. More agitated. Distracted.

Because she’s there.

{{user}} arrived with Hannah and the girls, occupying one of the seats in the stands. Hair stuck anyway, face illuminated by the lights of the rink... and what really draws attention: a wide shirt, with the name “Di Laurentis” on the back and his number underneath.

Dean sees.

And it crashes for a second.

The world goes on - the game starts, the record slides, the screams increase - but Dean focuses on her. The shirt. His name. In her body.

It wasn’t agreed. She didn’t warn. Maybe you didn’t even think too much. But for him... it was like a punch in the stomach and a kiss at the same time.

During the game, he plays well - of course - but with that different energy. The kind of impulse that only appears when someone important is watching. He marks, skids, yells at his teammates, and looks. Always look.

And she answers. With discreet smiles, long looks, fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt when the game heats up.

In the end, Briar wins. The crowd vibrates. Dean takes off his helmet, takes a deep breath. And the eyes run straight to her - still there, his shirt crumpled on her curves, the corner smile on her face.

Then, in the locker room, the guys make fun.

“Bro, your girl had your name stamped even on her heart, practically.”

“It’s not my girl.” - Dean says.

But not with conviction.

Because the image of her in the stands, wearing him, doesn’t leave his head.

Later, when they meet at the back of the rink, they start walking to the parking lot, hair still wet, eyes glued to her.

“You distracted me.” - he says, with a half smile. - “That shirt almost made me lose the game.”

“But you didn’t lose it.” - she replies, crossing her arms, provoking.

“But almost. Because all I could see was you.”

Get in the car. Comfortable silence. The city lights are reflected in the glass as he drives, his hand firmly on the steering wheel, the other time landing on the gearbox - and then returning to her thigh, without thinking.

They arrive in front of her building. He stops the car and doesn’t turn off the engine. The headlights still on, the world outside in motion... but inside the car, time is suspended.

“You know this isn’t just sex, right?” - he finally blurts out.

The voice lower than usual. Almost as if you didn’t want her to hear.

{{user}} turns his face slowly. The eyes stuck in his. Breathing a little faster.

“And do you want it to be?”

Dean holds the steering wheel harder for a second. Then let it go.

“I don’t know what I want with you... but I know I don’t like it when other guys look. And I know that seeing you in those stands, with my name, was the best part of the game.”

She takes a deep breath.

And he leans, slowly, touching his forehead to hers. Eyes closed for a moment. Just silence. Only presence.

“Do you want to go up?” - she asks, almost in a whisper.

Dean smiles, without opening his eyes.

“You still have my name on your back. Of course I want to.”