Page 28 of The Boyfriend Zone

"No?" Zach looked skeptical.

"No," I confirmed. "Something tells me he's not as immune to your charms as he pretends to be. Especially when you're being honest like this, instead of hiding behind that cocky hockey star act."

"It's not an act," Zach protested, then amended, "Okay, it's partly an act. It's easier sometimes, you know? Being what people expect you to be."

"I'm learning that," I said, thinking of Sean's perfect hockey player persona versus the conflicted man I glimpsed underneath. "But the real thing is worth the risk, don't you think?"

Back at our apartment that evening, I found Nate in full cleaning mode—a sure sign he was upset. He was aggressively wiping down the kitchen counters, our ancient radio blasting pop music to cover the sound of his furious scrubbing.

"Want to talk about it?" I asked, turning down the volume.

"Nothing to talk about," Nate replied tersely, moving on to the stove with renewed vigor. "Just thought the place could use a deep clean."

"Sure." I leaned against the refrigerator, watching him. "So this has nothing to do with a certain hockey player accosting you in the coffee shop today?"

"Accosting?" Nate snorted. "Drama queen much? We had a conversation. End of story."

"Must have been some conversation to inspire this level of cleaning frenzy."

Nate stopped scrubbing, his shoulders slumping slightly. "He apologized."

"And?"

"And nothing. He said he panicked because he's never been attracted to a guy before, and he didn't know how to face me after the kiss." Nate resumed cleaning, though with less intensity. "Standard closet case excuse."

"Did it seem like an excuse?"

Nate was quiet for a moment. "No," he admitted finally. "It seemed real. He looked scared, Lucas. Vulnerable. I've never seen him like that."

"And that freaked you out," I guessed.

"I don't know." Nate threw down the cleaning cloth in frustration. "It would be so much easier if he was just the arrogant jerk I thought he was. Now he's all... complex and human and shit."

I bit back a smile at his eloquent summary. "Inconvenient when people don't stick to the boxes we put them in, isn't it?"

"Extremely." Nate sank onto a kitchen chair. "He said the kiss wasn't meaningless. That he couldn't stop thinking about me, even when he was trying to hate me for being 'so damn annoying.'"

"High praise from Zach," I observed.

"Right?" Nate laughed despite himself. "Who says things like that in real life?"

"Someone who's not very good at expressing feelings but is trying really hard," I suggested.

Nate's smile faded. "Maybe. Or someone who's realized I'm a convenient experiment now that his curiosity has overcome his panic."

"Is that what you think?"

"I don't know what to think," Nate confessed. "That night at the party felt special, Lucas. We talked for hours. Really talked, not just flirted. He told me about growing up in this small town in Minnesota, being the only kid who wanted to play hockey instead of work in his family's restaurant. How he feels like he has to prove himself every day because he got here on talent, not money like some of the other guys."

"And what did you tell him?"

"Too much," Nate admitted. "About growing up with my mom after dad left, about how photography became my escape, my way of controlling what I saw and how I saw it." He shook his head. "I never talk about that stuff, especially not with some random guy at a party. But he really listened."

"That doesn't sound like someone who's just experimenting," I pointed out gently.

"Then why did he run?" Nate's voice cracked slightly, revealing the hurt beneath his anger. "Why did he make me feel like I'd imagined the whole connection?"

"Because he was scared," I said simply. "The same reason Sean pretended not to know me after the club. The same reason lots of people run from things that matter—because they matter."

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