Hockey Player Booktok Novels & Stories

The yellow marker has become my best friend over the years, reliable, quiet, and never judgmental. I've perfected the art of being invisible. I sit in the back row of every class, never raise my hand unless directly called upon, and eat lunch alone while buried in whatever book can transport me far away from this place. It's easier this way. Safer too. "Aria Vale." I practice saying my own name sometimes, just to remember what it sounds like. Most days, I wonder if I disappeared entirely, would anyone even notice? The heavy library doors slam open, making me jump. A group of hockey players stride in like they own the place, their letterman jackets catching the afternoon light, making my stom

I told him things I hadn’t even told anyone and the way my body felt off, alive with a buzzing energy I couldn’t explain. He listened, nodding, his gaze soft. Then he said, almost shyly, “Can I tell you something? Something I’ve never told anyone?” I looked at him, curious. “What?” “I used to hate hockey,” he admitted with a laugh. “Crazy, right? Everyone thinks I was born with skates on, but when I was a kid, I wanted to quit. My dad wouldn’t let me. Said I’d thank him someday. I guess I did. But… I’ve never told anyone that. Not even the guys.”

There were tons of students who were reading this book in high school, it was mandatory freshman year. “What, does that shock you?” he asked with a grin. “Kind of, yes.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be so blunt about it. Just because I’m a dumb jock, doesn’t mean I don’t like doing things other than playing hockey.” I hated that I felt a little bad, he did have a point. “Sorry, that isn’t what I meant,” I muttered. He pulled up a chair and sat down backward on it next to me.

“And you don’t want that to happen.” “I don’t want that to happen with a gun pointed at us.” Her arms crossed, that beautiful defensive instinct. “You know too much for a hockey team captain. Things no one else even understands.” “Side talent.” I glanced at the clock. Callum should’ve been on the perimeter by now. “Listen.” I leaned in. “I’ll say this once: whatever you’ve been feeling lately—exploding emotions, weird sensations, wounds healing faster—it’s not because you’re crazy. Your body’s not broken. Your body remembers something that was put to sleep.”

A short dry sound, more exhale than amusement. Then he looked at her. Not quickly. Actually looked, the way people do when they think they won't get caught doing it. The jersey hit her mid-thigh. His number. His name stretched across the back of it in block letters. She was swimming in it, arms crossed defensively over her chest and still radiating the specific energy of someone prepared to die on every hill available to her this morning. He didn't let the thought sit long. That was his first jersey. His first hat trick. Fifteen years old and certain the world was ending every time he touched the ice. He hadn't thought twice last night—Just handed it over.

"Just what I thought." "He's innocent." "Loyalty." He scoffed. "How cute." He turned back to the door and yanked it open. "What the fuck is your problem?" I hissed. "Are you so desperate to play hockey that you don't care whose life gets destroyed? News flash, that doesn't make you a dedicated player. We're supposed to be a team, and a team looks out for their own. If you're not going to be a team player, then maybe hockey isn't for you."

“No, I can't do that. Hockey is everything to my guys. We worked so hard for this. I can't... can't just betray my team. like that." “Okay, no problem. I will just simply send this photo straight to George Kensington, Noah's father.” Tobias snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “And then I'll leak it to every major news outlet in the city. Let's see how fast your shiny new rink gets bulldozed to the ground.” He scoffed. “And let's see what happens to your precious hockey career when everyone finds out the Northcott captain is a faggot who sells his body to his rival for cheap money like a freaking prostitute.”

“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.

Whoever they were because the internet had no consensus on whether Lana Steele was a man or woman, they knew how to write. I navigated to their page, hoping they'd posted something new. Twenty chapters. Twenty new chapters of "Scored Her Heart, Not The Puck." A smile spread across my face. I clicked the first one, adjusting my reading glasses, and dove in. The story grabbed me immediately. An injured hockey player with a reputation for being cold and untouchable. A nurse determined to heal him. The tension between them was electric, every interaction loaded with subtext and unspoken desire.

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?