Jj Mccarthy Hockey Novels & Stories

Just by the edge of my right eye, I found Emory and Marsh seated together on the court, they really are that close. “Fresh meat” “Hey, baby, want me do anything for you” the other boys said as I walked by. I ignored them and made my way to the office where I found Coach already seated, “Hello Manon, how can I help you?” Coach Jude asked. I wanted to be bothered by the fact that he knew my name but I ignored it instead. That certainly would be a topic for another time if I was that curious. “I want to join the hockey team” I said as I took my seat in front of him.

How shameless could Mike be, everyone’s face held the same look- disbelief, he didn’t look like the confident guy on campus. “Mike” I hiss “there’s no need for this” I didn’t want Knox to get into trouble because of me. For a second, I thought Knox might actually get dragged out. But the moment they reached him— One of them angles his head “Knox Tatum?” A grin lights his face. The other nodded respectfully. “Good evening, I'm a big fan. You want us to handle this?” Howdid I forget, Knox was a fast-rising hockey player, very popular for winning all his games.

PUCKING THE GOALIE BOOK 1 Intro; Name: Mara Lennox Age: 22 Personality: Sharp-tongued, observant, emotionally guarded, quietly feral when she wants something Background: Mara didn’t grow up dreaming about hockey players or fantasizing about them, She grew up around them so she wasn’t some groupie. Her older brother is a defenseman on the same hockey team, injury reserve now, sidelined for the time being until cleared. So she’s seen locker rooms, the bruises, blood, the ego these hockey players have, her brother being one of them and she’s familiar with the cycle of life most hockey players adapt.

But I was already here, already committed to this insane idea of watching Ace play hockey like some kind of stalker. I found a seat in the middle section where I could see everything but hopefully blend into the small crowd of students who'd shown up for the evening practice. My knee throbbed a little from the walk over, but it was manageable. Better than it had been in weeks. The team was already on the ice, running drills. I spotted Ace immediately, number seventeen, moving across the ice like it was the most natural thing in the world. He made it look effortless, the way he controlled the puck, the way he shifted his weight and changed direction without even seeming to think about it.

"Hi, babygirl." "Father. You did not tell me the 'dumb jock' was an actual hockey star," I growl out, my eyes glued to the man on my computer, wearing a blue jersey with the number '17'. MY day of birth, by the way, "He is a very famous person. He's been on TV! He won a big flashy trophy called the Stanley Cup. ESPN has a thirty minute segment discussing him!"

Damien’s voice cut off abruptly. I turned around slowly. Damien stood in the doorway, his hockey gear bag slung over one shoulder, his jaw tight as his gaze shifted from his father to me. The shock in his dark eyes lasted for only a fraction of a second before hardening into pure, unadulterated fury. Damien dropped his athletic bag to the floor with a heavy thud. He marched into the room, closing the distance between us until he was towering over me, invading my personal space.

My whole body froze when I looked up and saw a bunch of Westlake players towering over me. “That's enough,” a deep baritone voice came from behind the players, and they parted instinctively. My eyes were blurry as he stepped forward, and I could only see him when he leaned closer to me, stretching a hand towards me. “Come… let me help you up.” My heart started racing like crazy as I stared at his green eyes, and I squealed in my subconscious. THE CAPTAIN OF THE WESTLAKE HOCKEY TEAM, WAS STARING AT ME WITH ALL SERIOUSNESS.

I rolled my eyes, before reaching down into my duffel bag for my insulated water bottle. "They needed a wake-up call," I muttered, unscrewing the cap. "They play like an angry mob." That’s when he pushed off the wooden doorframe, stepping further into the small room. The space instantly felt entirely too tiny for his massive frame. He seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air just by existing in the same square footage. "Just a heads up," Jeremiah said, his tone dropping into a more serious register. "Miller hates backhand drills. He's gonna complain about it all week. And Jax refuses to play left wing on the power play. You might want to adjust your sheets."