Romans & histoires Hockey Romance Kindle Unlimited

Ryan didn’t answer immediately. The father looked at me now too.“And she is a hockey player?” he asked. I didn’t speak. He shook his head slightly. “You just married a stranger?” Ryan finally spoke It is my decision.” The father’s voice rose a little. “You know who you are, Ryan. You know what you are. And you know marrying anyone like this is not something small.” I stayed quiet, but my mind was already spinning. Yes. It was dangerous., “Use what you have, know his weakness”

Ever. I pointed to the rest of the stuff, and he started moving it all, quiet and strong. The room felt smaller with him in it, but not in a bad way. Still, my mind wouldn’t stop. What if this was a trick? What if he got tired of me and left? The tension in my chest made it hard to breathe. After a few minutes, he broke the silence. “So, you like hockey at all? Or is it just something you clean up after?”

WRENLEY Squeezing past a row of knees with two sodas, Tess settled into her seat. "I still don't get why you wanted to come to this.” she hands me one of the soda in her hand. "You hate sports. I mean you yourself told me and I quote “Hockey is basically an excuse for attractive idiots to launch themselves into walls. "But isn't that right?” I replied pointing to the rink. “It's just men with sticks chasing a puck," I take the soda I didn't ask for. "You wanted company. I'm being a good friend. Don't make it weird."

The sight of these four hockey giants—men who had body-checked opponents into the boards and fought through seasons of grueling violence—trying to navigate the delicate art of pocket squares and boutonnières was pure magic. Knox was currently trying to pin a yellow sunflower onto Dmitri’s lapel. Dmitri, the stoic Russian enforcer, was standing perfectly still, his massive arms hanging at his sides as if he were guarding a goal post. "It is a flower, Knox," Dmitri said in his thick, gravelly voice. "It is not a puck. Do not hit it." Jax looked up and saw me. The way his face changed—the way his expression instantly softened, shifting from playful camaraderie to a look of such profound, quiet

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> But this time, he was alone. This fracture was between him and Gunner. And they were the only two that could mend it. It ran deeper than hockey for Khyle, though. He could admit to himself at least that he genuinely wanted Gunner to respect him, to like him, to trust him. Khyle knew the bluenet was capable of being charming and friendly. Regardless of his animalistic good looks, how else would he have had so many women crawling into his bed? Gunner had regular conversations with his other teammates that didn't end in bickering or a bloodbath, and Khyle found himself wondering what it would feel like to have a kind word or a pat on the shoulder from the enforcer, or someth

Lucas We step into the rink, and I’ve got my hockey stick in one hand and a head full of thoughts about Aria. Yeah, her. The girl who just told me she’s fine with being my fuck mate. Like, does she really mean that? Because if she does, damn, I’m in trouble. I can still feel her wetness on my fingers, and hear the way she moans my name. Shit. My wolf’s been growling in my head ever since. He wants her just as much as I do.

“I fought the whole damn world for you. Don’t make me fight for you again. Please.” They shattered together, bodies shaking, clinging like shipwreck survivors in the aftermath. Afterward, JR eased them down onto the couch, stroking slow, soothing circles over Soren’s sweat-damp back, legs tangled intimately. City lights sparkled across the water outside, indifferent to the storm inside. “I love you more than hockey,” JR murmured into his hair, with a thick voice. “More than the Cup, more than anything else in this life. If something’s eating at you, you have to tell me. We don’t do secrets, not anymore.”

By‍ Monday morning, Camero‌n Hayes w⁠as trending for reasons that ha‍d nothing to do with hockey. ‘#Came‌naScandal’ sa⁠t at the t‍op of every sport⁠s blog'⁠s fe‍ed, the parking lot kiss dissected f⁠ra⁠me‌ by fr⁠ame, paired now with older photos someone had d‌ug up, the rink, the team dinner,‍ months of moments ne⁠ither of them had rea‍lized were being documented. A ta‍bloid ran the‌ headline ‘HOCK‌EY'‌S⁠ GOLDEN BOY'S FORBIDDEN STEPSISTER RO⁠MANCE⁠’, and it spread faster than anything Lena had eve‌r se‌en move⁠ online.

Then the distance turned sharp. Now he barely looked at me. When he did, it was with that blank hockey-player stare, like I was just another face in the crowd he skated past. I turned the corner toward the library — my safe zone during lunch — and nearly collided with a broad chest wrapped in a letterman jacket. Strong hands caught my elbows to steady me. The scent hit first: clean sweat, mint gum, and something colder, like ice from the rink. Jax. Up close he looked even taller than on the ice. Dark hair still damp from morning practice, jaw tight, eyes the kind of blue that used to make me feel seen. Today they flicked over me quickly — recognition, then something unreadable.