Booktok Ice Hockey Novels & Stories

“I’ll order takeout.” That did it. Zach launched into it immediately, throwing an arm around Jamie's shoulders and starting down the hall. “Okay, basics. Ice is divided into zones—offensive, defensive, neutral. You’ll hear guys yelling about line changes, that’s just rotations. Goalies are weird, don’t take it personally.” Jamie hurried to get his notebook out of his bag, trying to track Zach’s pace and his words at the same time. “And if someone’s taping their stick, don’t talk to them. Ever.”

I thought I was here because of my spices, because of my hard work in the hot kitchen, but. The cold air of the ice rink pierced my pores, but the blood in my veins felt boiling. I didn't remember how I got there. I just knew I had to see him. In front of me, dozens of hockey players in full uniform were hurtling at high speed. A black puck shot straight up, hitting the wall with a deafening thud. "Woah! Chef! Get out of there!" someone shouted from the bench. "When did she get in there?"

Roland’s POV I stepped onto the ice with the crowd roaring like thunder. The hockey arena was packed tight, lights blazing down, music pumping through the speakers. My heart hammered hard. This game mattered big time, but tonight it felt bigger because Jeffery was up in the stands. I spotted him quickly with Anna, Maxwell, and Chloe. They finally showed up to support “the boyfriend.” I grinned under my helmet. Time to put on a show.

I didn't move a single millimeter. I turned my head slightly, my freezing, black glare sweeping across the entire locker room, locking eyes with every single player sitting on the benches. "I'm saying this once for the whole damn room," I announced, my voice echoing clearly off the concrete walls, laced with venom. "Janessa Moreno is off-limits. If I hear a single one of you whisper her name, if I see a single look, or if anyone in here calls her a puck-bunny again... you are getting a hockey stick directly to the ribs. I will personally ruin your spot on this roster. Try me. I am begging every single one of you to try me."

Luca POV The crowd was so loud I could feel it in my chest before I even stepped onto the ice. Twenty thousand people packed into the United Center, all of them screaming. Banners waving. Lights cutting through the smoke above the rink. The Chicago Phantoms versus the Boston Bruins, Game Seven of the Eastern Conference Finals. The kind of night that ended careers or made them. The kind of night that got replayed in highlight reels and locker room speeches for the next decade. And I was already bleeding.

“You found a celebrity.” “Nat—” “That is Cole Ashford.” She pointed at the screen as though I needed the direction. “He is—that man is fine—and you just—” “He’s the new captain,” I said quietly, reading the banner again. The dread that had started as a flicker was now something much more settled and specific. “Of the Chicago Vortex.” The room went still. We turned to look at each other at the exact same moment. “Nat.” My voice came out very flat. “What team did you say you submitted my application to?”

WILLOW The hockey game between me and Tessa is about to start. Because it’s a basic, watered down version of an actual hockey game, we are only expected to wear helmets on our heads, protective gloves for our hands and hockey skates. Because we’re girls, someone had to rush to the locker room to find smaller sized skate shoes for us. “Listen to me,” Aiden is helping me with my helmet, giving me a pep talk at the same time. On the opposite end of the rink glass, Theo’s doing the same for Tessa.

Everyone questioned it but it had been the only rebellion I’d shown so they let it slide. I recall being happy seeing him play in my school and fucking win, beating our school a fucking five to one. Oh it made my day, seeing him warm up and skate around the ice. Except when I’d wandered away, checking through the list of things in our storage closet that night, preparing for our one-week-away school trip… I saw him. Soren Gregory—the fucking hockey god—on his knees in front of the one woman I hated the most… Anna. His on-and-off situationship everyone knew about.

I kept my balance, my steel blades carving a sharp arc into the ice as I turned to chase the play into the corner. The game turned dirty within the first five minutes. It was not normal hockey. The Boston players were not chasing the puck; they were chasing the honey scent. Every time I went near the boards to battle for a loose rubber disk, two or three opposing Alphas would crowd into my space. They did not try to lift my stick. They aimed their gloved hands high, their forearms pushing hard against my chin, trying to scrape their gear across my neck gland to disrupt the permanent mark.

“An occasional bunny here, a groupie there, maybe a fan or two in a hot tub … but never hoes.” “Bunny?” I echo. “Puck-bunnies … ” Mel snorts. “Girls who want to fuck professional hockey players. You do know that the black thingy they shoot into the goal is called a puck?” I nod. I’ve learned that from Lee. Recently. “Well, PUCK,” she swings her left hand in a feminine, gay flick so the palm shows up, “BUNNY,” then she does the same thing with her right hand.