Page 19 of The Boyfriend Zone

His response came quickly:Cool. I'll save you a seat.

The words sent a flutter through my stomach. I was still staring at my phone when Nate appeared beside my desk.

"Ready to go interview some drunk hockey players?" he asked, already packing up his camera.

"They're not drunk. It's a team gathering at a local bar." I showed him Sean's text. "Official press invitation and everything."

"Uh-huh. And the fact that a certain hot defenseman specifically invited you has nothing to do with your eagerness to attend."

"It's for the article," I insisted, though we both knew that was only partially true.

"Sure it is." Nate grinned. "Just like my desire to document team dynamics has nothing to do with annoying a certain cocky forward until he gets flustered."

"We're really professional journalists, aren't we?"

"The most professional." Nate struck a serious pose that lasted all of two seconds before we both burst out laughing.

Chapter 7: Sean

Hat Trick's Tavern was packed, as usual on a post-game night. The local sports bar had been the hockey team's unofficial headquarters for as long as anyone could remember, its walls decorated with team jerseys from years past, its booths and tables perpetually full of athletes and their admirers.

I snagged our regular booth in the back, sliding in beside Zach and a couple of other teammates. The familiar sounds of classic rock, clinking glasses, and overlapping conversations created a comfortable backdrop, one that usually helped me unwind after a game. But tonight, I couldn't relax, my eyes constantly drifting to the door.

"Waiting for someone?" Zach asked, nudging me with his elbow.

"No," I answered too quickly, then faltered under his skeptical gaze. "You know the reporters are coming, right? To do that piece on team bonding or whatever."

"Right. The reporters." Zach's knowing smirk made me want to sink into the floor. "Including your friend Lucas."

I took a careful sip of my soda—no alcohol for me tonight, not with my shoulder throbbing and the likelihood I'd need painkillers later. "He's not my friend. He's just covering our team."

"Sure." Zach was clearly unconvinced. "That's why you asked me three times if I thought they'd actually show up."

Before I could formulate a denial, the door opened, and Lucas walked in with Nate. They paused in the entrance, looking slightly out of place among the rowdy sports fans and athletes. Lucas was dressed more casually than I'd seen him before, in dark jeans and a simple button-down shirt that somehow made him look even more attractive than usual.

Our eyes met across the room, and something fluttered in my stomach. I lifted my hand in a small wave before I could think better of it.

Tristan called out to the reporters. "Press! Over here!"

Lucas and Nate made their way toward our booth, navigating through the crowded bar. I slid further into the seat, making room, while trying to appear casual about it.

"Glad you could make it," Tristan said, ever the diplomat. "Figured you might want to see how we celebrate a win."

"Thanks for the invitation," Lucas replied, his voice carrying that hint of warmth that seemed to draw people in. "Hope we're not intruding on team bonding."

"Not at all," Tristan assured him. "Consider yourselves honorary team members for the night. No official interviews, though. This is off the record unless we say otherwise."

"Deal," Nate agreed, setting his camera bag carefully under the table. "We're just here to observe the natural habitat of the college hockey player."

"Like a nature documentary," Zach quipped, his eyes fixed on Nate. "'Here we see the talented forward in his preferred environment, surrounded by admirers.'"

"More like 'Here we observe the overconfident jock engaging in ritualistic peacocking behavior,'" Nate retorted, though I didn't miss the slight flush on his cheeks.

The table erupted in "oohs" at the comeback, and just like that, the initial awkwardness dissolved. Lucas slid into the seat beside me, close enough that I could catch the subtle scent of his cologne—something clean with hints of cedar and spice. My heart rate kicked up several notches.

"Hey," he said quietly, while the others were distracted by Zach and Nate's continuing verbal sparring.

"Hey yourself," I replied, suddenly hyper-aware of every point where our arms almost touched. "Thanks for coming."

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