Novel & Cerita Puck Puckerman

“Yeah that Riven. The hockey guy everyone knows from the team. And get this he is my new stepbrother. Our parents got into some kind of agreement and got married while I was too busy losing my damn virginity to even tell you guys about any of it.” The table went quiet for a second then all three of them started talking at once. Larkin slapped her hand on the table lightly and laughed. “No way. The Riven? Like the one with all the hype on the ice and that attitude? Your stepbrother now? Izzy how did you keep that quiet this whole time?”

Someone yells his name like it's a prayer. He skates to the bench. Doesn't sit. Just stands there at the boards. Helmet off. Hair wet. Sweat dripping down his neck. Then he turns one last time, and he looks up, holds it. The whole damn rink could disappear and it wouldn't matter. It's just that stare. Deep. Patient. Like he knows exactly what's happening in my chest right now. I hit send on the live update before the final buzzer. My fingers shaking. 'Carter's hat trick seals it, but the real show was the way he played like the puck owed him something. Selfish? Maybe. Effective? Undeniably.'

"Yes ma'am. Charlie Cox, popularly known as Red Bull. He's a Mafia and also serves as a broker." Erin's fists tightened. She did know there was something off about the guy. Yes, he was dressed corporately but didn't act corporately. He never even mentioned the name of his company. He was chewing gum and his voice came out thick and erratic. Like he was a smoke addict. "Find out the jerk who set me up with a criminal!" She stood up to leave and then almost bumped into someone. "I'm so sorry." She apologised before looking up to see who it was.

I booked a cab here, hoping to get a room, only to discover that the entire building was fully booked for a witches’ convention. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as my frustration mounted into an unbearable intensity. I couldn’t cry. Not now. A tear slipped down my cheek, and I whipped it away furiously. The last twenty-four hours of my life had been short of a nightmare. I went from finding my best friend and my boyfriend together to finding out that I was the mate of a werewolf hockey player, who I had to reject this morning after using him on more than one occasion to feel better about myself.

Usually, the sound of pucks thudding against the boards calms me. Today, it felt like someone dragging nails down my spine. I tied my black apron, yanked my hair into a knot, and fired up the espresso machine. Above the counter, the TV was muted, captions rolling over a face I knew too well. Darin Salvator. Black hair, ice-blue eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass. He was Aiden’s uncle, the pack’s pro-athlete disaster. The headline crawling across the screen made me huff a laugh: ‘PLAYBOY PRO CAUGHT IN CLUB BRAWL—REBELS AGAINST PACK TRADITION.’

I laughed. “Yeah, blame it on your pretty face. But I’m willing to do that—willing to let you win this case.” “Mr. Hilton, you do know this case has nothing to do with us?” “Wrong. This case has everything to do with us, so—” “Let me just stop you there,” I cut him off. “Mr. Puckett—my client—was a gardener, as we all know. Your client, on the other hand, is a public figure. Almost a million followers on social media.”

Eventually she left with visible annoyance written across her face and her eyes burning with unshaded tears. Another heart broken by Bryan Calloway! Seems she’s the type who dreamed of a happily ever after instead of a simple fuck. Puck bunnies fall into different categories. To put it plainly, puck bunnies are groups of girls completely obsessed with hockey players, especially their favorites. Some are harmless enough, just girls chasing adrenaline and excitement, girls looking for a hot fling with the star athlete they’ve been thirsting over since preseason started. They just want the experience,the bragging rights, the fantasy of disappearing into a penthouse suite with a tattooed defense

I walked in and saw him. Riven was on the ice, alone, stick in hand, angrily shooting pucks. Most of them missed. He looked exhausted, furious, and completely broken. “Fuck!” he yelled, kicking the puck away in frustration. I stepped onto the ice, my voice soft. “Was that ‘fuck’ or ‘puck’?” Riven spun around, eyes widening when he saw me. “No pun intended,” I winked. “How do you know I would be here? What are you even doing here?”

I sliced through a piece of toast, listening to the quiet, muted hum of the morning news playing softly on the built-in kitchen display across the room. Most athletes aren't morning people, but I liked to consider myself as one. This was my favourite part of each day. It was supposed to be my moment of peace, thirty minutes to one hour of pure peace before everyone and everything around me began to demand that I become Luca Devereaux, Captain of the Chicago Phantoms, the unshakeable, perfect face of professional hockey. My phone vibrated against the marble island. I paused, chewing slowly on a piece of bacon as I stared at the strange number.

There's a Liam-shaped hole in it that I've been pretending isn't there, and now that I've seen him again, the pretending isn't working anymore. My phone buzzes. I look at it without thinking. Derek: ur not gonna like this but i googled him Derek: Liam Hart. played in the minors, he actually stooped playing in order to pursue a medical degree, he's an urologist, although idk where that degree went. Derek: u sure u dont know him? I stare at the screen. The minors, that makes sense, even though Liam has never mentioned it, he had experience.