garrett ryder was one of those people who people didn’t like. and it wasn’t because he was insanely rude, or the fact he was overly arrogant. it was the fact that he barely talked. like at all.

he was one of the most famous hockey players in the world— and somehow— was insanely quiet. you weren’t even sure if you had ever heard him speak more than two sentences at a time.

unless it was on the ice. as soon as he got out there— he was a different person. insanely competitive, talked shit, and aggressive. it was like all frustration he had built up was immediately put to use on the ice.

you knew ryder from your high school, and you weren’t exactly the biggest fan. to you, talking was a way of life— and you did it a lot. like all the freaking time. which is also probably why you were great at being the publicity manager for your college’s hockey team— which just so happened Ryder’s team.

another reason you didn’t like ryder was for the way you met— well physically met.

ryder obviously didn’t even know you went to your school until you told him while you first introduced yourself during media day.

sometime during the pictures— someone called him garrett and he literally just shut down. like grabbed his stuff and left. you knew he hated when people called him garrett— but you didn’t think he would just leave.

and it made you want to help him.

which turned out to be very frustrating. the past few months, you did everything you could to become his friend, but he was like a wall. seriously.

plus, anytime you thought you were getting through to him, he would shut down. he did that a lot.

but, tonight, you finally got him to do something that wasn’t hockey focused. AKA, going to the pier.

you couldn’t tell if he was enjoying it or not, considering he didn’t show any emotion, but he was actually talking for once— so it was a good sign.

that was until you were both sitting on a bench, eating ice cream.

you accidentally just called him Garrett instead, and he looks down at you.

“sorry—” you start to say.

“say it again.” he says back.

“what?” you ask.

“say it again. my name sounds good from your mouth.”