Novelas y relatos de Puck Puckerman

and quoted anonymous sources who said I was "just another puck bunny trying to land a hockey player." The words blurred in front of my eyes. Puck bunny. The same label I'd always hated, the same label I'd avoided my entire college career. And now it was attached to my name for the whole world to see. "I'm so sorry," Liam said, his voice rough. "I didn't know they'd taken photos. I didn't know anyone was watching. If I'd known, I never would have..." "You don't have to apologize." My voice was hollow. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who went to that bar. I'm the one who drank too much. I'm the one who..." I couldn't finish the sentence. The shame was too heavy.

he demonstrated, his movements precise despite his bulky skates. Adrien chimed in, pointing at the leg pads. "These pads are your best friends. They'll absorb most of the impact, but you need to learn how to direct the puck safely away using them. It's about angling your legs at the right moment." "Puck control is key," Alec added, tightening a chest protector around me ironically. "When that puck hits you for the first time, it will be a shock, no denying that. But you'll get used to it. You might even start to like the adrenaline rush. It keeps you sharp, keeps you in the game."

"A puck bunny is basically a hockey player's girlfriend." "Oh." "Or boyfriend." "Oh." "They follow the players around." "Oh." "They wear jerseys." I looked down at myself, then immediately wished I hadn't. "Oh." The girl nodded. "Yeah." For a second, I simply sat there processing that information then I physically shuddered. "No." "No?" "No." The word came out stronger than intended, the girl just watched me. I pointed toward the name on my back. "That's my brother." Her eyes widened.

Why couldn’t my life ever be smooth and graceful? My eyeballs dared to move, eyeing the black polo shirt Pam had in her hands that was to have been mine. I saw the cute pig logo, the one I would have proudly worn as I poured wines and schmoozed my way to higher and higher commissions. The Cunning Ham. Boston Cunningham. It was all coming together now. What a fool I was. “Oh, do you two already know each other?” Pam’s head swiveled like a spectator at a tennis match, probably wondering why both of us had our jaws hanging down to the ground.

“What am I doing with my life,” he whispered, his voice low and heavy. The words echoed through the dark, narrow alley, bouncing off empty walls and disappearing into the void. Only two others were present to hear him—his silent coworker and a terrified young woman clutching her purse, her wide, tear-filled eyes pleading for mercy. “I’ll give you anything—money, favors—whatever you want,” she stammered, her voice trembling and breaking with every word. “You hear that, Hound? Anything we want,” Puck said with a cruel laugh, his boots scraping against the gritty pavement as he moved closer. “What I want, sweetheart, isn’t in your purse. Can you give me that?”

Luckily, he let us decide the rest of the plan or at least most of it. Of course, now we knew that he still had made a few decisions on his own and lied to us about them. I couldn't help but wonder, what else was he lying about? Before I could allow my thoughts to go too far down that rabbit hole, I heard the sounds of the rest of our family and Leo waking up. "About fucking time!" Puck exclaimed. Joe and Martha set up a small card table and Smith set a large assortment of blades and other instruments on it as West and I walked over.

Most of them have a word in common. "Tits... tits... tits... breasts, huh," I lift my eyebrows in surprise, this one particular hockey fan is very respectful, "He said, 'This broad has the best breasts I have seen. Good job, Kent' well, at least he didn't say tits. I'm going to like that one." Bram chuckles and I continue reading out loud. 'Who is she?' 'Puckslut' 'Are you okay to play again? Please say yes.' 'I missed you, I love you. She's not good enough for you.'

rounded the corner. “Hey, Pat,” Sammy said with a shit eaten grin. Patty didn’t know whether to scream, panic, or slap his face. Sammy Buckle was a guy she had dated for six months eight years ago. He still had that large auburn box afro with a black pick comb with the fist on the handle hanging out of it. His nose was still huge. He was a biracial guy she met through so called friends of hers in Phoenix years ago. She had fallen for him hard. He knew it, led Patty on long enough to con her out of multiple amounts of money before he dropped her for another girl. He didn’t even have the decency to tell Patty. She had to hear about from other people she had known in Phoenix. If that wasn’t bad

"That blood needs to be stopped. If not, you might get infected, Ken." I looked at him standing there…this same guy who had punched me in my own chest less than twenty four hours ago and shoved me out of his bedroom window without a second thought. Now, he is standing in the middle of the school cafeteria with genuine concern written all over his face like he had forgotten, just for this moment, that we were supposed to be enemies. There was something about Liam's caring nature that caught you off guard every time. Even with the half-baked cocky replies he kept in rotation, he had this side to him that showed up quietly, without announcement, and hit harder because of it.

The same hands that had pinned me in love now anchored me so I wouldn’t drown. “I saw his face,” I gasped. “When the puck went in. That little slump. It looked just like me when my dad—” “Shh. Not your dad. Not your story.” Callan leaned in until our foreheads touched. His breath warmed my skin. “Liam is not you. He laughed two seconds later. He’s already asking if he can try again. This is play, Brooks. Not pressure.”