Page 97 of The Boyfriend Zone

Lucas's laugh deepened, his body shaking against mine. "My hero. Protecting me from shoddy construction one face-plant at a time."

"Besides," I added, a more serious note creeping into my voice, "I wasn't suspicious of you. Not really."

"Oh?" Lucas tilted his head to look up at me, curiosity in his eyes.

"I was terrified," I admitted, the confession easier now than it would have been months ago. "Terrified of how much I wanted to talk to you, to be near you. That's why I acted like such an ass when you showed up in the locker room. I was scared of what I was feeling."

Lucas's expression softened, his hand reaching up to brush the hair from my forehead in a gesture that had become familiar and cherished. "I was a little afraid too," he confessed. "Of how drawn I was to you, even when you were being difficult. That's not typically my type, you know—brooding, secretive athletes with communication issues."

"No? What changed your mind?" I asked.

"Your eyes," Lucas said immediately, as if he'd thought about this before. "They gave you away, even when you were being standoffish. There was always something more there—vulnerability, intelligence, kindness. And then when you kissed me that first time at the club, I was done for."

"Worth the trouble?" I asked, only half-joking.

Instead of answering with words, Lucas shifted to press his lips against mine in a kiss that started gently but quickly deepened, conveying everything words couldn't. When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, he smiled.

"Absolutely worth it," he murmured. "Every stubborn, frustrating minute."

We stayed there on the couch a while longer, talking about nothing important—unpacking strategies for tomorrow, whether the bathroom needed a new shower curtain, how soon we should invite friends over to see the place. The ordinary, beautiful details of a shared life unfolding.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with us, the day of moving and unpacking taking its toll. Lucas yawned mid-sentence while explaining his theories about optimal dishwasher loading techniques.

"Bed?" I suggested, stifling my own yawn.

Lucas nodded, stretching like a cat before standing and offering me his hand. "Lead the way. Just don't trip over any boxes in the dark."

"Very funny," I grumbled, but took his hand anyway, allowing him to pull me to my feet.

We navigated the maze of half-unpacked boxes with exaggerated care, Lucas narrating our journey in a hushed, documentary-style voice. "Watch as the wild hockey player navigates the treacherous terrain of cardboard and packing tape. Note his careful movements, honed by years of skating across slippery surfaces..."

"You're ridiculous," I informed him, but couldn't help laughing as we finally reached the relative safety of our bedroom.

"You love it," he countered confidently.

"I love you," I corrected, the words still feeling new and precious despite how many times I'd said them in recent months.

Lucas's teasing expression softened into something more genuine. "I love you too."

As we prepared for bed, moving around each other with the comfortable familiarity of people who had learned each other's rhythms, I found myself making mental notes of all the small details I wanted to remember about this night—our first in our shared home. The way Lucas hummed unconsciously as he brushed his teeth. The particular blue of our new bedsheets that Lucas had insisted would "bring a calming energy to the space." The stack of books already claiming residence on his bedside table, a mix of journalism texts and novels.

When we finally settled under the covers, Lucas immediately shifted closer, his body finding mine in the darkness with unerring accuracy. "We still need to visit campus when we can," he murmured, already sounding half-asleep. "Check on Ava, see Coach Barnett, all that."

"Definitely," I agreed, my fingers tracing idle patterns on his back. "Maybe for the first home game this fall? We could make a weekend of it."

"Perfect," Lucas sighed contentedly. "Not that I don't love the idea of making a whole new life here, but I don't want to lose touch with where we started, you know?"

"We won't. Promise."

We fell silent then, the only sound our gradually synchronized breathing and the distant hum of the city beyond our windows. Just as I thought Lucas had drifted off, he spoke again, his voice soft in the darkness.

"Do you ever think about how we met? How different things might have been if I hadn't taken the hockey assignment, or if you hadn't been at that club?"

I considered the question seriously, my hand still moving in gentle circles against his back. "Sometimes," I admitted. "But then I think maybe it was inevitable, in a way. Like fate would have thrown you in my path somehow, even if it wasn't in that specific way. Or maybe we would have met in a class, or at a campus event, or through mutual friends. I just think... some people are meant to find each other, you know? No matter what."

Lucas's breathing deepened as he drifted toward sleep, his body growing heavier against mine. I stayed awake a little longer, watching the play of city lights through the curtains and taking inventory of our new home in the soft darkness.

The empty moving boxes pushed against the walls. My hockey gear sat in the designated corner, the bag leaning companionably against Lucas's satchel as if mimicking their owners' closeness.

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