Spicy Hockey Books Novels & Stories

I emphasized. “Exactly. The title just makes it official.” Enzo leaned back. “Or wait, you’re scared of the responsibility?” I laughed. “That’s cute.” “Then what’s the problem?” I didn’t answer. Truth was, I didn’t want another expectation hanging over my head. Since I got back from the States, hockey had started feeling like fun again and was the only thing that still felt like mine. I wasn’t sure I wanted leadership turning it into something else, as it did before.

"And I'll recommend that the league drop the investigation." "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet." Dr. Chen pulled something out of her desk drawer. A book manuscript. Thick. Printed. The cover page read: "Love on Ice: The True Story of Hockey's Most Controversial Couple. By Emily Chen, Ph.D." Damian's blood ran cold. "What is that?" "My book." Dr. Chen set the manuscript on the coffee table. "I've been writing it for six months. Interviews. Research. Analysis. It covers everything—your rivalry, your relationship, the blackmail, the shooting, the wedding."

But Hockey is a beast of a game, and I f*ckin love it. But after my marriage, I stopped watching and even checking live scores. I stopped everything that would remind me of Cicero, deleting him everywhere around me. … We were already seated in a row right across the Islanders' bench before the game started. Papa is seated comfortably with Lugo, Cicero's best friend. They are having a deep conversation that they didn't want me to listen to. So, I focus my attention on the ice, biting down on my lips. Papa is wearing a jersey with Cicero's name and even offered me one before we left the house, but I turned him down.

“You found a celebrity.” “Nat—” “That is Cole Ashford.” She pointed at the screen as though I needed the direction. “He is—that man is fine—and you just—” “He’s the new captain,” I said quietly, reading the banner again. The dread that had started as a flicker was now something much more settled and specific. “Of the Chicago Vortex.” The room went still. We turned to look at each other at the exact same moment. “Nat.” My voice came out very flat. “What team did you say you submitted my application to?”

The heavy betrayal from Lucas, the picture from the cafeteria, and Ann’s damning words vanished into thin air. The only reality left was the charged atmosphere between us. And Richard Rashford staring down at me with an intense, dark hunger in his amber tinted eyes. The thick sexual energy that had hummed between us in the gym came rushing back ten times stronger. And I don’t think I can resist it this time around.

Her hand in Ethan’s. Captioned: “The Nerd & The Hockey King… exposed.” And underneath Hundreds of comments are already pouring in.

My hiking addiction has advantages of keeping my legs in tone with the perfect shape for strength and endurance. I see the hockey players and send a quick wave their way, but they turn their backs to me and I can't help but wonder if I've done something wrong or offended them somehow. Shoot, they're probably upset they have to spend their Saturday here at a school pushing books on a bunch of kids who are about as interested in reading as they would be learning to crochet with their grandmas. The kids are allowed to enter at ten o’clock am and follow through the path of tables, entertaining themselves with games and events, earning candy, fidgets, and most importantly books along the way.

Chapter 182: Third Person POV The man's fingers traced the glossy magazine cover slowly, deliberately, his touch almost reverent as it moved across the photograph displayed there, a hockey player mid-action, captured in perfect athletic form, his face focused and intense beneath the headline "Zane Mercer: The NHL's Most Elusive Star." The downtown Seattle penthouse where he sat was dark except for the ambient city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows that made the expensive modern furniture look almost sinister in the dim glow.

I checked the room number written on my orientation sheet and followed the hallway until I reached a large black door marked Northbridge Hockey Club (NHC). Laughter and male voices spilled from inside, followed by a loud crash. I took a slow breath, then pushed the door open. The smell of sweat, ice, and stale energy drinks hit me first. Nearly twenty players filled the room. Some lounged on benches, others argued over a table littered with bottles. When the door shut behind me, only a few heads turned before they went right back to their conversations. My jaw tightened. Fine. I’d seen this exact scene in too many movies and I'd come prepared.

Célia The day passed in the library, a mausoleum of rare books and icy portraits. His voice, precise and relentless, unspooled the history of the Volkovs like a chain designed to ensnare me. I only half-listened. I observed. The emphasis he placed on loyalty, conquest, retention of what belongs to one. Every word was a lesson, a warning. Evening arrives, heavy with the day's unspoken things. I dress with particular care, a simple dress in ivory silk. An armor, however thin. When I go downstairs, he is already there.