Puck Me Novels & Stories

Ant heads off to chat with some football players, while Tim tries to charm a blonde girl who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else. The blonde turns her head and I'm met with a light blue pair of eyes that are hungrily locked onto me. Never mind, looks like she'd rather be near me. But I can see she's a puck bunny through and through. Puck bunnies are what we call girls that say they are fans of the sport, but they are more interested in us players and what we have inside our pants. "Kohl!" Rocky hollers above the music, waving me over with a solo cup in hand.

It had to be cheating if I was technically out there on the internet looking available I chewed on the inside of my cheek and pulled the app on my phone. My profile still has the photo of my chest and the stupid bio Imogen wrote in our bio. I was going to delete it quickly and move on. Except the second I logged in, scrolled to settings and hovered over delete account, a little notification popped up at the top of the screen. PowerPlayBoy is online and 10 feet away. My heart dropped straight through my ribs. Ten feet? No.

me up. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Eva just looks at us and says, “We jump.” “Jump? This isn’t the Olympics. This is Cheese Puff, not a warhorse!” I protest. Cheese Puff clears the log like a champion. I nearly fall off and eat moss. Parker’s horse, Doom Bringer, grazes dramatically for ten minutes before even considering movement. “Majestic,” Eva deadpans as Parker scrambles to remount. Hours pass with more teasing, more chocolate theft, and more proof that Parker’s singing voice should be considered a violation of international law.

Burying the bitterness I felt, I smirked and said with feigned indifference, "The machetes got rusty, and some people ended up being trash. You were right. When it's time to get rid of something, I should just do it. Don't apologize, Michael. You should be congratulating me instead." The salty sea breeze was a little chilly, but Michael's gaze was unmistakably fiery as he looked at me. We stood there in silence for some time before a knowing smirk formed on his face. "Congratulations are indeed in order. Congratulations to you for ridding yourself of your depressing past and stepping into the next stage of your life. I should be congratulated as well." Confused, I turned to him and asked, "W

“I don’t want better. I want you!” He pulled me into a tight hug, pressing his lips to the top of my head for one heartbreaking second. Then he let go and stepped back. “You need to get over me, please,” his voice sounded strangled. “But you must also promise me you’ll stop being reckless, going to clubs, drinking, and smoking.” My eyes widened. He knew about the club incident. “I’m so sorry, Mel,” he said finally, looking entirely crushed. Then he smiled sadly. “Maybe we can be together in another life… just not this one.”

POV: KAI The press box smells like musty coffee and old popcorn. I sit in the back row, laptop balanced on my knees, hoodie zipped to my chin. The collar still hides most of the mark, but I feel it every time I swallow. Like a reminder I can't delete. Game starts fast. Puck drops. The crowd roars. I type without looking down much—habit now. The Ice Hawks are up early, but it's not the score I'm watching.

I shoved the door open, expecting the silence of an empty suite, but I was met with the sight of Liam sitting on the edge of the mahogany table, tossing a hockey puck up and down. Liam had been my best friend since we were in kindergarten. We’d learned to shift together, learned to hunt together, and survived the brutal politics of the Moonstone social scene together. He was the only person who could look at me and know exactly how close I was to losing my mind. “You look like hell, Gid,” Liam said, catching the puck mid-air. He jumped off the table, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Where have you been? The campus is losing its mind.”

With Azrielle fighting me at every step, I knew keeping this promise was going to be an absolute war—but looking into my son's eyes, there was zero chance I was going to ruin this beautiful moment. "Pinky promise," I responded, wrapping my large pinky around his tiny one, a genuine, tearful smile breaking across my face. Suddenly, the sharp chime of my phone broke the quiet air. I pulled it out of my pocket to see Marcus’s name flashing frantically across the screen. "I need to pick this up, buddy," I told Asher. He gave me a quick nod and went back to his cars. I slid the green button and pressed the phone to my ear. "Marcus?"

You do not lose an air hockey match because your boyfriend has a filthy mouth. Raphael served again. Liam forced his eyes onto the red plastic, tracking a cross-table bank shot. He reached out to block it, but right as his striker was about to make contact, Raphael leaned over the end rail, his dark curls falling slightly over his forehead, and offered a slow, deliberate wink. Liam’s timing fractured by a microsecond. The puck clipped the edge of his striker and spun directly into his own goal. Four-three. "Dammit!" Liam grumbled, grinding his teeth.