Book About Hockey Player Romance Novels & Stories

They’d smiled at each other, and for a second, it looked like a fucking scene out of some teen romance movie, two star-crossed lovers reaching for the same book in a library, fingers brushing, eyes locking, hearts racing. I nearly lost it. And then Luke, one of my teammates, leaned over and muttered, "Damn. That girl looks like a sex doll with that hair." That was it. That was when I stood up and walked out. Because fuck that. A reporter cleared her throat, snapping me back to the present. Blonde, sharp-eyed, the type that got off on making people squirm. "Logan," she started, her smirk playing at the edges of her lips. "Hockey fans all over have been dying to know 'what’s your type?'"

And somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about hockey, I found myself leaning forward every single time he touched the puck. Every time he got close to the goal, I found myself holding my breath. My stomach dropped whenever someone checked him. For some reason, I cared enough about Knox not to want him to get hurt. Which was ridiculous. I hated him…. right? Yet somehow, I barely noticed Mike the entire game. Every time my eyes wandered across the ice, they found Knox. The girls behind me weren’t helping. “He’s so hot.” “Look at his arms.” “I would let that man ruin my life.”

“What on earth is going on? Your father and I just saw the latest article. They’re saying you’re involved with one of your patients. A famous hockey player. Is this true?” I closed my eyes for a moment, already feeling exhausted. “Yes, it’s true. His name is Ronan Hale. He’s the goalie for the New York Defenders. I was assigned as his live-in physical therapist after his injury.” My dad’s voice joined in the background, sounding equally concerned. “Live-in? Honey, this doesn’t sound right. You’ve always been so professional. Now there are pictures of you everywhere and people calling you… well, things I won’t repeat.”

Not me. I dig my nails into my palms, jaw tight. I’ve been skating better than ever. I’ve been showing up early, staying late, doing everything right. But it’s never enough. Not when Lena exists. And now she’s going after Evan. My Evan. I met him months ago at that party in Chicago after his team won. He was charming, warm, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off me. We spent the night together, and that meant something. I know it did. He didn’t say it, but I felt it. He felt it too. He just needed time. Space. Hockey players are like that.

“Have you been going around telling people we’re sleeping together?” His eyes shifted sideways. “Why would I do that?” “Then, why did some random girl from my class who looks like she would be the last person to care about something like this, say you have been confirming all the rumours about us, which doesn’t help the other rumours about me!” His face turned stone cold. “What rumours about you?” I scoffed. “Like you haven’t heard. I’m the hockey slut, I supposedly let all the players have their turn at me before I go running back to you. Ring a bell?”

I opened my mouth to speak but he continued speaking like he didn't notice. "We already talked about this earlier but it seems like you don't get the point of our deal." I frowned. "What do you mean?" "You act like my girlfriend to get the rumours off my back, and I train you and help you prepare for that hockey scholarship of yours." "So?" I asked. "From the second, I trained you on that rink, you already became my girlfriend," he replied calmly, ignoring the annoyance in my voice. "At least to everyone else but us."

“What have you two spoken about? Remember you’re far behind everyone else.” “Er, we, um…” “Um– what? Have you both sworn to repeat my class?” She utters, the smile disappearing from her eyes. Think, Memphis. Think. Nothing comes up. Desperate, I look to my so-called partner, almost nudging her shoulder. But I decide against it. She’s as hard as ice, staring aloofly at the other side of the road like she doesn’t care if we fail. I can’t fail. If I fail, I can no longer be captain. Failing is never an option for D1 hockey players. That’s why Russo takes one or two courses in a semester. I do not have that luxury. My whole life is on a fixed timeline.

“One bonfire. One night. If you hate it, I’ll personally drive you back to the rink and let you throw pucks at me for revenge.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling too big. “Tempting. But only if you promise no more winking. It’s weaponized.” “No promises,” he said, eyes sparkling. “But deal on the rest.” We walked back to his truck under a sky full of stars that looked sharper up here, no city lights to dull them. He opened my door again—gentleman hockey player, apparently—and when I slid in, our hands brushed. Just for a second. Electricity. The kind you read about in the books I swore I only read for the dragons.

“To you, I was more of a project than your son. We never had a conversation where hockey didn't come up. I couldn't even have a normal childhood.” “The people who had a normal childhood are not major billboards and do not have half the life you have.” “You don't even care if I'm happy.” “Has happiness ever fed a man or afforded anything. It is not happiness that buys you the sport cars and the Rolex. It is not happiness that put you on a private jet several times and year and it is definitely not happiness that is paying for you to be in such an expensive hospital.” I clicked my tongue. “You are so unbelievable.”

By‍ Monday morning, Camero‌n Hayes w⁠as trending for reasons that ha‍d nothing to do with hockey. ‘#Came‌naScandal’ sa⁠t at the t‍op of every sport⁠s blog'⁠s fe‍ed, the parking lot kiss dissected f⁠ra⁠me‌ by fr⁠ame, paired now with older photos someone had d‌ug up, the rink, the team dinner,‍ months of moments ne⁠ither of them had rea‍lized were being documented. A ta‍bloid ran the‌ headline ‘HOCK‌EY'‌S⁠ GOLDEN BOY'S FORBIDDEN STEPSISTER RO⁠MANCE⁠’, and it spread faster than anything Lena had eve‌r se‌en move⁠ online.