Nhl Booktok Novels & Stories

I'd say, and she'd melt. One afternoon, she was in the living room, reading on the couch. I came up behind her, massaging her shoulders. "What's this one about?" "A princess and her guard. Forbidden." I leaned down, nibbling her ear. "Like us." My hands slid to her breasts, cupping them over her sweater. She dropped the book, leaning back into me. "Jake, what if someone sees?" "No one's here." I pulled her sweater up, exposing her bra. I unclasped it, letting her tits spill free, perfect handfuls with pink nipples. I pinched them, rolling until she moaned.

That was why I felt comfortable enough to come out to her. My fingers tightened around the book as my brain scrambled to make sense of it. No way. Noah Carter, straight-laced hockey captain, was reading gay erotica novels? A soft sound behind me made me glance over my shoulder. He was out cold, one arm now flung over his face, his shirt riding up enough to show his mouthwatering V-line that led into his pants. Heat crept up my neck and I turned back to the shelf, knowing I couldn’t put back the book or he’d know I touched it.

PUCK OBSESSION (A Dark Hockey Romance) BOOK 6 Intro; People think being obsessed with a hockey player means posters, jerseys, and screaming in packed arenas. But For Kieran Vey, obsession looks different. It looks like memorizing the rhythm of his skates against ice, learning the exact second his jaw tightens before a fight breaks out on the rink, watching interviews frame by frame just to catch the rare moments when NHL golden boy Bryan Calloway looks genuinely angry instead of media-trained perfection.

She had to be. Through the fog and rain, the Titans facility rose ahead… a gleaming tower of glass and steel, massive banners celebrating decades of championships swaying slightly in the wind. The sheer size made her pause in the car, mouth dry, stomach tight. Even before she parked, she could hear the faint rhythm of pucks hitting ice somewhere inside, echoing like a heartbeat of the place. Her pulse raced faster. She parked, exhaling slowly, letting her eyes roam over the polished exterior. The Titans world was bigger, louder, and sharper than she had imagined.

Specifically to the pages sitting next to his keyboard – a cover page visible with what appeared to be a very muscular torso sketched in pencil. “Cole.” He reached for the pages. Too slow. “Was that a romance novel?” He slammed his laptop shut like that would somehow help. “It’s literary fiction with romantic elements.” “There was a shirtless hockey player on the cover page.” “...Research.” Sienna looked at me. I looked at Sienna. For one second – one brief, ridiculous, beautiful second – the weight of everything lifted and we were just two girls in a boy’s apartment discovering that the 6′4" redheaded goalie with the deadpan delivery was secretly writing love stories.

***SPILL THE TEA CHRISTIAN*** Sean’s POV I had just rounded up the last part of the afternoon session with the NHL officials, and my ears were completely burned out. It was so incredibly boring. They mentioned the word “restrategize” about a hundred times like it was a holy mantra. Old men in suits yapping about defensive zone structures, player chemistry, bla bla, fucking bullshit. How did Tyler even manage to sit through these meetings without his ears bleeding out?

**FROM:** Derek Paulson **TO:** Sloane Winters **SUBJECT:** Feature idea — college prospects *Sloane — putting together a summer series on college guys with legit NHL draft buzz. Need real access, not just post-game soundbites. You’re already covering the Titans’ summer games. Any shot at a proper sit-down with one of the Dalton kids? 1200 words min. Depth, not platitudes. I know you can get past the “hard work and trust the process” script. — D* I read it twice. Looked at the wall separating my room from Chase’s.

A group of freshmen were throwing a football between classes. Two girls sat beneath a tree studying. Normal college stuff. Stuff I’d walked past a thousand times without thinking. Today I noticed all of it. Because for the first time in a long time, I found myself wondering how much longer it would be mine. A year ago, I would’ve laughed at that thought. Back then the NHL was this thing out on the horizon. The destination. The goal. The thing I chased every single day. Now? Now it felt real enough to touch.

My entire body goes rigid with shock before it starts shaking. I swallow down, and instead of looking around like I desperately want to, I turn to face Frank. “Where is he?” “Doesn’t matter,” he replies. “I looked into him; he’s making plans, Miss Handez.” “Plans?” I whisper. “…on getting signed by the Islanders team next season. Meet-ups are already being scheduled as we speak.” My eyes immediately start searching the arena as I forget about Cicero entirely.

The rink near my apartment was empty now, the ice reflecting the streetlights faintly. I should’ve been sleeping. We had training early tomorrow. Instead, I was sitting in the dark acting like some obsessed teenager. Maybe I was one. I picked the phone back up before I could stop myself and reread the last message I sent him. > Dear Kane, I’m one of your fans. Actually… I think calling myself a fan isn’t enough anymore. I’ve watched almost every game you’ve played. I started loving hockey because of you, which is embarrassing considering we’re very different.