Page 54 of The Boyfriend Zone

I noticed Zach noticing, a small smile playing at his lips as he bumped Sean's foot with his own. Sean just grinned back, unapologetic and content in a way that made my chest feel warm and full.

The elevator stopped at our floor, and the group spilled out into the hallway. Sean walked me to my room, lingering outside the door.

"I should let you get some rest," he said, though his eyes said something different. "Big game tomorrow."

"Right," I nodded. "And you need sleep too. For team morale and stuff."

Down the hall, Tristan passed by, headed to his own room. "No all-nighters, you two," he called, though his tone was more amused than admonishing. "Some of us need our beauty sleep."

We both laughed, the moment of tension broken. "Goodnight, Lucas," Sean said, leaning in for one last brief kiss.

"Goodnight," I replied, watching him walk toward the room he shared with Zach and Petersen.

Inside my single room, I flopped onto the bed, feeling like a lovestruck teenager. I pulled out my phone to set an alarm for the morning, and found I already had a text:Missing you already. Sweet dreams.

My heart did that ridiculous flip again as I typed back:It's been two minutes! But also... same. See you at breakfast?

His response was immediate:It's a date.

I was just settling in, mentally preparing myself to actually get some work done before sleep, when a soft knock at my door startled me.

When I opened it, Sean stood there, looking equal parts sheepish and determined.

"I just realized," he said without preamble, "that I really wanted to kiss you goodnight properly. Without an audience."

"Is that so?" I couldn't help the smile spreading across my face.

He stepped closer, and I instinctively backed up, allowing him into the room. "I know we should both get some sleep, and I have to be up early for the coaches' meeting, but..."

I closed the door behind him, then reached up to curl my fingers in the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. "But?"

Instead of answering, Sean kissed me—a proper kiss, deep and thorough, his good arm wrapping around me to hold me against him. I responded eagerly, weeks of built-up tension finding release in the way our bodies fit together, the way his mouth moved against mine with increasing urgency.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing harder, Sean rested his forehead against mine. "That's a much better goodnight," he murmured.

"Definitely an improvement," I agreed, not quite ready to let him go. "Though I'm not sure it's helping either of us get to sleep faster."

Sean laughed softly. "Probably not. But worth it."

Neither of us moved to separate, the warmth between us too pleasant to break. After a moment, I found myself saying, "Stay? Just for a while. We could talk more, or..."

"Or?" Sean raised an eyebrow, a half-smile playing at his lips.

"Or just... be," I finished, feeling suddenly shy. "Together. Until you need to go back to your room."

Sean's expression softened. "I'd like that."

We moved to the bed, careful of Sean's shoulder as we settled against the headboard, my head on his chest, his arm around me. It was innocent, really—just physical closeness, the comfort of being held and holding someone who mattered. But it felt more intimate, somehow, than the heated kisses we'd shared.

"I could get used to this," Sean murmured, his fingers playing with my hair. "Having you close."

"Me too," I admitted, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear. "Though I should probably mention that as a journalist, cuddling with my interview subjects is generally frowned upon."

"I won't tell if you won't," Sean chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest where my head rested.

The room was bland – beige walls, generic art – but the space between us increasingly felt charged. His good hand found mine, fingers lacing through easily. I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, then trailing lower, down the column of his neck. My lips brushed the rough fabric of the sling. He sighed, a soft sound in the quiet room, tilting his head slightly, granting me better access. His good hand came up, cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin gently. That touch, that silent permission, sent a wave of warmth through me.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low.

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