Page 49 of The Boyfriend Zone

"Your place is going to smell like beer and pizza for a week," he teased, gathering empty bottles.

"Worth it," I declared, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch him work. "Thank you for being here tonight. It meant a lot."

"I wouldn't have missed it," Lucas said, setting down the trash bag to move closer to me. "I'm proud of you, you know. For telling them."

"It was easier than I thought it would be," I admitted. "Turns out I was the only one who thought it was a big deal."

"That's often the case with the things we hide," Lucas said wisely. "They loom larger in our minds than they ever would in reality."

I pulled him closer with my good arm, marveling at how natural it felt to have him in my space, in my life. "When did you get so smart?"

"I've always been smart," he retorted with a grin. "You were just too busy being stubborn to notice."

"Well, I'm noticing now," I murmured, leaning in to kiss him.

Unlike our earlier kisses—stolen moments, tentative explorations—this one was unhurried, deepening naturally as Lucas's arms slid around my neck and my hand settled at his waist. There was no fear of discovery, no need to rush or hide. Just us, finding our rhythm together, the way we had been since that first night at the club, even through all the missteps and complications that followed.

When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Lucas rested his forehead against mine. "I should probably go," he said reluctantly. "Early class tomorrow."

"Stay," I suggested impulsively. "Just to sleep," I clarified, not wanting to pressure him. "It's late, and I..." I hesitated, then decided to be honest. "I sleep better when you're here."

The smile that spread across Lucas's face was worth any residual vulnerability I felt at the admission. "In that case, how can I refuse? Your recovery requires adequate rest, after all."

As we settled into bed later, Lucas careful of my injured shoulder, I found myself reflecting on the strange, winding path that had led us here.

"What are you thinking about?" Lucas asked, his voice soft in the darkness. "I can practically hear the gears turning."

"Just how bizarre it is that going to the club that day might have been the best thing to happen to me," I replied, pulling him closer with my good arm. "If I hadn't been dragged to that club, if you hadn't been there that night..."

"We'd have met anyway," Lucas said with quiet certainty. "At that first interview in the locker room. The circumstances would have been different, but I'd still have noticed you."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely. Grumpy, guarded defenseman with secrets and cheekbones that could cut glass? Classic journalist catnip."

I laughed, the sound warm in the quiet room. "So it was my cheekbones that drew you in?"

"Among other qualities," Lucas conceded, his fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "But mostly it was the way you tried so hard to seem tough when your eyes gave away how much you cared. About the team, about the game... eventually, about me."

"I did try to hide that," I admitted. "Not very successfully, apparently."

"Terrible at it," Lucas confirmed. "But I'm glad. I'm not sure I'd have had the courage to keep trying if I hadn't seen those glimpses of the real you beneath all that hockey player armor."

I pressed a kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed by gratitude for his persistence, his willingness to see past my defenses when I'd given him every reason to walk away.

Chapter 17: Lucas

"Got everything?" Nate asked, hoisting his camera bag higher on his shoulder as we approached the idling team bus. "Notebook, recorder, unhealthy obsession with a certain handsome defenseman?"

I elbowed him in the ribs, conscious of the hockey players milling around us, loading equipment and claiming seats for the three-hour drive to the away game.

"Shut up," I muttered, though there was no real annoyance behind it. "And yes, I've got everything I need."

"Including permission to cover the trip from Mia?" Nate pressed, ever the responsible one despite his teasing. "I know she's been pushing for more in-depth coverage, but chaperone might be stretching the definition."

"She practically shoved me out the door," I assured him. "Said it was a 'unique human interest angle' to document the team dynamic on road trips."

The truth was, I was nervous about this trip. It was my first time traveling with the team as more than just the reporter assigned to their beat. They’d been supportive of my relationship with Sean at the apartment gathering last week, but being the only non-athlete on the bus for hours felt intimidating in a different way.

---