Hung Jocks Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Any comment on your suspension from the hockey team? Is it true you were fighting over Maya Blackwood?" More phones appeared. More cameras. The crowd was getting bigger, and I could hear the whispers starting. "There she is – that's the girl from all the videos." "She looks even crazier in person." "I heard she seduced three different guys at the same time." My breathing was getting shallow, and black spots were dancing at the edges of my vision. I needed to get out of here, but Jaxon's protective grip was making it impossible to move. "Let me go," I said quietly.

The collective Irish, Italian, Polish, and Black communities still ganged up to poke fun at the hick, which was why the jock preferred to hang out with the fringe elements of the school. Not that they didn’t give him some friendly ribbing. “There was a girl out of Carolina, Who had an erratic vagina, To the surprise of the fucker, It would suddenly pucker, And whistle a song made in China.” “Yeah, y’all are real fucking funny.” “Just kidding.” “Uh huh, let’s get out of here.”

Present day. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are here for the biggest hockey game of the century!" The commentator's voice boomed through the arena speakers, electrifying the crowd of forty thousand screaming fans. "The NHL Championship Finals, and clearly, Jace Harrington is the man of the match! This is the comeback we've all been waiting for, and folks, I have to tell you, Harrington is not here to play around. He's out for blood!" The roar of the crowd was deafening, a wall of sound that should have thrilled me but instead felt hollow. Empty.

JULLIETTE. Here’s the thing no one tells you about hockey: locker rooms smell like a crime scene. Not blood, exactly, but sweat and leather and whatever unholy combination of protein shakes and desperation fuels professional athletes. So, literally that was where I was sent on day one. The Blackridge Wolves—the NHL’s golden boys, reigning champs, and a PR nightmare wrapped in skates. But this was my dream job. My ticket to the big leagues. My parents had cried when I got the offer. My friends had thrown me a champagne party. And me? I had spent the past week pep-talking myself in the mirror: You are a professional. You will not let a bunch of overpaid jocks intimidate you.

My hands clenched into fists under the table. "Wait." Mia stood up slowly, her eyes moving from Diego to me. "Please tell me this is a joke." "Diego Castellano?" Jamie's voice rose. "The Diego Castellano who threw a football at my head in gym class last year?" "That was hilarious," Diego said, grinning at the memory. He dropped his jacket on an empty chair like he owned the place. "Relax, man. It's just debate. How serious can it be?"

"All that matters is that we act fast before fate decides for us." I stayed quiet after that. But inside my head, questions kept growing. Delilah was hiding something. A lot of things. And whatever it was, it had something to do with Damon. --- Practice ended not long after that. The coach gathered everyone together at the center of the rink while students crowded closer, trying to hear what he was saying. Then the announcement came. The official date for the hockey match between Moonridge and Ironhide Huskies had finally been set. The arena exploded with excitement.

"The optics of two male athletes in a public relationship... one this visible... are being framed as inappropriate for an institution that prides itself on discipline and tradition. There are petitions circulating online demanding disciplinary action. Some calling for suspension. Others for removal from the teams entirely." Max's grip on my hand tightened again, until I felt the pressure in my knuckles. I still didn't look at him. Because if I did, if I saw his face right now, I was going to say something that ended this meeting in a way we couldn't walk back. My hockey coach cleared his throat. "Ace had missed practice few days ago, and we logged it as a family emergency. But then he came b

Coming towards their table were a gang of school jocks in tight dark green school sports jackets, they were buff enough to be American Football players. Their leader was a tall male with dull blonde hair and black eyes, and a small black eye that was still trying to heal. "O-oh no. It's Jim Blonski!" Maddie squeaked and shuddered behind Dorian. "You're gonna pay for what you did to me last week," the tall buff jock slammed his fist against his palm and gritted his teeth.