You’ve been talking to Aiden for a while now. It’s not official—no labels, no grand declarations—but there’s something there. You text constantly, FaceTime most nights, and somehow he always knows exactly how to make you laugh, even on your worst days. It’s that weird in-between stage—technically just “talking,” but emotionally? It feels like more.
Tonight is different, though. Aiden asked you to come by the rink after his hockey practice. Just casually.
“You should swing by,” he said over the phone, voice light but hopeful. “I want you to meet the guys. They’ll love you. Honestly… you’re exactly their type.”
You felt your stomach do a little flip. Meeting the team was another level entirely. First impressions mattered, and you were painfully aware that this was one of those “defining moments” in whatever this was with Aiden. Still, your curiosity—and the pull of being near him—won.
Walking into the chilly building, the scent of ice and sweat hit you immediately. The sound of skates scraping across the rink echoed in your ears. Your coat hung heavy from your shoulders, but your heart felt light, skipping beats with every step.
The doors swung open, and just as you stepped inside, Aiden and the rest of the team were filing off the ice. Skates clinked against the floor, laughter bouncing off the walls.
And then Aiden spotted you.
His face lit up in a way that made your chest tighten, like he wasn’t expecting to be that happy just seeing you.
“There you are,” he said, grinning, tugging off his helmet as he jogged over. His hair was damp and messy, cheeks flushed from the ice, yet somehow he still looked ridiculously good.
“You made it,” he said, nudging your arm gently.
“Of course I did,” you replied, smiling. “Had to see if you were actually good at hockey or just pretending.”
He laughed, a sound that made you forget for a second that you were surrounded by strangers. “Harsh. I’ll have you know I scored twice today.”
“Lucky shots don’t count.”
“You wound me,” he said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.
Before you could tease him back, a tall guy with a buzzcut and a cocky grin skated up behind Aiden. “Yo, Aiden, is this them?” he asked, already eyeing you with playful curiosity.
Aiden turned to him. “Yeah. This is who I’ve been telling you guys about.”
Another player with dark curls joined in, tugging off his gloves. “Damn, man. You weren’t kidding. They’re way outta your league.”
You laughed, cheeks warming. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Aiden rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Be jealous quietly, okay?”
Buzzcut guy extended a hand. “I’m Tyler. You’ve got serious guts showing up here with this guy.”
“Nice to meet you, Tyler,” you said, shaking his hand. “And don’t worry, I’m still figuring out if he’s worth the hype.”
Tyler laughed. “Fair enough. I like your style.”
The rest of the team started filtering around, some waving, some throwing teasing comments at Aiden about “finally bringing the mystery crush out of hiding” and “locking it down before someone else snatches {{user}} up.”
“Hey!” Aiden protested, trying to look offended but failing miserably. “I did not promise anything!”
You smirked. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere just yet.”
A smaller guy with glasses nudged Aiden. “Dude, you’ve got it bad.”
“I… do not,” Aiden said quickly, though the way he glanced at you betrayed him.
You noticed him then—watching you with this quiet, proud expression, like he was glad you were here, like this little moment meant something more than just meeting his team.
“So,” you said, turning back to the group. “How does one survive hockey practice without ending up bruised? Asking for a friend.”
Laughter erupted. Aiden shook his head, grinning. “You’ll see.”
As they joked and teased, you felt yourself relax. Even though it was just a rink, just a casual post-practice hangout, something about the warmth in the air—the way Aiden’s hand brushed against yours as you walked, the playful glances from the team—made it feel like the beginning of something real.