Novelas y relatos de Booktok Hockey Player

Not love letters, nothing overtly romantic, but still enough to destroy me in front of everyone. The Alpha flipped it open dramatically. “Oh, this is good.” My face burned with humiliation. “Give it back.” He ignored me completely. Instead, he started reading aloud. “‘Damon scored twenty-three goals in eighteen games.’” More laughter followed. “‘Fastest player on the ice. Strong left-side attack.’ The crowd laughed harder. I took a desperate step forward. “Stop.” “‘Favorite move during power plays—’” “Stop!”

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Outside of hockey and his only living parent, Gunner was loath to admit it, but he felt alone. Surrounded by leeches and wannabes. Everyone had an angle. And there was only one person on his team that he trusted with his personal shit, Kensei, the man who reminded him so much of his father. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3">

Just then, my phone pinged, alerting me that I had a message. I brought it out to check only to see that it was from an unsaved number. I got curious and opened it. "Yo princess, I have a hockey match tomorrow, and as my new babe, you are to wear my jacket and come to cheer for me. Me, and not your stupid ex-boyfriend." I read out and grinned, knowing immediately who this message was from. I found myself saving his contact with troublemaker, wondering how he got a hold of my number, but then shrugged.

It was the only thing keeping him sane, that, and a brutal spar with some of the pack warriors. "Hey man, you good?" Logan, my best friend, asked, pulling me from my thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine," I lied, stepping around him to get to my locker. I dumped my school bag, wrenched open my side of the locker, and began hauling my gear out…my shoulder pads, skates, and jersey. The number ‘17’ and my last name, ‘BECKHAM’ were printed boldly across the back. The familiar choking smell of the locker room invaded my senses… a mix of after-school uniform sweat, stale adrenaline, and the tang of the ice rink just down the hall.

I looked like I had just devoured one of my enemies whole! I couldn't help but crack my knuckles out of nervousness. I knew I wasn't able to do my best during the tryouts but I definitely wasn't the worst player in the bunch. Moreover, when Bee stated that I had been chosen, hope had bloomed inside my heart. On my way there, I saw King, who wore a wide smile on his face. It didn't take a genius to know that he made it into the Hockey team. Out of everyone who tried out, he was definitely the player with the most shots, rebounds and assists.

I breathed, my fingers flying across the keyboard as the puzzle pieces finally began to click together. Within three minutes of aggressive searching through public university athletic rosters, I found him. A senior winger with a perfect, clean-cut corporate smile, thick brown hair, and an Ivy-League jawline. He was exactly the kind of blue-blooded hockey royalty that a prestigious family like the Volkovs would arrange for their daughter. I scrolled through his public social media profile, my eyes scanning past dozens of high-resolution photos of him at summer galas and fraternity parties. Then, I hit a photo from October.

KAIDA’S POV Hockey players are known for their hotness and handsome faces, but their personalities and love-lives are nothing to write home about. It’d be almost impossible to find a hockey player who is responsible and doesn’t cheat on their women. They are rare. 99% of hockey players are playboys. And the number one on the list was Maverick and number two goes to Liam. The two men in my life. Liam, my Ex-boyfriend of two years, cheated on me with his childhood best friend and Maverick?

the man said, then paid for what he had ordered and went to his seat. Her two colleagues were trying hard not to scream and poke her, while she just shrugged them off. Then Lianne remembers that this man is a hockey player. "Sir?" She went to his seat and stood in front of him. The man sat near the window, his entire attention focused on the phone. "Yeah?" he asked, looking at her. "You are a hockey player, right?" "Hmm?" "Are you acquainted with Zyd Caiden McCluskey?" For a brief moment, the man, as well as her two colleagues, were taken aback by her question. Hera even stared at her as if she were asking an impossible question. Why? Is there something wrong with what I said?

"Hockey scholarship." "Hockey?" The word comes out strangled, like someone just punched the air from my lungs. "She doesn't play hockey," I protest weakly. "Apparently she does," Ethan says, pulling out his phone and showing me a grainy video, his expression unreadable. "Someone caught her at the community rink. Tim, she's good. Really good." The footage shows a figure in oversized gear moving across the ice like liquid mercury. Even through the poor quality, I can see the natural grace, the instinctive puck handling, the way she flows around other players.

"Hi, babygirl." "Father. You did not tell me the 'dumb jock' was an actual hockey star," I growl out, my eyes glued to the man on my computer, wearing a blue jersey with the number '17'. MY day of birth, by the way, "He is a very famous person. He's been on TV! He won a big flashy trophy called the Stanley Cup. ESPN has a thirty minute segment discussing him!"