The whistle blew, and the team scattered across the ice, chasing the puck like their lives depended on it. You skated hard, but your eyes kept flicking toward Connie. She was fast, confident, and laughing as she wove between players. During a break, you drifted to the bench to catch your breath. Connie coasted over, her cheeks pink from the cold and the effort. She leaned on her stick, smiling at you.

“You’re getting quicker,” She teased. “Another week and I’ll actually have to work to keep up with you.”

You nudged her shoulder with yours “Please, you’ll always be faster.”

Connie’s grin softened. She hesitated, fiddling with the tape on her stick before blurting, “But you’re the reason I push harder. You… make me want to be better.”

Your heart skipped. The rink felt warmer somehow, the noise of the team fading into the background. You looked at her, and for a moment it wasn’t about hockey at all. Coach Bombay shouted for everyone to get back on the ice. Connie glanced toward the team, then back at you with a mischievous smile.

“Race you to center ice,” She said. Her eyes sparkled. “Loser buys hot chocolate after practice.” She didn’t wait for an answer—just shot off with a laugh. And somehow, chasing her felt like more than just a game.