Page 93 of The Boyfriend Zone

The drive to our new place took barely twenty minutes, the late August sun warm through the car windows as I navigated the now-familiar streets of a city that was starting to feel like home. I'd been fortunate with the development camp—impressing enough of the right people to earn a contract offer with the organization's AHL affiliate. It wasn't the NHL, not yet, but it was a legitimate start to a professional career, a foot in the door that could lead to greater opportunities.

And Lucas—brilliant, supportive, ambitious Lucas—had rearranged his entire senior year to make it work. A combination of online courses, independent studies, and weekly video conferences with his professors allowed him to maintain his status as a full-time student while living in Boston. He'd even managed to retain his position as Editor-in-Chief of the campus newspaper, running the operation remotely with occasional trips back to campus for important meetings.

It wasn't the traditional path, but it was ours. And today marked the official beginning of our life together beyond the confines of college.

I arrived at the apartment building with a box of my own possessions—mostly hockey memorabilia and clothes—balanced precariously in one arm as I fumbled for my keys. Before I could locate them, the door swung open to reveal Lucas, his hair slightly disheveled and a broad smile on his face.

"Welcome home," he announced, stepping aside to let me in. "My home is your home. Literally, since we're both on the lease now."

"Smooth," I laughed, setting down my box to kiss him properly. "How long have you been waiting to use that line?"

"Since we signed the paperwork," Lucas admitted shamelessly. "I've been practicing it in the mirror."

"Dork," I said fondly, following him into the apartment.

The space was still cluttered with half-unpacked boxes, but the basic furniture we'd acquired over the past few weeks was in place—a secondhand couch that was surprisingly comfortable, a coffee table we'd found at a yard sale, a dining set gifted by my grandmother who insisted we "needed somewhere proper to eat meals."

"I hung the bulletin board," Lucas pointed out, leading me to the wall opposite the couch where he'd mounted a large cork surface. "Started setting it up with a few essentials."

The "essentials" turned out to be a carefully curated collection of photographs: our championship win with me holding the trophy aloft; a group picture from graduation day with Nate, Zach, Ava, and several other friends; a selfie of us at a Red Sox game we'd attended earlier in the summer; and one of my favorites—me with my arm around Lucas as he proudly displayed a certificate from his internship recognition ceremony.

"Our life in pictures," I observed, warmth spreading through my chest at the visual representation of our journey together.

"So far," Lucas corrected, his hand finding mine. "Plenty more to come."

We spent the next few hours alternating between unpacking and eating the lunch Lucas had brought—pizza from the place around the corner that had quickly become our favorite during our separate visits to scope out the apartment.

"I found your Team USA jersey from juniors," Lucas called from one of the boxes he was unpacking in the bedroom. "Where do you want it?"

"Closet is fine," I replied, carefully arranging my collection of pucks on a shelf in the living room. "Though if you want to wear it sometime, I wouldn't object. It would look good on you."

"I'll keep that in mind for when it gets colder," Lucas answered, reappearing with another box labeled 'kitchen' in his neat handwriting. "Though I'm pretty sure it would hit me at mid-thigh. You forget our height difference sometimes."

"I'm perfectly aware of our height difference," I countered, moving to help him with the box. "It's one of my favorite things about you."

"That I'm shorter than you?"

"That you fit perfectly under my chin when I hug you," I clarified, demonstrating by pulling him against my chest. "See? Perfect."

Lucas laughed against my collarbone, his arms circling my waist. "You're such a sap. No one who's seen you body-check an opponent would believe how mushy you are in private."

"Our secret," I murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Can't have it getting out that I'm actually a softie. Would ruin my intimidation factor on the ice."

Our unpacking was interrupted by the FaceTime ringtone on Lucas's phone, Zach's name flashing on the screen.

"Right on time," Lucas grinned, grabbing his phone from the counter. "I told them we'd call around five, but of course they couldn't wait."

He accepted the call, and Zach and Nate's faces appeared on the screen, crowded together to fit in the frame.

"There they are!" Zach announced loudly. "The domestic bliss twins! How's the love nest coming along?"

"It's an apartment, not a love nest," I corrected, moving to stand behind Lucas so we'd both be visible. "And it's coming along fine, thanks for asking."

"Ignore him," Nate advised. "He's just jealous because our place is still a disaster zone."

"It's an organized disaster," Zach protested. "I know where everything is."

"You thought your skates were in the oven yesterday."

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