Novel & Cerita Hockey Romance Audiobooks

Adrian leaned back slightly against the desk, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's stupid, right?" "It's not stupid" Elliot sighed softly before sitting at the edge of the bed. "Why do you want to play hockey?" Adrian shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because anytime I see you on the ice, you're always happy. I wanna be happy too" he said. Elliot scoffed lightly. "So hockey makes you happy?" he asked. "Maybe" Adrian replied. "How about we do this? Go think of what really makes you happy. This next time we have this talk, you'll tell me what really makes you happy" Elliot said.

“Accurate?” “Extremely,” I said, crossing my arms. “I prefer books to bruises.” Knox leaned on his stick, helmet dangling from his other hand. Sweat glistened on his temples, but he still smelled like mint gum and victory. Unfair. “Books, huh? What’s your poison? Romance? Mystery? Or are you one of those ‘I only read classics’ types?” I blinked. Was the hockey god actually making conversation? “Mostly fantasy. The kind with dragons, not… whatever this is.” I gestured at the entire rink like it had personally offended me.

Drinking in everything I can possibly learn about how to be a sports agent. People who say love is the most important thing in the world. Well, I agree with them wholeheartedly. It's just that my love is my work and the beautiful, chaotic sport of ice hockey that stole my heart as a kid. But often it feels like the job doesn't love me back. And only a masochist enjoys unrequited love. At least, I imagine so, because I've been way too busy to even open a dating app for years. Spencer slowly peels back the paper on a cupcake and takes a bite. "It's okay," he mumbles, crumbs littering his blue polo shirt.

“They work." "They terrify me." "They should.” Sandra folds one elegant leg over the other. "The public doesn't see Mercer versus Locke as a hockey rivalry anymore." Jim nods. "What do they see?" She smiles. "They see mythology. They're opposite archetypes.” She gestures toward the screen. "Locke is discipline, Mercer is chaos. Locke is cold precision, Mercer is pure instinct. They’re the two biggest personalities in the league, and every time they're photographed within ten feet of one another our engagement explodes."

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.

My hand stops. My pen hovers above the blank notebook. I have heard Eli speak dozens of times. Heated exchanges across study tables. Clipped words in hallways. The controlled precision he uses when he has decided to say something and means all of it. I have never heard him sound like this. Hockey has its own kind of music. The percussion of blades against ice, the crack of a stick finding a puck at the right angle. Beautiful in a kinetic, physical way. This is something else.

He needed hockey. Coach looked between them, "Figure it out." Then he blew the whistle and skated away. The team slowly dispersed. Nobody seemed eager to say anything, except Reid, of course. He skated between them. "Looks like you two are dating now." Chase looked horrified, "I'd rather quit hockey." "Of course you can afford to do that." Noah scoffed, "I'd rather get hit by a bus." Reid grinned, "Cute." He pointed at them, "See you lovebirds tomorrow." Then he skated away laughing.

That's what I said two months ago when I got fired from my job as a kitchen assistant at Wendies, that's what I also said a month ago when my sister Katherine had took us out to celebrate her divorce, that's what I also said two weeks ago when my boyfriend of two years had broken up with me and left the country to pursue his education. Clearly, I was a liar. And now, here I am drinking again at a team dinner to celebrate me joining Saint Aurelius University as their new hockey coach while pursuing my masters in the grad division. “Let's go for round two!” One suggested, I looked at him and he looked fucked up real bad. The alcohol in his system made it hard for him to keep a steady posture,

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!”

As I stepped away from her she turned over her shoulder and gave me a smile that could light up the whole space and I swear I fell a little for the little minx at that moment. The thought just entered my mind but I already knew the outcome couldn't possibly be good for me. Because when someone hated something with a passion that wouldn't change because of one person. And we all knew Valentina hated hockey and she wouldn't stop hating it because of me. I also still had to discover the reason behind all that hate. But one way or another, she wasn't willing to accept hockey wholeheartedly, and I wasn't willing to give up hockey. Guess you could say my love was doomed from the start. Or was it?