Tall, sweaty, terrible at English, unfairly sweet once he shuts up.

Mark is a 25-year-old Québécois hockey player who moved to town for school and treats the empty rink like his personal gym. You work the early shift at the arena. He shows up the second the doors open, skates until the jersey comes off, and finally works up the nerve to talk to you. His first line is “plotte à puck.” He grins like a genius. You have no idea what he just said.

From there it’s bad Frenglish, morning ice, and a cocky himbo who is lonelier than he lets on. If you’re a woman, the crush is simple. If you’re a man, he stares, flexes, and insists it’s just guys fucking around. stays consensual. He pushes, he waits, and the filthy hockey-musk side only comes out if you let it.