Romance Novels About Hockey Players นิยาย & เรื่องราว

"This is becoming a habit. First you break into my suite in disguise, and now you're breaking into my shower." I stared at him in disbelief. He stood there, dripping wet, completely bare, acting like this was a casual Tuesday afternoon meeting. "Will you please put some clothes on? Do you realise you're literally naked in front of me?!" "Does it bother you so much, Miss Thorne?" *** The arrow flew straight for my heart. Before I could react, a strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me back. I crashed against a hard chest as the arrow struck the marble pillar behind us. Duke Blackthorn. Zane. "Why did you save me? I thought we were enemies." "We are." "Then why?" His grip

Anne-Marie’s world collapses after spending one night in the bed of a total stranger, leaving her to pick up the pieces of her broken life. But survival is a must. Two years later, she returns to college, focused solely on securing her degree and making something out of her life against all odds. She has to pick up figure skating again and is shocked out of her mind when she discovers that the hockey captain with whom she’ll be sharing the ice rink is none other than the ‘Champion’ she spent an unforgettable steamy night with. Memphis McCarthy. Memphis is elite, passionate, persistent, ruthless on ice, and dangerously hard to resist. Despite their entanglement with others and a compli

Whoever they were because the internet had no consensus on whether Lana Steele was a man or woman, they knew how to write. I navigated to their page, hoping they'd posted something new. Twenty chapters. Twenty new chapters of "Scored Her Heart, Not The Puck." A smile spread across my face. I clicked the first one, adjusting my reading glasses, and dove in. The story grabbed me immediately. An injured hockey player with a reputation for being cold and untouchable. A nurse determined to heal him. The tension between them was electric, every interaction loaded with subtext and unspoken desire.

The other part—the bigger part—was just tired. “We weren’t dating, Kathleen,” I said quietly. “We were never together. We hooked up a few times. We both knew what it was. Besides, I don't have time with hockey—” Her hands tightened. “You can make time! I don’t mind being second to hockey. I don’t mind waiting. I’ll come to every game, I’ll—” “I don’t like you, Kathleen.” The words came out colder than I meant them to. “I may have fucked you, but I don’t like you. At all.”

The days when Harper and Chicago were fighting for space in my head. Richard watched my expression carefully. Then delivered the one sentence he’d driven all this way to say. “Tell me something, Logan.” His smile never reached his eyes. “How many NHL careers have started by putting a college romance ahead of hockey?” The room went completely silent. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I wanted to tell him Harper wasn’t a distraction. That she made me better. That she reminded me who I was outside the rink. But for one split second… One awful split second…

I say dryly. “Come on, we have to go! I heard Enzo is playing today, and also there's a new player we should go watch today.” She said, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Enzo was one of the players on the hockey team that Leah had been pining away for since our first semester. He barely gave her any attention, but she always went to each of his games, cheering him on, because she was convinced he liked her. “I'm not going, Lee. As for the new player, it's too early to set me up.” I said, grabbing some apples.

She mumbled to herself. “Do the guys have issues every season?” I asked nonchalantly, “Oh yes. Liam most times gets into scandals with women that he's dating, and he's surprisingly quiet this season. And then some of the guys too. But never Mason.” She said in a tone that made me know that she was down talking as she stared into her system. Scandals with women. I never knew about that. Probably because I distanced myself from hockey when I went to university at first. Not wanting to see what dad was doing. So, I might not exactly have seen the news.

Right in front of the world I had built to drag her back to me. A dark, suffocating rage clawed its way up my throat. For months, Danica had been mine. Behind closed doors, in the quiet, shadowed corners of the hockey house, she was the hidden flame I returned to night after night. I hadn't needed to woo her. I hadn't needed to play the romantic games that lesser men played; I was the captain, the dominant force on this campus, and I took what I wanted with a cold, possessive certainty. I thought the raw, unyielding heat between us was an anchor she could never break away from.

The sight of these four hockey giants—men who had body-checked opponents into the boards and fought through seasons of grueling violence—trying to navigate the delicate art of pocket squares and boutonnières was pure magic. Knox was currently trying to pin a yellow sunflower onto Dmitri’s lapel. Dmitri, the stoic Russian enforcer, was standing perfectly still, his massive arms hanging at his sides as if he were guarding a goal post. "It is a flower, Knox," Dmitri said in his thick, gravelly voice. "It is not a puck. Do not hit it." Jax looked up and saw me. The way his face changed—the way his expression instantly softened, shifting from playful camaraderie to a look of such profound, quiet