You should’ve known mini-golf with a bunch of hockey players wasn’t going to be normal.

Garrett had sold it as a chill, “friendly” game with his teammates. But from the second you arrived, it was clear—this wasn’t friendly. Not even close. Bets were being shouted across the course, rivalries flared up like it was playoff season, and the chirping? Ruthless.

“You suck at putting, man,” one of Garrett’s teammates jeered as he lined up his shot.

Garrett didn’t flinch. He just smirked. “Relax. I’m just getting warmed up.”

You crossed your arms, eyeing the hole he was aiming for—one of those ridiculous ones with a spinning windmill that could destroy your shot (and your dignity) if you mistimed it. Garrett took a breath, adjusted his grip like he was teeing up for the Masters, and—

Whiff.

The ball rolled maybe six inches before pathetically stopping. Silence. Then chaos.

The team erupted. Shouting, wheezing, one guy was literally on the ground clutching his stomach from laughing so hard.

Garrett turned to you with mock betrayal in his eyes. “Babe. Back me up here.”

You tried to keep a straight face. “I mean… aren’t you the captain? Shouldn’t you be setting an example?”

More howls of laughter. Someone yelled, “Captain of what? Mini-choke?”

Garrett groaned, rubbing his forehead like he was in pain, then fixed you with a playful glare. “Okay, miss golf pro, let’s see what you’ve got.”

You stepped up, took your time lining up the shot. One smooth swing later, your ball glided straight through the windmill and rolled to a stop inches from the hole.

The team lost their minds.

Garrett just stared. “Are you kidding me?”

You gave a little shrug, all innocence. “Guess you’re not the only athlete in the relationship.”

His jaw dropped, but the corners of his mouth twitched with a smile. And in true Garrett fashion, he closed the distance, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Cue the peanut gallery.

“Gross!” “Get a room!” “Ugh, not during competition!”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. It may have started as chaos, but with Garrett—win or lose—it was the kind of chaos you wouldn’t trade for anything.