Little Puck Hucow Novels & Stories

“An occasional bunny here, a groupie there, maybe a fan or two in a hot tub … but never hoes.” “Bunny?” I echo. “Puck-bunnies … ” Mel snorts. “Girls who want to fuck professional hockey players. You do know that the black thingy they shoot into the goal is called a puck?” I nod. I’ve learned that from Lee. Recently. “Well, PUCK,” she swings her left hand in a feminine, gay flick so the palm shows up, “BUNNY,” then she does the same thing with her right hand.

The figure must have sensed me by the way I moved or the crunch of gravel, because it turned, spotted me, and bolted fast into the darker path toward the parking lot. I gave chase for half a block but lost them in the maze of cars. Frustration burned. But I knew I couldn’t let Zach be all alone that night. My footsteps led me back to Zach's building, and I made a deal with the two guys who lived directly across the hall from him, fellow hockey-adjacent bros I’d partied with before. I handed over spare keys to my apartment. “Crash at my place tonight. The fridge is stocked up and everything. Just… let me use your room tonight.”

The shock from the diner has faded. As we drive back to the cabin, he looks out the window at the snow-covered trees. "Do you think it's possible?" he asks suddenly. "What?" "To have both. Hockey and... this." He gestures between us. "Everything." I'm quiet for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "I think some people manage it. Like Elijah Ward, apparently." "But not everyone." "Nope, obviously not everyone." Julian nods slowly, accepting this. "My dad would never understand."

The room quieted because that's what rooms did when someone held a microphone – they listened, even when they shouldn't. "Yo, I just wanna give a shoutout to our boys on the hockey team. Best season in years. Captain Caleb holding it down–" Cheers. Whooping. Caleb raising his beer with a modest smile. "–and the new guy, Maddox, who's been scoring on AND off the ice apparently." Laughter. My stomach tightened. "But real talk–" Derek grinned. Scanned the room. Found me. "Is the hockey transfer actually dating the captain's leftovers? Because bro, that's not a flex. That's a hand-me-down."

Riley The Rink Bar was everything I hated about hockey culture crammed into one sticky, overheated room. Blue and gold jerseys clashed everywhere I looked, Falcons and Eagles pretending to be civil while shooting daggers at each other over red plastic cups. The music was too loud, the bass vibrating up through my boots, and somewhere in the back, someone had already broken a glass. Laughter erupted, sharp and mean. I pressed closer to Marvel, his arm around my shoulders feeling less like comfort and more like a leash.

"What?" "What made you think that?" She pointed toward my jersey. "The jersey." I looked down, then back at her. Then down at the jersey again. "I still don't understand." The girl laughed. "That's what puck bunnies do." I frowned. "What the hell is a puck bunny?" Her eyes widened. "You don't know?" "No." She looked genuinely shocked. Like I'd just admitted I didn't know how to breathe. "A puck bunny is basically a hockey player's girlfriend."

HOCKEY STAR: CADEN DUKE’S MYSTERY GIRL REVEALED. And below was a picture of Ava and me presenting, matched with the blurred image of the pool. My gaze shifted to Ava, who was now staring at her phone. Fuck me.

“Well, someone's all flared up. I can almost see how the hair on your neck stands out. Makes me start to think your wolf really is weaker. You're definitely not a beta.” “That is none of your business.” “The required rank to join hockey teams in this pack stops at Beta. You're not one. That's really shady. Really really shady.” And then, I heard the sound of the blade scratching the ice and the puck running out of my hold. I let out a grunt before turning around. My eyes stayed pinned on his backview. That bastard. I started skating hurriedly. I had to get back the puck and win. A lot was at risk.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Neither of them looked away first. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> The puck dropped.

"A game of Ash-Puck. My best five against yours. You win, the water is free. You lose... I pick who goes under the knife." The Game of Survival The "Ash-Puck" was a distorted, violent version of the hockey they had played in the Ring. The puck was a twenty-pound lead weight, and the sticks were sharpened pieces of rebar. The Feral Six lined up in the muck. They were hungry, tired, and their powers were a luxury they couldn't afford to burn. "Remember the physics," Rhys whispered from the sidelines. "In this sludge, friction is your enemy. $$\mu_k \approx 0.6$$