1.
I was already regretting the decision to let Ellie, my perpetually enthusiastic roommate, plan my Friday night. A college hockey game. To me, it sounded about as thrilling as watching paint dry, if the paint occasionally slammed into a wall of plexi-glass, that is. My ideal Friday involved fuzzy socks, a thick fantasy novel, and maybe a face mask. This… this was not that.
Ellie, who stood at a petite 5’2” with a sharp black bob framing her almond-toned skin, had a knack for dragging me into her whirlwind of excitement. It was a force of nature, a Category 5 enthusiasm hurricane. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, now gleamed with pure, unadulterated determination as she tugged on my arm. I could practically see the tiny cogs turning in her brain, calculating the precise trajectory of my evening.
“You need this,” she insisted, practically dragging me out of our dorm room. The hallway’s fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows. “You’ve been stressed all week, buried under textbooks and drowning in research papers. Besides, hockey games are fun! The energy, the players, the snacks…” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, her eyes landing on some imaginary buffet of stadium delicacies.
I gave her a deadpan stare. “The snacks? That’s what sold you?” I knew her weakness for stadium food. Give her a lukewarm hot dog and a lukewarm beer, and she was in heaven.
“Obviously,” she declared. “Nachos taste ten times better when eaten in a crowded arena while watching ridiculously attractive guys skate around aggressively. It’s basic physics. It’s just a law of nature, like gravity or something. Plus,” she added conspiratorially, “I heard they have churro bites this week.”
I rolled my eyes, but let myself be pulled along. Resistance was futile. “I don’t even know how hockey works,” I mumbled, as we headed down the stairs. “Do they kick the ball or something?”
Ellie gasped, clutching her chest dramatically, as if I’d just insulted her family lineage. “Kick the ball? Oh, sweet summer child,” she said, shaking her head, a look of mock disappointment on her face. “They hit the puck with sticks. You’ll see.”
By the time we got to the arena, the place was absolutely buzzing. The air thrummed with a low, electric hum of energy. Students packed the bleachers, a sea of navy blue and gold, our school colors. The smell of popcorn and nachos filled the air, a salty, buttery aroma mingling with the faint chill that lingered even in the stands, emanating from the massive ice rink below.
A guy in a blue and gold face paint, his school colors smeared across his cheeks like war paint, pounded his fist on the bleacher in front of me, yelling something unintelligible but enthusiastic. A girl in an over-sized jersey that looked like it could double as a sleeping bag high-fived him, nearly spilling her overflowing cup of soda. The air crackled with the raw energy of a crowd ready to explode.
Ellie, somehow navigating the throng of bodies with the ease of a seasoned veteran, snagged two seats in the middle of the crowd, a prime vantage point for all the action. She thrust a garish foam finger into my hand. It was shaped like a giant bobcat paw.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked, waving it half-heartedly. It felt ridiculous in my hand.
"You point it, wave it, cheer with it! It’s an essential hockey experience,” she declared with the conviction of a motivational speaker. “It’s like… a physical manifestation of your team spirit.”
Ellie’s excitement was infectious, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it. I settled into my seat, folding my arms and trying to look nonchalant as the players skated onto the ice for their warm-up. The crowd roared, a wave of sound that washed over me.
I sighed, giving the giant foam accessory a halfhearted wave. “Who are we even rooting for?” I asked, knowing the answer already.
Ellie pointed toward the ice. “Our school, duh. But mainly him.”
The crowd roared again, even louder this time, and my eyes were immediately drawn to one player—not because I knew who he was, but because the entire student section seemed to be collectively losing their minds over him. He was skating circles around the other players, his movements fluid and effortless.
"That’s Ryler Schuowatz,” Ellie said, noticing my curious glance. “Our school’s golden boy. Star center. Fast, skilled, and apparently ridiculously hot.” She rolled her eyes at her own enthusiasm, but she couldn’t quite suppress a grin.
I snorted. “Ridiculously overrated, you mean? Look at everyone drooling over him like he’s some kind of hero.” He was attractive, I’d give her that, but the way everyone was fawning over him seemed a bit much.
Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Big talk for someone who doesn’t know how hockey works. You’re going to eat those words when he scores like five goals tonight.”
“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “I bet you five bucks his team loses.” The words left my mouth before I could think better of it. I was about to laugh it off, chalk it up to pre-game jitters, when Ellie’s grin widened and her gaze shifted over my shoulder. Uh oh.
“You’re on,” came a voice from behind me. A deep, amused voice that sent a shiver down my spine.
I turned slowly, already bracing myself for the worst.
And there he was—Ryler freaking Schuowatz.
Leaning casually against the bleachers, his helmet tucked under his arm, looking every bit like the cocky campus heartthrob that he was. IWater droplets from the melting ice clung to his dark hair, making it look even darker, and his blue eyes gleamed with mischief. The smirk tugging at his lips told me he’d heard everything. He was even more attractive up close, annoyingly so.
Oh. Kill me now. Or at least let the ice swallow me whole.
“What?” I blinked, feeling my cheeks heat as the star player stared at me with obvious amusement. My brain seemed to have temporarily short-circuited.
“You’re betting against us?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Against me?” He emphasized the “me” just enough to make my stomach do a little flip.
"I wasn’t… I mean, yes,” I stammered, deciding to double down instead of backing off. Pride before a fall, I suppose. “Your team is overrated, and I’m pretty sure you’re all hype.”
Ellie looked like she wanted to sink into the floor, but Ryler just laughed. It was a low, rumbling sound that, for some inexplicable reason, made my heart beat a little faster.
“Alright,” he said, tilting his head and stepping closer. He smelled faintly of ice and something vaguely citrusy. “Then let’s make it interesting.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”
He leaned in just enough to make my breath hitch—just slightly, which was very annoying—and grinned. “If we win, you owe me something.”
Oh god. “Like what?” I managed to squeak out.
" A date."
My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” Had I heard him correctly? A date?
Ryler shrugged, like he wasn’t casually blowing my mind in front of half the student section. “A date,” he repeated, a playful glint in his eyes. “Unless you’re too chicken?" he teased playfully, clearly enjoying my flustered reaction. He seemed to radiate confidence, an aura of effortless charm. “And if we lose… you can tell everyone I’m not worth the hype.”
Ellie looked like she was about to combust from excitement. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was open in a silent “O.”
The crowd’s cheers for the starting lineup saved me from having to answer right away. The players were taking their positions on the ice, the referee was blowing his whistle, and the anticipation in the arena was reaching fever pitch. I turned back to Ryler, glaring at his stupid annoyingly perfect face. He was still smirking at me.
“Fine,” I said, sticking out my hand. I was going to regret this. I just knew it. "Deal."
Ryler’s grin widened as he took my hand in his. His grip was firm and warm, and his touch sent a jolt of electricity through me. “Prepare to eat your words, foam finger girl,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He winked before jogging off toward the ice, joining his teammates.
I stood there, blinking, as the reality of what just happened settled in. I had just made a bet with Ryler Schuowatz. A date bet. With him.
“What just happened?” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.
Ellie howled with laughter. “Oh, you are so in trouble,” she said, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Big, ridiculously hot trouble.”
I groaned, sinking into my seat. “I cannot believe I just agreed to this,” I said, burying my face in my hands.
“Oh, I can,” Ellie smirked. “And you’re totally blushing.”
“Am not,” I mumbled, but I knew she was right. My cheeks were burning.
The game started, and despite myself, my attention drifted straight to Ryler. He was so good—his movements on the ice were smooth, confident, like he was born with skates on his feet. He moved with an almost feline grace, a combination of power and agility that was mesmerizing to watch. Every time he made a play, it was like he knew exactly where to be, how to move, how to command the game. It wasn’t just skill; it was an innate understanding of the ice, of the flow of the game.
The players zipped across the ice with incredible speed, the sound of their skates cutting through the rink a strange mix of grace and chaos. The sharp scritch-scratch of blades on ice mingled with the thud of bodies colliding and the echoing shouts of the coaches.
I’d never seen hockey up close before, and while I wouldn’t admit it to Ellie, there was something mesmerizing about it—even if I was still rooting for Ryler’s team to lose. The sheer physicality of the sport, the controlled aggression, the lightning-fast reflexes – it was all surprisingly captivating.
Ellie was on her feet, screaming encouragement with the rest of the crowd, her face flushed with excitement. She looked like she was having the time of her life. Meanwhile, I stayed seated, my foam finger now abandoned on the floor, forgotten. I’d told myself I didn’t care about the outcome of the game, but when Ryler—number 15—grabbed the puck and started weaving through defenders like it was the easiest thing in the world, I found myself leaning forward, just a little. My earlier indifference was melting away, replaced by a growing sense of anticipation.
The crowd erupted as Ryler shot the puck straight into the net, the goal light flashing red and a deafening horn blaring. It was a spectacular goal, a perfect shot that left the goalie no chance. Ellie whooped and threw her arms around me, nearly knocking me off my seat. I groaned loudly, partly from the force of her hug and partly from the realization that my five-dollar bet was looking increasingly shaky.
"Ugh, is this going to be one of those nights where I’ll never hear the end of it?” I grumbled, though a small smile played at the corner of my lips. I had to admit, it was an impressive goal.
“You better believe it,” Ellie said, bouncing on her toes. “And he’s totally showing off because of you. Did you see that wink when he skated past us?” She nudged me playfully.
“What wink?” I shot back, feigning ignorance. But deep down, I knew Ellie wasn’t making it up. Ryler had, in fact, glanced in my direction—and if I wasn’t mistaken, there had been the faintest hint of a smirk on his face, too. It was probably just gamesmanship, trying to psych me out, but it still made my stomach do a little flutter.
As the game went on, I found it increasingly difficult to ignore Ryler. He’d look toward the stands, and though I told myself he was probably just soaking up the applause, I couldn’t shake the feeling that some of those looks were meant for me. He had a way of making eye contact that felt… personal, even in the midst of a roaring crowd.
By the time the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard read 5-2 in favor of Ryler’s team. The arena was a cacophony of cheers and applause. Ellie was practically bouncing out of her seat with excitement, while I slumped back, groaning dramatically. My five dollars were as good as gone.
“You know what this means,” Ellie said, her grin impossibly wide.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “I owe him a date. Big deal.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but the thought of actually going on a date with Ryler Schuowatz, the cocky, ridiculously attractive hockey star, made my heart race a little faster.
“Oh, it’s a huge deal,” Ellie teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “And you’re totally blushing.”
“Am not,” I protested weakly, but I knew she was right. I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and spreading across my cheeks. If Ellie wasn’t looking at me, she’d definitely see the resemblance between my face and the team’s crimson jerseys. I was so going to regret this bet.
