Hockey Player Booktok Novels & Stories

Another practically threw her bra onto the rink causing me to roll my eyes. But then, I caught myself staring. Not at the players but at him; Ledger Rivers, captain of the hockey team and the campus playboy. The guy with a unique style that probably had a signature trademark. Last night, he had whispered his address in my ear like it was an invitation to ruin and I accepted, thinking it would be a one night detour from heartbreak. But now, watching him on the ice, something shifted in me. He moved like he belonged there, like every muscle in his body was tuned for this moment.

A scoff followed after, almost like she didn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth, “You can’t be serious. It’s hockey!! A game of champions. Blake University has had the best team for years. We almost made it to the playoffs last year even, there’s no way you came in here without wanting to— “No.” I shook my head, “I think hockey is a game for losers.” “Aria!!” I remained defiant on my stance, “You heard me. I think hockey sucks, the concept of the whole game sucks, I think it’s a waste of student resources and the school’s money. I did my research and the school pumps a whole load into the team, which I think is pathetic. So you heard me loud and clear—Hockey is a game for losers.” I

##Chapter 10: Cassidy Book One: Stay "This is going to be so much fun! Thanks again for coming with me tonight." Snuggling into her jacket, Brooklyn bounces excitedly on the bleacher seat as her gaze tracks the hockey players skating by the Plexiglas that surrounds the ice. "That's him, number fifty-five." A dreamy look fills her large green eyes. As she sighs, her warm breath escapes into the frigid air of the rink. I roll my eyes even though she isn't paying me the slightest bit of attention.

What was supposed to be an interview to gather insight and perspective on the game, almost became a battle between me and the damn captain. The problem was that the beta asshole told me that I was just a kid who took advantage of my parents' privilege and that I was a total loser on the rink. Oh one more thing, he said I was lucky to be strong because I am a werewolf. Son of a bitch! I trained very hard since childhood, going through all the stages to become the ice hockey player I am now. I even chose this sport over the family business. And I always scored the highest during my time with the national team.

She was hiding something, burying herself under the crushing weight of that architecture program, and my father’s enforced isolation had completely shattered my ability to reach her. "Head in the game, Evans!" Leo yelled, snapping a hard pass across the blue line. I caught the puck on the blade of my stick, my jaw clenched. I didn't want to play hockey. I wanted to get on a plane, fly to Chicago, and kick the door of her dorm room down. I accelerated toward the offensive zone, my eyes tracking the goalie. I didn't see the blindside coming. Hayes, the massive senior defenseman I had humiliated earlier in the week, had been waiting for his shot. He didn't play the puck. He didn't aim for my ch

“You remember why you started playing, right? It wasn’t because you loved the game at first. You started because it was the only thing that made sense when everything else was falling apart.” Noah’s throat suddenly felt tight because that was true. Painfully true. Hockey had never been about dreams. At first, it had simply been ice, noise, movement, a place where he could breathe, where hospital smells and unpaid bills and fear couldn't reach him. A place where he wasn't helpless. Chase reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a worn hockey puck. Black, scuffed, edges scratched from countless practices and games. He rolled it between his fingers once, then held it out.

Roman Thorne is the invincible team leader of college hockey. He is large, aggressive and a nightmare to the media. The press, however, does not know what makes the Briarwood Ice Devils so feared. They are not just players. They are ruthless, blood-swilling offspring of the most formidable crime business in the city. Trying to keep a small scandal which is about to blow up their small business, the Thorne family appeals to the service of Sloane Mercer. She is 24 years old and a brilliant ruthless PR fixer. Her task is easy: to improve the image of the team, to work with press, and not to put Roman in the prison. But Sloane has not come to save them. She is here to ruin them. Sloa

Back in my dorm that night, with nowhere to vent, I logged straight into my hockey-forum alt account: IceTyrant. I found the game-recap post Nathan had put up that afternoon and hammered out a merciless reply. "If this is how you captain a team, you'd be better off coaching a peewee team." "All you do is bulldoze through on brute strength. Did you leave your brain in the locker room?" "Drop your left wing's center of gravity, run a 2-1-2 forecheck to cut off their passing lanes. You can't even read the play that far ahead. You hold a stick like it's a fireplace poker."

“Jesus Christ, you’re really pushing it.” I leaned back against the bench slowly, ignoring the dull ache that immediately shot through my shoulder. Coach watched me quietly for a moment. I shrugged carelessly even though pain immediately shot through my shoulder from the movement. Nothing mattered more than staying on the ice. Not the constant exhaustion chewing through me lately. Hockey was the only thing in my life that still felt like mine. “I’m serious, Mason. Nobody can find out how this actually is.” Coach then voiced out. I looked at him flatly. “You think I’m stupid enough to announce it?”

Just the monitor, just the low hum of the hallway outside. I looked at the person standing next to my bed. "Let's get to know each other again.My name is Preston Beaumont," he said. "And I'm a hockey player."