Little Puck Hucow Novels & Stories

"All that matters is that we act fast before fate decides for us." I stayed quiet after that. But inside my head, questions kept growing. Delilah was hiding something. A lot of things. And whatever it was, it had something to do with Damon. --- Practice ended not long after that. The coach gathered everyone together at the center of the rink while students crowded closer, trying to hear what he was saying. Then the announcement came. The official date for the hockey match between Moonridge and Ironhide Huskies had finally been set. The arena exploded with excitement.

I clicked on the message. From: letusallhealunexpectedly@g***l.com To: americapingries@g***l.com Subject: Island of LUAHU Good day Miss Pingries! Are you looking for a place to have a vacation far away from the city where you can get your mind off of things? Are you looking for a place where you can physically, emotionally and soulfully heal? We have such a wonderful news for you! Our little island called LUAHU wants to cordially invite you to check our pristine beaches and fine white sand where we assure you that your stay will be out-of-this-worldly relaxing while at the same time you’re healing. If interested, please check the file attached below. Fill up the form and send it back to us.

But I was everywhere, blocking shots, stealing passes, moving like I'd been possessed by every hockey player who'd ever lived. Four minutes left. Marcus got the puck to me in the neutral zone. I saw it, the path, the timing, the perfect angle. I took the shot from center ice. The puck soared. The goalie jumped. Too late. Goal. Five to four. "UNBELIEVABLE! SLADE SCORES FROM CENTER ICE! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WE ARE WITNESSING HISTORY!" Madison was on her feet, screaming my name. Vaughan lifted his kids so they could see better. Mom had her hands pressed to her mouth.

SAGE MONTERO. @puckmedaddy: ‘Gah, I understand why he’s the captain; he looks like he handles a puck the same way he does a woman. Rough.’ Yeah, until he chokes you to death. @rookslapmepls: ‘I volunteer. I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute…sorry I meant puck.’ If desperate had a label, it’d be you, sweetheart. @rookmehard: ‘I know they call him the Angel cause he’s a devil in the sheets. Argue with the wall, everyone.’

“You’re a dick.” “And yet, here you are.” I tap my stick against the ice. “Come on, Mercer. Just a little. No one’s watching. What, are you afraid of getting grounded?” His jaw clenches, but I see it, the way his fingers flex slightly around his stick. He wants this. He wants to move, to feel the ice beneath him, to play. I drop the puck and glide backward. “First to score three wins.” He scoffs. “Wins what?”

"The campus gossip pages are already reposting it everywhere. Half the athletic boards are calling you a total homewrecker, and the hockey groupies are basically labeling you a puck-bunny who manipulated her way into the captain’s penthouse apartment." Puck-bunny. Homewrecker. Manipulator. Let's pretend that I do know what the word puck-bunny means. I already have a label— a dozen labels— on my back barely one week into resumption. I stared at the video loop as it restarted, watching myself look so small and trapped between the two look-alike brothers. These people didn't know the truth. They didn't know about Caleb's disgusting behavior, or the fact that I was completely broke, or the fake

“It's going to be fine. You've got me, and Jackson's just being Jackson. It's not new that you two bicker. Settle it tonight, yeah? He loves you.” I wanted to believe her. But as I stared at the crowded front porch, at the glimpse of a hockey stick logo on someone's jacket, something strange settled in my chest. The hockey team was here. “June…he is here?” I asked, a frown settling on my face. “He is— I am sorry I didn't inform you. I knew you weren't going to bulge. But I am here, Imani.” And he was here. Nicolas Jamieson— the famous hockey player.

I needed to shift the focus, and the only thing more pressing than my sister’s demands for a Luna was the pack's defense. “We have a game coming up with the Paxon wolves,” I say, ignoring her lethal ultimatum completely. “If Alex’s on their team, they’ll work her hard to get her on the rink. Make sure Vicky’s training stays tight. I don’t want our defense slacking.” “Valen.” She grits the name out, the veins standing out on her neck. “I’m serious. Put Vicky on the ice longer. Keep the outer wings clear—”

I stammered, "W-what is going on here? Are these people..." "Hucows, yes," Easton said proudly. "Some women are just built for this line of work. They make delicious human milk - there's quite a profitable market for it, y'know." I felt my face burning with embarrassment, but I couldn't look away. A farmhand was inspecting the hucows in their stalls. He was well-built with short cropped hair and a square jaw. Suddenly, he pulled down his jeans and released his massive hard cock, positioning himself behind one of the women.

"Seriously. Who the hell has the almighty Hunter Callum looking this relaxed on a Monday morning?" "Our captain's glowing." Another teammate whistled. "So in loveeee..." Nick sang dramatically. Hunter laughed despite himself. "Fuck you, Nick." "There it is!" Dean slapped the counter. "He smiled." "The man smiled!" "We're witnessing history," Carter declared solemnly. Hunter cracked another egg into the pan. "You people need hobbies." "We have hobbies." Dean nodded. "Hockey." "And making your life miserable," Dean added proudly. Hunter shook his head. "I've noticed."