Booktok Hockey Romance Mga Nobela at Kwento

Hello, thank you so much for getting this far! What did you think about Filippo and Renata's story? Please, if you can, leave five stars on the book review, it will help this author a lot! And now, a little bit of the next book: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chapter 1: The Payment. (Amanda Fernard)

one of the fools says to the other as he slides across the ice toward me. I huff behind my helmet, bumping into his shoulders as he gets close. That knocks him off balance, a groan spilling from his mouth. Weakling. The other attempts to follow the first fool's instruction, but I successfully maneuver my way past him and head for the net. "Bring this home, baby!" Oliver shouts enthusiastically across the rink. A devilish smirk curves my lips as I glare at the goalkeeper, who visibly shakes with fright. I tease him with a fake pass, and when he eagerly slides to the other end of the net to catch the non-existent puck, I seize the opportunity to swing my stick, sending the puck gliding smoothl

She picked up her book and shut it close the next second. “Damn Emily, way to kill the vibe,” Joseph mouthed. “You are a piece of shit, Joseph. Shut the fuck up and go back to gooning on animated series,” Emily jabbed. As Joseph cleared his throat and pretended to act unbothered, Chris walked into the class, reading the thick awkward tension. Our eyes met but I quickly looked away as he breathed in and pressed his lips together. “Another puppet,” Deej scoffed in a whisper. Chris walked to his seat, pumping his shoulders up and muttered. “I guess the theory is true. The football team and the hockey team are sworn to hate each other and it transcends their relationship.”

Allie groaned, kicking the door shut behind her with her heel. She dropped the books onto her desk with a heavy thud and tossed one of the coffees onto my bed. "I got you an oat milk latte. You look like you need the caffeine, and you look like you haven't slept since Tuesday." Allie was a breath of fresh, aggressively normal air. She was a twenty-year-old nursing student who knew absolutely nothing about the brutal politics of college hockey, the toxic locker room culture, or the fact that my boyfriend had just killed a man in the woods.

"Sophomore. English major. Expert at making a total mess of my own life, so I definitely don't judge anyone else's." "Janessa," I murmured, a tiny, fragile smile finally breaking through the heavy cloud of my anxiety. "Nice to meet you, Janessa," Chloe beamed, pulling her giant coffee closer. "Seriously, don't let those country club snobs get to you. My life is a complete circus right now too. I'm currently hiding out here because I'm furious at my boyfriend. He's this giant, thick-skulled hockey player named Miller, and he thinks he can just ignore my texts for six hours because they're in 'heavy training lines' or whatever."

Specifically to the pages sitting next to his keyboard – a cover page visible with what appeared to be a very muscular torso sketched in pencil. “Cole.” He reached for the pages. Too slow. “Was that a romance novel?” He slammed his laptop shut like that would somehow help. “It’s literary fiction with romantic elements.” “There was a shirtless hockey player on the cover page.” “...Research.” Sienna looked at me. I looked at Sienna. For one second – one brief, ridiculous, beautiful second – the weight of everything lifted and we were just two girls in a boy’s apartment discovering that the 6′4" redheaded goalie with the deadpan delivery was secretly writing love stories.

Chapter 182: Third Person POV The man's fingers traced the glossy magazine cover slowly, deliberately, his touch almost reverent as it moved across the photograph displayed there, a hockey player mid-action, captured in perfect athletic form, his face focused and intense beneath the headline "Zane Mercer: The NHL's Most Elusive Star." The downtown Seattle penthouse where he sat was dark except for the ambient city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows that made the expensive modern furniture look almost sinister in the dim glow.

My hand trembled violently as I pushed the door open just a few inches wider. The dim light inside the private room revealed two figures against the plush leather couch. A gorgeous blonde model—one of the puck bunnies who frequently hung around the arena—was draped over Roman’s lap, her hands tangled in his dark hair. And Roman... Roman had his hands gripped tightly on her waist, his head tilted back against the couch, his lips pressed hard against hers in a messy, aggressive make-out session. A sudden, violent explosion of pain ripped through my chest. “Three! Two! One! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

She said that she wanted some now, and he said that it was bedtime, and she said that babka was breakfast and that breakfast was for morning, and he said that was logical, and I laughed. He went to tuck her in again, and I stayed in the kitchen and cleaned up the plates, and when he came back he was holding a book that Lily said was for me. He handed me the book, and it was a children's book about a hockey player and a baker who became friends, and inside the front cover Lily wrote in wobbly letters that this is you and Daddy and that she drew a picture of us holding hands.

Roxy It seems absolutely insane like INSANE, that Blake is considering giving up his hockey career with the NHL to raise goats and chicks with me on this plot of land. Of course, he will be heading up the construction of the new rink and arena here in Anchorage for the children, but still. It is IMMENSE, right? He wraps his arms around my waist standing behind me, and lowers his head and kisses the side of my neck. That tiny bit of flesh that is exposed at the top of my big, winter puffa coat.