Novel & Cerita Hockey Player Booktok Drama

“This is the good part. Small-town stuff. Hot chocolate with the new girl who falls dramatically.” I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks warmed anyway. “I didn’t fall. I was strategically repositioning.” “Strategically adorable,” he countered, and the way he said it—low, teasing—made my stomach do that stupid flip again. We talked for an hour that felt like ten minutes. He told me about the team’s playoff chances, how the left winger (some guy named Finn) was secretly terrified of pucks to the face, and how the town threw a bonfire after every win. I told him about missing the ocean, my half-finished fantasy manuscript about dragon-riding librarians, and the way my mom had cried when we left San D

I stared at him, my bag then back at his face. And then it hit me all at once. Those storm-gray eyes. That sharp, cold face that I had seen plastered across sports magazines on the checkout counter at the grocery store. The face that appeared on television every time the New York Blades played. I knew exactly who this man was. Alexander St. James. The captain of the New York Blades. Damien Volkov's greatest rival. The most feared man in professional hockey. And he was standing in front of me in a cold alley, holding my bag, waiting for me to tell him if I was hurt.

“Just your brain being stupid.” But the feelings from the dream wouldn’t leave. The way his lips felt. The way he said my name. It scared me more than any big hit on the ice. I couldn’t like Toby that way. I was Alan Voss. Hockey captain. Going to the NHL. Guys like me didn’t have dreams about other guys. I needed to prove it. To myself and to everyone. The next morning I texted Sarah, one of the girls who had been asking me out for months.

The second that burner phone started buzzing in my pocket during a late night at the arena I knew it could blow the whole season wide open if I did not handle it right. I had lifted it clean from the assistant GM's locker area after seeing him hide it during a shady huddle. No eyes on me. Now I sat across from Jax in this greasy coffee shop on the bad side of Toronto. Rain hammered the big windows and turned the street outside into a blur. The kid was nineteen with messy blond hair under a hoodie and fingers that never stopped moving on his laptop. His older brother anchored our defense and swore Jax could hack circles around most pros.

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!”

~ Sarah's POV ~ My blood was still roaring like wildfire when I threw open the heavy doors of the ice rink. The freezing air smacked me in the face, but it did absolutely nothing to cool the rage consuming my body. There he was. Saxton was gliding across the ice, practicing with his hockey team. He was laughing so freel, unbothered, and completely detached from the wreckage he'd left behind in my home. Seeing that smug smile on his face made my vision go entirely red.

Ryder: I haven’t coached someone before, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t supposed to be physical torture. Ryder: I might actually sue you if this pain doesn’t stop. Ryder: The ice Queen, dragged to court because of the damages she caused. That would be nice to see, don’t you think? Ryder: Also I figured out what strategically challenged means. Ryder: Does that all matter when I’m playing hockey with five other players? A small laugh escaped me before I could even stop it. Harper pointed dramatically. “There!” I stiffened, turning toward her. “There what?”