Ice Hockey Romance Novels & Stories

As if that’s not bad enough, now they are kissing at hockey games, like some madly-in-love couple. I hate it. I hate it so much. I do not wish to let them get away with it so easily. There’s got to be something I can do. That is when I see him, tearing across the rink. All six foot five, hunk of male sexiness. Even in gear and paddings, it’s easy to make out the form of Aiden Cross, hot on the enemy’s tail. He’s feral in his pursuit and my breath hitches as he steals the puck from the enemy’s stick. He switches direction with the swift grace that only a pro can pull off and the crowd is going crazy as he passes the puck to another player. The Omega team pass the puck to one another, gliding

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.

“She’s with Mom for the weekend. She said she missed her and Dad.” “So, what are you watching?” “A movie called Love, Maybe. It’s about a girl who falls in love with this guy, then finds out he has a family and a home in a different city. Later, she discovers he’s a twin, so she has to figure out which one is her guy because she’s been with both and they both like her.” “So, like every other cheesy rom-com out there?” “No, it’s better.” I shook my head and began to talk to her about it.

“I’m a little out of practice.” “A little?” He smirks, lazily gliding toward me. Effortless. Like the ice bends for him. “You look like Bambi on roller skates.” Heat surges to my cheeks. “You’re supposed to be helping me.” “I am.” He flicks a puck in my direction. “Rule number one: stop whining.” The puck skitters across the ice. Instinct kicks in I catch it on my stick, handle it without thinking. For a second, it feels right. Then my balance falters, and I stumble.

“Get the fuck out of my face, or I'll scream right here and let everyone know, how much of an insecure bitch you are.” “What?” He asked, eyes widening. I shrugged, glancing past him and he stepped aside. I let out a heavy sigh as I walked past him, and headed towards my dorm. ***THREE DAYS LATER*** I was in the library studying, when a notification popped into my phone from the school's page. It was a joint charity and student leadership program always held before the annual Winter Classic rivalry. Every major sports team participates, in order to improve relations between schools before the nationally televised game.

“People always reminded me who he was. The famous player. The handsome star. The man who could date anyone.” Her fingers twisted together. “They acted like I had won something when he wanted me.” I did not interrupt. “At first, it felt romantic. Then every disagreement became proof I was ungrateful. If he cancelled plans, I needed to understand because hockey came first. If I complained, he reminded me how many women would gladly accept my place.” Anger tightened in my chest. “He said that?” “Not always directly.” “That does not make it better.” “I know that now.” She looked at me.

I say quickly, “it was a game.” She raises an eyebrow. “A game where they hit you like that?” “It’s hockey,” I shrug. “It happens.” She doesn’t believe me. Not even a little. “Don’t lie to me,” she says, more serious now. “Did you get into a fight?” “I don’t want to talk about it,” I cut in before this turns into an interrogation. She holds my gaze for a second, clearly debating whether to push or not, but eventually she sighs.

“I’ll be fucking honored, Hayes.” The ring slid onto my finger and then he cupped my wet face in both hands before leaning in to kiss me. Deeply and wholly and stupidly perfect in front of five thousand screaming fans. If anyone had ever told me Dorian, the guy who hated me would be mine forever, I would never have believed it. Dorian pucked me hard, figuratively and literally and showed me love beyond my imagination. Enough with the hockey puns. I love my Redhead. Thank you for reading and enjoying my love story.

Stanley Cup Final. Ten Years Later. CAL I've been hitting Ethan Locke for ten years. Not always legally, not always cleanly. Sometimes only with my eyes, sometimes with words, mostly with the full, undeniable weight of my massive body driving him into the boards. Ten years of crossing ice, a decade of wanting – needing – to leave a mark that he can’t just get up and skate away from. Ten years ago, I wanted to hit him because he mocked me, now I hit him because it’s the only language loud enough to fucking reach him.

"Means more than you know." "I trust you with everything now," I replied. "Even my heart." He made a low sound and kissed down my neck. The cold ice made every touch sharper. We shed gloves and jackets slow, letting them drop on the boards. My hands found his scarred back under his shirt. "Here?" I asked, breath catching. "Here," he said. "Just us and the ice. No one else." We moved to a smoother patch near the goal crease. Kade laid his jacket down first then pulled me with him. The ice bit cold through our clothes but his body warmed me fast. We kissed deep and unhurried, hands exploring like it was the first time.