Page 50 of The Boyfriend Zone

"Well, have fun," Nate said, spotting Coach Barnett signaling for players to board. "Try not to let your objectivity slip too much. We're still journalists, even if you are sleeping with the subject."

"I'm not—" I spluttered, heat rising to my cheeks. "We haven't—"

"Relax," Nate laughed, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "I'm kidding. Mostly." He glanced over my shoulder and his expression shifted subtly. "Speaking of your not-sleeping-with subject..."

I turned to see Sean approaching, wearing his team jacket over casual clothes rather than the full gear the active players wore for travel. His sling was gone—a recent development he'd proudly shown me earlier that week—though he still moved carefully, mindful of his healing shoulder.

"Lucas," he greeted me with exaggerated formality, though his eyes were warm with private amusement. "Ready for the glamorous experience of collegiate hockey travel? Cramped bus seats, questionable gas station snacks, the unique aroma of twenty guys who think deodorant is optional?"

"You paint such an enticing picture," I replied dryly. "How could I resist?"

"You two are nauseating," Nate declared, though his smile belied his words. "I'm off to photograph the swim meet. Try not to scandalize the coaching staff too much."

As he walked away, Sean moved closer, his voice dropping. "Seriously, though, are you sure you want to come? These trips can be pretty boring."

"Are you kidding? Three hours of uninterrupted access to the team for my article? It's a journalist's dream." I kept my tone professional in case anyone was listening, though I couldn't resist adding, "Plus, certain company makes even boring bus rides appealing."

Sean's smile widened, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me right there in the parking lot. Instead, he glanced toward the bus, where Coach was making final checks on his roster.

"We should board," he said. "Coach hates stragglers, even injured ones."

The bus was already filling up as we climbed aboard, players spreading out in their usual configurations—freshmen toward the front, upperclassmen claiming the coveted back rows, pairs of close friends settling in together.

I hesitated, suddenly unsure where I fit in this established ecosystem. As the reporter, should I sit near the front, maintaining professional distance? Or was I expected to sit with Sean?

Sean solved my dilemma by sliding into a seat near the middle and patting the space beside him. "Best view," he explained as I joined him. "Not too close to Coach's running commentary, not too close to the bathroom."

"Practical and strategic," I noted, setting my bag in the storage space above. "No wonder you're such a good defenseman."

"I have my moments," he agreed with a grin.

As the bus pulled away from campus, I couldn't help noticing a few curious glances our way.

"You look like you're overthinking again," Sean observed, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "Want to share, or should I guess?"

"Just adjusting," I admitted. "This is new territory for me. Being here as both a reporter and..."

"My boyfriend?" Sean supplied when I trailed off.

The word still sent a small thrill through me every time he said it, casual and confident, as if it had always been true.

"Yeah," I smiled. "That."

"If it helps, I'm not exactly good at hiding how I feel about you."

"Really?" I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Mr. 'I can play through a grade-two shoulder sprain without anyone noticing' isn't good at hiding things?"

"That was different," Sean protested. "That was physical pain. This is..."

"What?" I prompted when he hesitated.

"The opposite," he said simply, his eyes holding mine. "Very much the opposite of pain."

Before I could formulate a response, the bus hit a pothole, jostling everyone. Sean winced as the movement jarred his shoulder, and I instinctively reached out to steady him, my hand landing on his thigh.

"You okay?" I asked, concerned.

"Fine," he assured me, though his face was tight. "Just need to remember I'm not fully healed yet."

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