Romance About Hockey Players Novels & Stories

Stitched up or worse. "Hn. Could do," he rumbled. He hoped not. It was par for the course, hockey players being stitched back together on the fly and shuffled back out onto the ice, sometimes even sporting noses that had been reassigned to some other part of their face. Both he and Khyle had managed to avoid permanent disfiguring injuries this long. It would be kind of a shame to mar those good looks up now. "Sooo, you guys are pretty chummy these days." Gunner snapped to.

"He shouldn't have put his mouth on yours. Listen carefully, I hate Brian. I hate this hockey team. And I especially dislike Jayden." My eyebrows lift. "Why?" "Because I don't trust hockey players." "Seems like you've made up your mind about them." "Your boyfriend is a hockey player." "Ex-boyfriend." "Exactly." I can't argue with that logic. Unfortunately. "Look," she says more softly. "Maybe he's a decent guy. He just shouldn't hurt you. And... I gotta go. I love you so much. Text me okay?" I nod. "I love you."

"That's against bro-code. Best friend code, too. Your sisters are off-limits. My teammates too. Do we have a deal?" I was enjoying the little flirt with the tall-as-hell hockey player, but there was no way anything would come out of it. There's no way I'm going to actually get involved with any of these guys, even if some of them are really hot. But I like knowing Bram will stay away from my gorgeous sisters. "We have a deal," I agree

“Do what, sir?” “Get the men and women in love with you. Politicians, businessmen, mafias, and even pastors. They all want you. They're not watching hockey because they like the sport. They're watching it because they're in love with the player. Most of them even donate and invest their life savings just to be one of our biggest sponsors,” he paused, and slowly moved closer to me. “There must be something in your body. Something no one is aware of,” he concluded.

“People always reminded me who he was. The famous player. The handsome star. The man who could date anyone.” Her fingers twisted together. “They acted like I had won something when he wanted me.” I did not interrupt. “At first, it felt romantic. Then every disagreement became proof I was ungrateful. If he cancelled plans, I needed to understand because hockey came first. If I complained, he reminded me how many women would gladly accept my place.” Anger tightened in my chest. “He said that?” “Not always directly.” “That does not make it better.” “I know that now.” She looked at me.

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.

Damien’s voice cut off abruptly. I turned around slowly. Damien stood in the doorway, his hockey gear bag slung over one shoulder, his jaw tight as his gaze shifted from his father to me. The shock in his dark eyes lasted for only a fraction of a second before hardening into pure, unadulterated fury. Damien dropped his athletic bag to the floor with a heavy thud. He marched into the room, closing the distance between us until he was towering over me, invading my personal space.

“One bonfire. One night. If you hate it, I’ll personally drive you back to the rink and let you throw pucks at me for revenge.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling too big. “Tempting. But only if you promise no more winking. It’s weaponized.” “No promises,” he said, eyes sparkling. “But deal on the rest.” We walked back to his truck under a sky full of stars that looked sharper up here, no city lights to dull them. He opened my door again—gentleman hockey player, apparently—and when I slid in, our hands brushed. Just for a second. Electricity. The kind you read about in the books I swore I only read for the dragons.