Booktok Hockey Book Novels & Stories

"Man, I don't get it. You guys don't even talk in the locker room, but on the ice, you’re like best friends. How do you do it?" "It's just hockey, Swiss," I said, not looking at Jax. "You don't have to like someone to pass them the puck." Jax gave a small, stiff nod. "Exactly. I just go where the puck goes." But later that night, at 2:00 AM, the “ just hockey” part disappeared. The athletic dorms had high tech security, but I knew the blind spots of the cameras. My father thought he had locked me in a cage, but he forgot that I had spent my life learning how to navigate systems.

Like scoring was the most normal thing in the world. “What the hell?” I muttered. Leah barked out a laugh. “He's so good, it's unreal” I folded my arms quickly, forcing my face to stay calm. “Erm… he’s okay,” I muttered, even though my chest was still buzzing from the goal. “You’re literally standing.” I immediately sat down. Leah snorted. The game continued. Then Knox scored again. And again. And somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about hockey, I found myself leaning forward every single time he touched the puck.

The locker room of the New York Glaciers smelled like wintergreen, expensive cologne, and male sweat. To most fans, this was the smell of victory. To Oliver Hartley, it just smelled like forty thousand dollars of student debt. Oliver adjusted the strap of his heavy massage kit. He was twenty-three years old, with messy blonde curls that refused to stay flat and bright blue eyes that usually held a spark of mischief. But today, those eyes were tired. He had graduated top of his class in nursing, but nursing didn't pay enough to clear his loans fast. Being a massage assistant for a star hockey team did.

Every muscle in my body tightened immediately. Beside me, Lily muttered under her breath, “Oh absolutely not.” Ryan’s expression went completely unreadable beside our table. Daniel dropped his bag onto one of the desks loudly before speaking. “Damn. Brookshire still smells the same.” A few hockey players near the back laughed awkwardly. Then Daniel’s gaze shifted toward Ryan. “There he is.” One of the hockey guys frowned slightly. “Thought you quit school.” “Nah.” Daniel leaned back casually against a desk. “Just needed a break.”

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.

Dark hair messy beneath his helmet like a cologne commercial designed to ruin women financially and emotionally. Still an asshole though. “You’re watching this again?” she asked. Ethan finally glanced at her. “This was his hat trick game.” “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something to me.” “It means he scored three goals in one game.” “Congratulations to him and his violent ice soccer.” Ethan gasped in mock offense. “Did you just call hockey ice soccer?” “Yes.” “That’s offensive.” She bit into her toast. “You know what’s offensive? The fact that this man has rejected me four times this month.”

“Let’s go.” We left the girls’ hostel together, walking down the path toward the arena. Music and chatter filled the air. Everything looked alive. Then we heard it. Screams. Cheers. From ahead. I looked up and— There he was. Nick. Dressed in full hockey gear, jersey clinging to his broad chest, helmet in one hand, stick slung casually over his shoulder. His teammates surrounded him, walking with swagger, like kings heading into battle. The crowd erupted around him. Girls screamed his name like he was a rock star.

But maintaining my form felt nearly impossible with his broad frame bracketed so closely behind mine. Every micro movement sent an accidental wave of heat straight to my core. We completed three full sets of the guided motion. By the time he stepped back and instructed me to pick up a pair of light dumbbells to finish the set independently, my legs felt like lead. Richard Rashford had somehow managed to completely sap every last drop of my physical energy without lifting a single weight himself. “Excellent form, Lori,” he murmured smoothly, stepping away with a subtle, knowing twinkle in his eyes. “I'll see you in the main hall later.”

I told him things I hadn’t even told anyone and the way my body felt off, alive with a buzzing energy I couldn’t explain. He listened, nodding, his gaze soft. Then he said, almost shyly, “Can I tell you something? Something I’ve never told anyone?” I looked at him, curious. “What?” “I used to hate hockey,” he admitted with a laugh. “Crazy, right? Everyone thinks I was born with skates on, but when I was a kid, I wanted to quit. My dad wouldn’t let me. Said I’d thank him someday. I guess I did. But… I’ve never told anyone that. Not even the guys.”

Sophia expects me to become one of them, not the other way around. "We'll discuss it later," I say, signaling the waiter. "Right now, I need to focus on tomorrow's game." "Against that little pack from the south?" She waves dismissively. "It should be an easy win. Bloodfang has never been known for their hockey skills." "They're stronger this year. They have some new talent." "Like who? That Hale girl everyone's been talking about?" Sophia's laugh is sharp. "I remember her from the video that circulated. She was nobody then, and she's nobody now. Just because she learned to play hockey doesn't make her important."