Nhl Booktok Novels & Stories

She smirked, and I gasped, pressing a hand against my chest. “That was terrifying. How could you say something so scary? Now, I'm so scared.” I chuckled softly. “You're crazy, Noah.” How could I not be when I'm with you? My phone pinged with a text, and I hesitantly reached for it. The official date for this year's NHL match has been released. Vivianne's phone lit up, and she picked it up, her eyes brightened and brows furrowed as they glued to her phone screen.

I stood up and closed the book as I tried to explain. “I— I well, i— was just— you said I should find out!" I yelled in defense, holding up the book. Thankfully, I picked up a book called Mysteries so chances were he believed me. Nikolai pursed his lips then nodded. He walked further into the study and that was when I noticed he was in nothing but his suit jeans and his black shirt was unbuttoned. It looked like he came here in a rush. Nikolai walked up to the opposite shelf and pulled out a large black book. “Here. This contains everything about my pack. I'll get you another book on the mafia,” he said, holding the book forward. I drew my head back as I eyed the book and then him.

That counts for something, right? My name is Annalise McDermott. And for the record, I am a nerd. A hopeless romantic. A person who believes in love even when it clearly hates me back. This is my playbook, a chronicle of terrible timing, questionable decisions, and the kind of love that shows up when you least expect it, usually right after you've sworn you’re never falling in love again. So here is a little friendly advice: do not follow my advice. At least not until the very end.

“We’ve had so many hard days lately. I wanted one night where we could just… be us. No medical charts. No worrying about tomorrow’s session. Just you and me.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, eyes never leaving mine. “You make everything feel worth it. Even being stuck in here.” Conversation flowed easily as we ate, the candlelight dancing softly between us like it was part of the moment. Ronan took a slow bite of salmon, then looked up at me with that quiet, intense gaze I was completely addicted to. “You know… my first NHL game, I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up before warm-ups. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely tape my stick. Twenty thousan

It was a blur of rehearsed questions and even more rehearsed answers. “How do you balance the pressure of the NHL draft with your relationship?” “We just support each other,” I said, the word support tasting like ash in my mouth. “Chloe, how do you feel about the Package Deal rumors surrounding Liam and his Winger Jax Miller?” “I think it’s amazing,” Chloe said. “Liam and Jax have a bond on the ice that’s rare. I’m their biggest fan.” The photographer started snapping pictures. "Can we get one of you two leaning in? Close together, like the gala photo?"

The one I swore I would delete after tonight. I recorded the video fast before I could chicken out. Voice low. Almost shaking. “I played my first NHL game tonight Sir. Shutout. But I still feel so empty. Like I need someone to take all this weight off me. Tell me what to do. Please.” I hit send then threw the phone on the bed like it burned my hand. Ten minutes passed. Maybe fifteen. I paced the room loosening my tie. The carpet felt too soft under my dress shoes. My dad’s voice kept cutting through my head again. *Good isn’t enough Brooks. Legends don’t settle for good.*

She was already dealing with enough. I had just stepped into campus when Sarah came running up to me like a storm. “Guess what,” she said, eyes wide like a child on Christmas. “We have a hockey match today. A real one. With actual college scouts and everything. And guess who’s the starting player?” I didn’t answer. I already knew. “Dominic Lakes,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “God, he’s so hot. You think he’s single?” I rolled my eyes. “Why would I care?”

“There it is.” I looked at her confused. “What?” “The hockey voice.” My stomach tightened in an instant, and I immediately looked away. But I could still feel Harper leaning closer. “You know,” she said quietly, “ it’s nice hearing you talk about hockey again.” Suddenly the room felt smaller, and I found myself staring at the wall—at the photos I’d never bothered taking down, at the medals hidden inside a drawer. At a version of myself I didn’t want to speak about until God knows when.

The locker room of the New York Glaciers smelled like wintergreen, expensive cologne, and male sweat. To most fans, this was the smell of victory. To Oliver Hartley, it just smelled like forty thousand dollars of student debt. Oliver adjusted the strap of his heavy massage kit. He was twenty-three years old, with messy blonde curls that refused to stay flat and bright blue eyes that usually held a spark of mischief. But today, those eyes were tired. He had graduated top of his class in nursing, but nursing didn't pay enough to clear his loans fast. Being a massage assistant for a star hockey team did.

They are practically born with sticks and pucks in their hands. But here we had some guy named Nathaniel Madox who was coming to live and train hockey in London. Like I said first it made no sense, but then I got to meet him, and let me tell you, I was left speechless and that is a hard thing to achieve when the person in question is me. But let's start with smaller facts that might be known to some people already.