Page 79 of Faking It with the Bad Boy

"I think my contract might have clauses about proper behavior in historical archives."

From his jacket (which he was still terrible at properly storing), he produced a book I didn't recognize. "First edition," he said, handling it with perfect preservation technique. "1842 treatise on medical practices in professional sports. The Bruins' team doctor collects historical medical texts - he's been helping me track down rare finds."

"You're already networking with the medical staff?"

"Know your audience," he grinned. "Though they're genuinely interested in building a historical collection tracking the evolution of sports medicine. The team doctor thinks understanding historical treatment methods gives insights into modern techniques. He's even offered to help sponsorsome museum programming connecting past and present approaches."

"That's... fascinating." My academic heart was racing at the research possibilities.

"Plus," he added, "having someone who speaks both languages - sports and medical history - would be valuable. Someone who can explain historical context to athletes and translate modern practices back to academic research."

The lantern light caught his eyes, turning them to warm gold. His reading glasses sat perched on his nose because, apparently, he'd planned to actually show me specific passages. The combination of a future NHL player and secret medical history nerd was still cosmically unfair.

"Boston's program is one of the best," I said quietly, leaning into him. "And the museum fellowship would give me practical experience while studying."

"Plus, you'd have access to their entire Victorian surgical collection," he added because he knew exactly how to convince me. "Including those dental tools you've been stalking online."

"I have not been stalking dental tools."

"I've seen your browser history."

"That was professional research."

"You color-coded their acquisition dates."

He wasn't wrong. But more importantly, he understood. Understood both sides of who I was - the serious academic and the girl who got excited about antique medical implements. I understood both sides of him, too - the focused athlete and the secret history nerd.

"Tell me more about Boston's plans," I said, watching his face light up as he explained their development system, their style of play, and how they saw him fitting into their future.

"They're doing things right," he said, his enthusiasm evident in the way he gestured. "Strong development staff, good veteran leadership. The assistant GM talked about their three-year plan - how they want to bring young players up through their system and give them real opportunities to grow."

"Like quoting Victorian medical texts during plays?"

"That strategy worked in college."

"That was never actually a strategy."

"Tell that to our playoff record."

The moon had risen fully, casting everything in silver light that made the medicinal garden look almost magical. Jack's fingers traced patterns on my palm as he talked about Boston's coaching staff, their training facilities, and the opportunities they offered for young players to really develop their game.

"The AHL team's right there, too," he explained. "Providence is only an hour away. So even if I start in the minors, we wouldn't be that far apart. Plus, their development coaches work with both teams - same systems, same expectations."

"You’ve seriously thought all this through, haven't you?"

"Some things are worth planning for." His thumb traced my knuckles. "Worth finding ways to make them work, even if they don't fit anyone's normal categories."

I turned to face him fully, noticing how the lantern light softened his features. "And you really think we can make it work? NHL schedule, graduate studies, museum fellowship?"

"I think," he said slowly, "that if anyone can figure out how to balance professional hockey with Victorian medical history, it's us. We've got practice at making impossible things make sense together."

"Like bad boys who collect rare medical texts?"

"Like museum girls who learn hockey statistics." His smile was soft. "Like finding ways to make both worlds better by bringing them together."

He shifted to pull something else from his jacket - a folder I didn't recognize. "The team doctor and I have been talking about a project," he said, suddenly looking nervous.

"A series of presentations comparing historical and modern sports medicine practices. Educational programs for players, training staff, maybe even public outreach through the museum."

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