Page 77 of Faking It with the Bad Boy

"This week's discussion is about nineteenth-century battlefield medicine," Mike announced proudly. "With practical demonstrations using approved props only." He glanced meaningfully at Tommy, who was still banned from handling anything resembling historical medical instruments.

Jack's reputation underwent its final evolution. The campus bad boy image had wholly transformed, though his motorcycle still carried custom saddlebags designed for transporting rare books. He'd become something entirely new - the hockey captain turned medical historian who could discuss both power plays and preservation techniques with equal passion.

"It's actually improved his dating profile," Mike observed during a study session. "Turns out girls find it hot when you can quote Victorian medical texts while wearing a leather jacket. Who knew?"

"I knew," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but you hit him with dental tools. Your courtship standards are questionable."

Our relationship found its rhythm in this strange new normal. Late nights alternated between historical research and teaching me basic hockey moves in the empty rink. Team gatheringsbecame a blend of sports analysis and medical history discussions. Jack's growing library merged seamlessly with my artifact collections, creating a space that was uniquely ours.

"You balance each other," Dex observed one evening, watching Jack reorganize my dental tool collection while I attempted to understand hockey statistics. "He makes you break rules occasionally. You make him color-code everything. It's weird but perfect."

The team maintained their betting pool on potential proposals, though now they factored in museum exhibition schedules and rare book auction dates rather than game times.

"Just remember," Mike advised during a study session, "any ring needs proper historical documentation. Maybe incorporate a Victorian medical theme? Though maybe skip the dental tools this time."

"I'm not planning to propose," Jack insisted, but I'd caught him researching nineteenth-century engagement customs in the rare books section.

"Your boy's very interested in Victorian courtship rituals," the librarian informed me with knowing looks. "Though perhaps suggest less historically accurate methods? Some of these medical practices are questionably romantic."

Our worlds had merged completely, creating something new and strange and perfectly us. The hockey team discussed preservation techniques while helping organize the museum's medical collection. The museum staff learned sports statistics to better appreciate Jack's historical comparisons. We'd built something that didn't fit in anyone's careful categories.

And maybe that was exactly right.

Because some things - like love found between medical history and hockey practices, like bad boys who preserved rare books and museum girls who learned sports strategy, like being who you really are even when it doesn't match anyone's expectations - don't need to fit existing classifications.

They just need to be real.

Even if they involve improper preservation protocols in the rare books section.

Especially then.

Chapter twenty-three

Future Plans

Spring brought more than just warmer weather to Preston University - it brought decisions. Big, life-altering, possibly relationship-threatening decisions that couldn't be organized with any of my usual color-coding systems. Jack's agent had delivered Boston's official entry-level contract offer. After holding his draft rights through college, they were ready to sign him. Meanwhile, my graduate school acceptance letters formed a similarly daunting pile in my museum office.

"Boston's serious," Jack said one evening, sprawled across my office couch with the contract details his agent had sent over. "Two-way deal for the first year, but they're planning to give me a real shot at the roster. Assistant GM called personally to walk through their development plan."

I looked up from my own pile of graduate school brochures. "They've been patient, letting you develop here."

"Four years of holding my draft rights without pushing me to sign early." He nodded, flipping through more pages of contract details. "Most teams would have pressured for an early signing,maybe tried to get me into their AHL system sooner. Boston played it long - let me finish my degree, develop my game at the college level."

"Like they had an actual plan for your development," I said, watching him review the paperwork with the same careful attention he gave to examining rare books.

"Exactly. Their development coach has been at most of our home games this season. Not just watching but actually tracking specific elements of my game they want to work with. Plus..." His smile turned soft. "That medical history program you're looking at. The one with the Victorian surgical instrument collection."

"The timing does work out well," I agreed, though the thought of such big changes still made my carefully organized world feel shaky. "Almost suspiciously perfect."

"You mean like how my grandmother suddenly has 'connections' at every medical history program in Massachusetts? And keeps sending us historical documents about Victorian couples who managed long-distance relationships, with helpful notes about how 'modern transportation makes courtship so much simpler'?"

The pressure of decisions hung between us, heavy with possibility and fear. Everyone had opinions - the team thought Boston was perfect, combining hockey opportunities with academic excellence. My parents pushed for Harvard's History of Medicine program. Jack's father had strong views about Boston's development system and how they'd utilized their young centers in recent years.

Mike had taken to wearing a Bruins hat around campus, claiming he was "manifesting the perfect future" for us. The team had started a betting pool on whether Jack would score his first NHL goal before or after I organized my first museumexhibition. Even Dr. Pierce had opinions, though hers mostly involved proper preservation techniques for maintaining long-distance relationships.

"Let's get out of here," Jack said suddenly, standing and holding out his hand. "I want to show you something."

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