Page 14 of The Boyfriend Zone

So here I was instead, stubbornly pushing through pain, hoping that I could rehab the shoulder enough to get through the season without anyone noticing.

I was midway through a set of external rotations when a noise at the door made me freeze. Someone was coming in. I quickly grabbed my sweatshirt from the bench, wincing as I pulled it over my head to hide the ice pack I'd strapped to my shoulder.

When I looked up, Lucas was standing in the doorway, a gym bag slung over one shoulder and a surprised expression on his face.

"Sean," he said, recovering quickly. "I didn't expect to see anyone here this early."

"I could say the same," I replied, trying to sound casual despite the panic rising in my chest. "What brings you to the gym at this hour?"

Lucas stepped further into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Actually, I'm working on a piece about the team's training routines. Figured I'd find the early birds here."

His explanation made sense, but I couldn't help feeling suspicious. Had he somehow known I would be here? Was he following up on his observation about my shoulder?

"Well, you found one," I said, moving toward the free weights to put some distance between us. "Though fair warning—I'm not much of a talker before my second cup of coffee."

"I'll stay out of your way," Lucas promised, setting his bag down on a bench. "Just pretend I'm not here."

Easier said than done. Even as I went through the motions of a normal workout, carefully avoiding anything that would stress my shoulder, I was hyperaware of his presence. He moved around the gym with quiet efficiency, jotting notes about the facility, occasionally glancing in my direction.

Up close, in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the gym, he looked even better than I remembered. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd run his fingers through it on the walk over. Without the dim club lighting or the distance of the press box, I could see the warmth of his eyes, the way his brow furrowed slightly as he concentrated on his notes.

I found myself watching him when I thought he wasn't looking, remembering the feel of his lips against mine, the way he'd smiled against my mouth when I'd pulled him closer.

"So," Lucas's voice startled me out of my thoughts, "is this your usual morning routine?"

I realized I'd been staring at the same dumbbell for far too long. "More or less," I hedged, selecting a lighter weight than I normally would. "Gets busy later in the day."

Lucas nodded, leaning against the wall nearby. "I'm the same way about the library. Can't stand trying to find a quiet corner once the crowds arrive."

There was something about his easy manner that made it hard to maintain my guard. Despite my best intentions, I found myself responding to his questions, drawn into conversation as I moved through a modified version of my usual routine.

"What got you into journalism?" I asked during a rest period between sets, genuinely curious.

Lucas smiled, and something warm unfurled in my chest. "I've always been nosy," he admitted. "Even as a kid, I was the one asking 'why' about everything. Drove my parents crazy."

"And now you get paid to be nosy," I observed, returning his smile despite myself.

"Exactly. Though I prefer to call it 'having a natural curiosity about people and their stories.'" He made air quotes around the phrase, his eyes crinkling with humor.

"Sounds better on a resume."

"Much better."

We fell into a rhythm after that, trading questions and observations as I worked out and he took notes. There was a careful distance between us, both physically and in the topics we discussed, but I felt the pull of something more every time our eyes met.

"What about you?" Lucas asked as I was wiping down a bench. "Was hockey always the plan?"

I considered deflecting, giving the stock answer I usually provided to similar questions. But something about Lucas's attentive expression made me want to be honest.

"Not exactly," I admitted. "I mean, I've always loved playing. But the whole 'NHL or bust' thing? That was more my dad's vision than mine."

Lucas's eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"Don't get me wrong," I continued, suddenly feeling the need to clarify. "I'm grateful for everything he's done. The early morning practices, the summer camps, the private coaches. He invested everything in my career."

"That sounds like a lot of pressure," Lucas observed, his tone neutral.

I shrugged, then immediately regretted it as pain flared in my shoulder. "It's just how it is in my family. Hockey is everything."

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