Page 91 of The Boyfriend Zone

He raised his glass in our direction. "To Sean and Lucas—without whose romantic tension and eventual resolution we might never have found our championship chemistry. The team thanks you for your service."

"To Sean and Lucas!" the room echoed, everyone raising their glasses in our direction.

"I'm going to kill him," Sean murmured conversationally, even as he raised his own glass in acknowledgment. "Slowly. Painfully."

"No, you won't," I replied, clinking my glass against his. "You love him. Besides, he's not entirely wrong about the timing, even if the causation is questionable."

"Our relationship did not cause the championship," Sean protested, though his eyes were dancing with amusement.

"Correlation doesn't imply causation," I agreed solemnly. "But the data is compelling. Before me: no championship. After me: championship. I'm just saying, the evidence speaks for itself."

Sean's laugh was warm and free, a sound I never tired of hearing. "Remind me why I put up with you again?"

"My charming personality? My devastatingly good looks? My willingness to carry your MVP trophy when your arm was in a sling?"

"All compelling reasons," Sean conceded, leaning closer. "Though I can think of a few more."

Before he could elaborate, we were interrupted by Ava, who dropped into an empty chair at our table with her portfolio in hand.

"Sorry to break up the lovefest," she announced, "but I have news and no one else will properly appreciate it."

"What news?" I asked, recognizing the barely contained excitement in her expression.

"I got the summer gig!" she exclaimed, opening her portfolio to show us the formal acceptance letter. "The one with Regional Life magazine! Full-time, paid, actual published photo credits!"

"Ava, that's amazing!" I hugged her, genuinely thrilled for my friend who had been anxiously waiting to hear back about this particular opportunity. "When do you start?"

"Two weeks after graduation," she replied, practically bouncing in her seat. "Just enough time to move my stuff to the new apartment and get settled before diving in."

"This calls for a celebration," Sean declared, signaling a waiter for another round of drinks. "To Ava and her first real photography job!"

As we toasted her success, I couldn't help but feel a wave of contentment. Everything seemed to be falling into place—not just for Sean and me, but for our friends as well. Ava with her dream photography job, Nate and Zach finally admitting their feelings for each other, everyone moving forward with purpose and direction.

I spotted Nate across the room, gesturing animatedly as he entertained a small crowd with what appeared to be one of his signature exaggerated stories. Zach stood nearby, watching with undisguised fondness until he couldn't resist jumping in to correct some apparent inaccuracy, leading to a good-natured argument that had their audience in stitches.

"They're going to be insufferable now that they're officially together, aren't they?" I commented, nodding in their direction.

"Probably," Sean agreed cheerfully. "But they're happy, so I can't complain too much."

"Who's happy?" a voice asked, and I turned to find Sean's father standing beside our table, looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"Zach and Nate," Sean explained, standing to greet his father. "They finally stopped dancing around each other and admitted they're into each other."

"About time," Mr. Mitchell said dryly. "The tension was getting painful to watch, even for an emotional disaster like me."

I nearly choked on my drink at this surprisingly self-aware assessment. Sean looked equally startled, though he recovered quickly.

"Dad, you remember Lucas," he said, a statement rather than a question since we'd been properly introduced at the championship game.

"Of course," Mr. Mitchell nodded, offering his hand. "Good to see you again, Lucas. That was quite a piece you wrote about the championship. Made even an old cynic like me feel the excitement."

"Thank you, sir," I replied, shaking his hand and trying not to look as surprised as I felt at the compliment. "That means a lot coming from someone who knows the game so well."

Mr. Mitchell's mouth quirked in what might have been a smile. "You'll have to handle all of Sean's celebrity press inquiries going forward," he joked. "Keep the vultures at bay when he hits the big leagues."

"I'll do my best," I promised, warming to this version of Robert Mitchell who could joke about his son's future without the weight of expectation that had previously characterized his comments.

As the evening progressed and conversations flowed around us, Sean leaned close to whisper in my ear. "Want to slip outside for a minute? It's getting a bit warm in here."

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