Page 20 of The Boyfriend Zone

"Wouldn't miss it." His smile did strange things to my insides. "Though I'm a little surprised you wanted me here, considering..."

He let the sentence trail off, but I knew what he meant. Considering our agreement to keep our distance. Considering the kiss in the gym that had been haunting my thoughts for days.

"I've been thinking about that," I admitted, keeping my voice low. "And I realized maybe we could be friends. Publicly, I mean. No reason the team's defenseman and the reporter covering the team can't get along, right?"

Lucas's eyes widened slightly. "Friends," he repeated, testing the word. "I'd like that."

"Good." I relaxed slightly, even as part of me wondered if friendship was really all I wanted. "So, friend, how's your article coming along? The one Mia assigned about the team?"

"Not bad," Lucas replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm focusing on team dynamics, how you all work together so seamlessly on the ice. It's actually fascinating to watch."

"You make us sound like a well-oiled machine," I chuckled. "If only Coach could see us through your eyes."

"Oh? Does he not appreciate your brilliance?"

"Let's just say he's more the 'yell until they get it right' type of motivator. But it works." I took another sip of my soda. "So what kind of journalism do you want to do after graduation? Sports reporting?"

"Maybe." Lucas looked thoughtful. "I like sports, but I'm more interested in the human stories behind them. The personal journeys, the challenges people overcome."

"The secrets they keep?" I asked, only half-joking.

His eyes widened slightly. "That's not—I didn't mean—"

"Relax, I'm teasing." I bumped his shoulder lightly with mine, ignoring the twinge of pain the contact caused. "I get it. People are complicated. That's what makes them interesting to write about."

"Exactly. And what about you? Is the NHL still the dream?"

The question was innocent enough, but it hit a nerve—the same one my father had been prodding for years.

"That's the plan," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. "At least, that's what everyone expects."

"But what do you want?" Lucas asked, his gaze surprisingly perceptive.

Before I could answer—before I could even formulate a response to a question so few people had ever bothered to ask me—my phone buzzed.

"Sorry, I should take this," I said, already sliding out of the booth. "It's my dad."

Lucas nodded, and I made my way toward the tavern's entrance, where the noise level was slightly lower. I took a deep breath before answering.

"Hey, Dad."

"Sean! Just watched the highlights from your last game. That check in the third period was sloppy, son. You telegraphed it from a mile away."

No "hello," no "how are you"—just straight to critique. Typical.

"I know," I said, leaning against the wall. "I'm working on it."

"Work harder. I talked to Coach yesterday, and he says there'll be scouts from at least three NHL teams at the next home game."

My stomach twisted. "That's... great."

"It could be, if you're at your best." His voice took on that familiar lecturing tone. "You can't afford any mistakes, Sean. This is your shot."

I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. "I won't let you down, Dad."

"That's my boy. Remember what I always say—"

"Hockey first, everything else second," I finished automatically.

---