Ice Hockey Book Novels & Stories

Dark hair messy beneath his helmet like a cologne commercial designed to ruin women financially and emotionally. Still an asshole though. “You’re watching this again?” she asked. Ethan finally glanced at her. “This was his hat trick game.” “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something to me.” “It means he scored three goals in one game.” “Congratulations to him and his violent ice soccer.” Ethan gasped in mock offense. “Did you just call hockey ice soccer?” “Yes.” “That’s offensive.” She bit into her toast. “You know what’s offensive? The fact that this man has rejected me four times this month.”

The rink was empty, except for the faint scraping of skates against the ice. Mila pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, her breath visible in the chilled air. She had stayed late to check the equipment, organize some notes, and make sure everything was ready for the next day’s session. The solitude was familiar, comforting even. She liked this quiet moment after the chaos of practice, when the echoes of shouting and skates pounding the ice had faded, leaving only stillness.

“Keep your head in it, Voss. No showing off tonight, we play smart.” Smart. Sure. The puck dropped and instinct took over. My stick met the ice, quick and clean. Milo passed left, James was already sprinting down the wing. I could hear the scrape of skates, the dull thud of impact when someone slammed into the boards behind me. It was chaos but the kind I could control. The kind that made sense. I slid the puck between two defenders and drove toward the goal, the world narrowing to speed, breath, and noise. And then…..

PUCK OBSESSION (A Dark Hockey Romance) BOOK 5 Intro; People think being obsessed with a hockey player means posters, jerseys, and screaming in packed arenas. But For Kieran Vey, obsession looks different. It looks like memorizing the rhythm of his skates against ice, learning the exact second his jaw tightens before a fight breaks out on the rink, watching interviews frame by frame just to catch the rare moments when NHL golden boy Bryan Calloway looks genuinely angry instead of media-trained perfection.

SLOANE I spent the next five days bonding with Dad and Victoria. Yeah… *Victoria*. “Let’s play hockey,” I said, tossing the puck Chase had given me as a Christmas gift across the kitchen island. Dad looked up from his coffee, eyebrows raised in genuine shock. --- I pushed off. The blade bit the ice. The glide was smooth — not the glass-smooth perfection of a maintained rink, but stable enough, confident enough, the kind of glide that whispered *I know what I’m doing* even when doubt still lingered underneath.

Most of the books were more ledgers than anything, records of the pack’s history, but there was small section of classic books, some of which appeared to be first editions. Feeling a little excited over the prospect I searched the title, looking at the familiar names, the literary classics, before stopping on a title I had never heard of by an author I didn’t know. I was a big reader I always had been, so it was rare for me to come across an old book that held no recognition whatsoever. With a careful touch I pulled the leather-bound book from the shelf and read through the blurb finding myself amused as I discovered that the book was story of werewolves, apparently written by a human, a fan

We moved together with a gentle, effortless rhythm, peeling away the heavy layers of clothing that stood between us until there was nothing left but bare skin, warmth, and the steady, racing beat of our hearts. Every touch felt like a quiet vow. My hands traced the familiar curve of her waist, the soft sweep of her hip, and the racing pulse at her neck, committing every inch of her back to memory. Lori moved beneath me with a raw tenderness, her hands tangling into my hair, her lips tracing a trail of soft, burning kisses along my jawline and collarbone. When we finally came together, it was slow, passionate, and deeply intimate. An unspoken agreement that no matter what crazy challenges lay

Chaos erupted in front of the net. Sticks clashed and bodies collided. The usual dance we always see in any ice hockey games. Lily was practically climbing over the railing. “Someone clear it!” Johanis lunged in. Hooked the puck away from immediate danger. Ryan cleared it down the rink. Whistle. The crowd exhaled collectively. Lily sat back down dramatically. “I aged three years just now.” “You’re very dramatic.” “Sports demand drama.” The game resumed. Time felt faster now and a little bit sharper. Hillia was pressing harder. Tavian wasn’t even smiling anymore. Neither was Johanis. They met mid-ice again.

The arena roared with deafening cheers. “RYDER! RYDER! RYDER!” The name echoed through the massive ice hockey stadium as students jumped to their feet, waving banners and wearing the university colors. The bright arena lights reflected off the smooth ice, turning the entire rink into a glowing battlefield. At the center of it all was Ethan Ryder. Fast. Confident. Untouchable. The captain of the Northbridge University hockey team glided across the ice like he owned it. His red jersey clung to his broad shoulders, and his dark hair was damp from the intensity of the game.

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.