Ice Skater Hockey Player Book Novelas e Histórias

"How young were you when you started?" "I was on skates when I was four," Alex said as if it were a fond memory. He looked past her and a small smile appeared on his face. It was different than the first one, but she liked it just as much. His blue eyes found hers. "Did you play sports?" She laughed. "No, I read books and built computers." "So the brains of the two of us." "I can't imagine that you can have a successful hockey career and then transition into the business of building games while being stupid."

He didn’t even care that I hadn’t consented to that video! “I don’t want to hear excuses, you won’t be going to Toronto this weekend anymore… I'll be sending you to grandmas, surely you can work on the farm…” His words slowly drowned out and I turned to leave ignoring his calls. I hated them… This time j meant it… just one night I had leg loose and foolishly trusted them only for them to ruin my life. What I couldn’t understand was why? Why they had done it?! Perhaps to put me I. My image? Or to break me? As I walked past their room, I heard the hockey team mirror their girlfriends' laughter.

A short dry sound, more exhale than amusement. Then he looked at her. Not quickly. Actually looked, the way people do when they think they won't get caught doing it. The jersey hit her mid-thigh. His number. His name stretched across the back of it in block letters. She was swimming in it, arms crossed defensively over her chest and still radiating the specific energy of someone prepared to die on every hill available to her this morning. He didn't let the thought sit long. That was his first jersey. His first hat trick. Fifteen years old and certain the world was ending every time he touched the ice. He hadn't thought twice last night—Just handed it over.

“Devereux! You’re skating like your blades are coated in molasses.” I heave a sigh and move faster, trying to anticipate the pass from Knox. Erik and I skate up opposite sides, racing toward Miles in the goal. He taps his stick against the ice, his face a mask of concentration. Knox passes to me. The puck glides across the ice, and I cradle it. One of our younger players, a defenseman who just started this year, comes out to intercept me. I dart around him, leaping over his stick as it swipes at me. If we had the wrong ref, we’d get shot down for him trying to trip another player. No matter, though. It doesn’t stop me. I aim for the top corner of the net.

No fucking way. Out of the corner of my eye I take in his formed biceps with tattoos running from his wrists to I guess his shoulder tops. It’s like a creeping vine with leaves off interspersed with different images. A rose, a heart, hockey sticks and a puck. Typical. Of course he is an ice hockey player. His v-neck shows a tattoo peeping just over the top, it looks like Latin letters, I’m wondering what a dumbass hockey player could possibly have written on his body. I bet it’s something he Googled and had put on. There’s no way he can know a word of Latin. Right?

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.

"Relax. I am not a member of his fan club. Honestly, watching someone actually stand up to him was the highlight of my week. The guy acts like he owns the hockey rink and the entire student body." "He certainly thinks he does," I murmured, tentatively taking the iced coffee. The cold cup felt good against my palms. "Thank you." "Don't mention it. Just consider it a welcome to Westridge gift," Chloe replied, leaning back. "But seriously, be careful. Damien's family practically funds the athletic department, and his father is on the board of trustees. People who cross him tend to disappear from social circles very quickly." "I am not interested in his social circles," I said softly. "I am just

Around us, I could hear the conversation between some girls, talking about a new player. “I heard there's a new player, he's making his debut today” “Yessss” the other girl squealed with excitement. “I heard he's very hot.” I cringed at their conversation and scrolled on my phone waiting for the game to start. Leah, on the other hand, was already scouring the ice rink like her life depended on it- probably searching for Enzo. My eyes drifted to the ice rink. Players were already skating doing warm-ups, the sound of blades against ice echoed faintly. The cheerleaders were at one end performing an opening dance on ice skates before the game.

Every edge transition was a delicate, dangerous negotiation between his weight and the nineteen-degree steel beneath his boots. He was tracing the blue line, his hips locked, his core tight, when he felt the familiar, heavy vibration of a second skater entering the ice. Jaxson didn't use the figure-skating lanes. He skated with the long, powerful strides of a hockey player, his heavy, unpadded frame moving across the ice with a terrifying, effortless momentum. He closed the gap in seconds, his shadow falling long and dark over Liam as he coasted alongside him, his broad chest generating a wall of heat that seemed to defy the freezing draft of the arena.

Same rink. Same stands. Same seat. I was in the third row from the glass, laptop open on a document I wasn’t going to work on because the two people on the ice below me were making it impossible to look at anything else. The rink was empty – Rhys had booked it through some favour Cole owed the facilities manager, an hour of private ice that was supposed to be for his recovery skating and was currently being used to teach a thirteen-year-old how to shoot the puck like a professional.