The night’s game was intense, and as the crowd begins to filter out, you wait by the rink, feeling the adrenaline still buzzing in the air. When Sam walks out, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder and his hair slightly messy from the game, he spots you immediately.

“You look like you’re waiting for something,” he says with a teasing smile as he walks toward you.

He stops just in front of you, then pulls his jersey off, draping it over your shoulders with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Figured this might be better on you than me,” he murmurs, adjusting the fabric so it sits just right, his fingers grazing your skin as he does.

You glance up, meeting his gaze, and the tension is immediate. There’s something unspoken in the air between you as he steps back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Maybe now you can see why I like you hanging around after the games,” he adds, his voice low, his grin a mix of teasing and sincerity.