Two years ago, I had the hottest night of my life with a woman who didn’t want to tell me her name—and in a tequila-fueled fever dream, I agreed. She was funny, sexy, and after I got past her brittle shell, secretly very sweet.

In the morning, she was gone. I’ve looked for her in every city I’ve played in since. That night ruined me for anyone else, but the woman I only know as “Jersey Girl” never showed up at another game.

Not until I skate onto brand new ice as part of the NHL’s latest team. And there she is, in the stands at our season opening game. Very carefully not looking at me.

Turns out, she has good reasons why she can’t date a pro hockey player. But I have even better reasons why she can—like, we’re meant for each other, and I’ll do whatever it takes to be the man she needs.