Puck Up Lines Novels & Stories

I bet you look good in it, too. The bass from the party downstairs thumps through the mattress, a slow, steady beat that matches the pulse in my cock. I lie there, alone in the dark, waiting for the next buzz and it comes too quickly. Barnabythebear: Tomorrow at the rink by 8 PM. Come if you want *wink emoji*

"What?" "What made you think that?" She pointed toward my jersey. "The jersey." I looked down, then back at her. Then down at the jersey again. "I still don't understand." The girl laughed. "That's what puck bunnies do." I frowned. "What the hell is a puck bunny?" Her eyes widened. "You don't know?" "No." She looked genuinely shocked. Like I'd just admitted I didn't know how to breathe. "A puck bunny is basically a hockey player's girlfriend."

I passed the puck back and forth with the team, skating around the rink before Coach Darren called us into position. The first drill started, and I received the puck and passed it immediately. Everything was going well…at least that's what I convinced myself to believe. No thinking of Ava, or her fucking lips, or whatever had happened last night, or what I probably wished would happen again. Just me, concentrating and—"Duke!” I heard my name from the coach, breaking me off my thoughts, and it was then I realized I had missed a pass. Shit. “Focus,” Coach Darren shouted.

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 stand and he shakes my hand and I leave. --- I text Vera from the car. *Paulson is thinking. Garrett is a yes. Come to the rink tonight — there's a side entrance on the east end, I'll leave it unlocked. Nine o'clock.* She replies in under a minute. *Why the rink.* *Because it's not the house and we need to talk without cameras.* A pause. *Richard has cameras?* *Front door, back garden, driveway. No interior. But the garden is covered.*

GAVIN The rink was alive with the loud scrape of blades on ice, pucks smacking against sticks, and the heavy breathing of fourteen exhausted players pushing through practice drills as cold air bit my face, my eyes sharp on every movement. “Five more laps!” I barked, my voice cutting through the air. “Push harder, gentlemen. I want to see legs moving like you actually plan on beating the Cyclones on Thursday!” The guys groaned but obeyed, pushing off into another round of sprints around the rink. Their sticks clattered against the boards as they rounded the corners, their breath puffed out in visible clouds in the freezing air.

Two pink lines. Clear. Unmistakable. Two pink lines. I picked it up with shaking hands. Turned it toward the light. Looked at it from different angles like that would somehow change what it said. Two lines. I grabbed the box. Read the diagram showing what positive looked like. I had two lines. Positive.

His hand brushing his knee for just a second before he straightens, grinning like nothing’s wrong. No one else seems to notice. The fans roar, the scoreboard lights up, and the cheer squad waves their pompoms in perfect rhythm. But I see it. I scribble a note in my margins: Reckless. Maybe I can work with that.

“You didn’t make Tara fall.” “Tell that to the whisper committee,” I mutter. Over her shoulder, Serene and the Hermione girl trade looks, the kind that say everything without words. Across the field, Coach Halford’s whistle splits the air. “Two lines. Puck control. What are we?” “One pack!” the team roars. Ronan taps Casen’s stick, mouth curved. I drag my eyes back to Sasha just in time to catch the little smirk she aims at me. “From the chorus,” she says too brightly. “Sell it. Loud. Five, six, seven, eight!”

"A rebound puck?" "You know the play. Someone rips a shot at the goal, it hits the goalie's pads and bounces back. Some other guy slides in while the keeper is reeling and scores a cheap point." "I see." "I won't be that guy. I won't be the cheap point you score to get back at him. I want to be the shot you take with a clear line of sight. On purpose." Isaac gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles white. "And if I can clear my schedule and get to the Dome... is the line of sight open?"