All Chapters of Hot Hockey Player Is The Man Of My Dreams : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

“I…I” due to his teasing words, I could barely speak or catch my breath. His eyes lingered on me for a brief second before he walked away—nonchalantly—like he was already tired of staring at it, standing with me. My heart twisted at his indifference, but it was quite normal. The fact that he was a new student didn't mean he wouldn't realize I was the college loser, the one everyone badly wanted to walk away from. Before I could catch my breath, I felt some strong arms pull me inside an empty class. “Sarah.” I exhaled, placing a palm on my chest. “You had a moment with the new student! What the hell, tell me what he looks like.” I glared at her. Hard. “He looks normal.” I denied, even when he looked like a fallen angel. Dark. Majestic. Frightening. Like the devil himself. “Just like any other person.” She rolled her eyes, placing her palm on both sides of my shoulder. “We both know that's a lie. He's Dominic Lakes, Lena. Dominic fucking Lakes.” “I know.” I pushed her away, aimin

The silence in my room was too loud.I stared at the ceiling, hugging my pillow like it would answer the million questions racing through my head. Dominic. His eyes. His voice. That annoying smirk like he knew everything and still wouldn’t say it. I couldn’t get it out of my head.He wasn’t just a transfer student. No way. I knew it. I felt it in my bones. In my skin. In my stupid heart that kept skipping a beat every time I remembered the way he tucked my hair behind my ear like he had a right to do that.What if he was the one from my dreams?What if I wasn’t crazy?What if the reason my dreams always ended in death was because it already happened. Once. A long time ago.I rolled over in bed and stared at the bracelet on my wrist. The same one from my dream. The one I was clutching when he stabbed me. It was just a coincidence, right? Maybe I made it up. Maybe the dream twisted things and now I was seeing signs that didn’t exist.God.I sat up and pressed my hands to my face.I need

SelenaI got the text again.The second I read that message, I dropped my phone.It hit the wooden floor with a thud, bounced once, then slid under the couch. My breath froze. My chest? Tight. Like someone had taken a fist and just wedged it between my ribs and twisted.I scrambled on my knees, reaching under the couch like a madwoman. My fingers shook, grazing dust and something sticky—don’t think about that—and finally, the cold metal edge of my phone. I yanked it out. The screen lit up.Blank.Just my wallpaper. That stupid picture of a dying sunflower I thought looked artsy once.I pulled down my notifications. Nothing. No text. No number. No threat.I swear on everything it was there. The message. I saw it. I read it. My skin still felt like it was crawling from the way it made my stomach drop.I sat back on the floor, knees up, elbows on top, and buried my face in my arms. I counted in my head.One. Two. Three. Four.A breath. Another.I needed to stop freaking out. Maybe it was

DominicIt started in the woods.I was alone. Everything looked... wrong. The trees weren’t real trees. They bent weird, like arms, like ribs, like they were breathing in slow jerks. I could hear something moving, but it wasn’t moving in steps. It was sliding. Dragging. Like silk over gravel.And the moon. It was blood-red. Not warm. Not glowing. Cold. Watching me.“You weren’t supposed to remember.”I turned. Nothing there. Just fog. Then a woman stepped out. Long white dress. Eyes covered in black cloth. Her mouth didn’t move, but I heard her voice like it was inside my chest.“You weren’t supposed to find her. Not this soon. You’ll ruin it again.”My jaw clenched. I didn’t know who she was. Didn’t care.“Who are you?”“You don’t get to ask,” she said. Her voice was sharp now. Like glass snapping in water. “You get to follow.”I backed up. My feet crunched on dry leaves that weren’t really leaves.“I don’t take orders from you.”“You don’t remember what you are,” she said. “You neve

Dominic's POVI couldn’t sit still. My leg kept bouncing under the damn table like it had a mind of its own. I was already three sips into coffee and still didn’t feel like I was awake. Everything inside me was itchy. I was losing it. Maybe I already had.Peterson wiped the counter with a rag that looked like it needed to be burned. He was humming something, off-key, low. Like always. His apron was crooked and he had flour in his hair. I didn’t ask how.“You keep bouncing that knee like you’re about to get drafted,” he said without looking at me.I stopped. Immediately started again. Couldn’t help it.“You look like crap,” he added, walking around to my table with two mugs. One for him, one for me. Black. No sugar. I didn’t even ask.“Thanks,” I muttered.He sat down with that old-man sigh even though he was maybe five years older than me. Twenty-six tops. Still walked like he’d been through war. Probably just bad knees and too much overtime.“So?” he said, leaning back. “What’s going