Page 25 of The Boyfriend Zone

"We're not—" I started to protest, then gave up with a sigh. "Whatever. I'm going to write my article."

"The safe, non-controversial team dynamics one?" Nate asked knowingly.

"Yes." I stood, heading for my desk. "The one that won't ruin someone's career or make him hate me."

"Noble of you. Professionally questionable, but noble."

I ignored him, settling at my desk and opening my laptop. Instead of just describing the team's dynamics on the ice, I wrote about the found-family aspect of the hockey team. How they supported each other through grueling practices and high-pressure games. How they celebrated victories together and commiserated over defeats. How even off the ice, they looked out for one another, with specific examples of the brotherly bond between Zach and Sean.

As I typed, I realized I was essentially writing about what drew me to Sean as well—his loyalty, his dedication, his quiet strength.

By the time I finished around midnight, I had a solid piece that I was proud of. Nate had fallen asleep on the couch, his game paused on the screen. I draped a throw blanket over him. As I got ready for bed, my phone buzzed with a text.

Sean:Just checking—was that actually your fifth cup of coffee yesterday when we talked after the game? Because that can't be healthy.

I smiled, remembering our brief exchange in the hallway after Saturday's match. I'd been clutching my travel mug, making notes while waiting for the post-game press conference.

Me:Judge not lest ye be judged, Mr. "I survive on protein shakes and willpower."

His response came quickly:Touché. But seriously, are you part hummingbird? Your heart must beat at 200 BPM.

Me:Occupational hazard. Deadlines + early mornings = caffeine dependency. Just submitted the piece about Friday night at Hat Trick's.

There was a longer pause before his next text:Anything I should be worried about?

The question held more weight than its casual wording suggested. I considered how to respond, wanting to reassure him without being dishonest.

Me:No. It's about the team as a family, the support system you have in each other. Mentioned your love of hockey movies and thoughtful nature. Nothing compromising.

Sean:Thanks. Not just for that, but for how you handled everything at the rink. Not asking about my shoulder in front of others.

The acknowledgment of my discretion made my chest warm. It wasn't much, but it was something—a small opening in the wall he'd built between us.

Me:How is it, by the way? That hit in the third period looked rough.

Another pause, longer this time. I wondered if I'd overstepped.

Sean:Same as usual. Nothing I can't handle.

I frowned at the non-answer, fingers hovering over the keyboard before I decided not to push further.

Chapter 9: Lucas

"If you don't stop bouncing your leg like that, I'm going to staple your pants to the chair," Nate threatened, not looking up from his textbook. "Some of us are trying to study."

I forced my leg to still. The campus coffee shop was packed, with students hunched over laptops and textbooks, fortifying themselves with caffeine and sugar.

"What's got you so jumpy anyway?" Nate glanced up, his expression softening when he saw my face. "Still no word from Hockey Boy?"

I shook my head, stirring my now-cold coffee. "Not since Sunday, and that was three days ago."

"Maybe he's busy," Nate suggested. "They did have that away game in Vermont."

"Maybe." But I couldn't shake the feeling that Sean was avoiding me again, retreating back behind his walls after allowing me a brief glimpse of the real person underneath.

Nate closed his textbook with a sigh. "Look, you can't keep obsessing over this. Either he'll get his head out of his ass and call you, or he won't. Either way, you need to—"

He broke off suddenly, his eyes fixed on someone behind me. I turned to follow his gaze and saw Zach entering the coffee shop, flanked by a couple of his teammates. Nate stiffened, his eyes darting back to his textbook as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

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