Page 6

I sat at my desk, staring at my laptop screen, trying to focus on the hockey article I was supposed to be writing. It was meant to be a straightforward piece about the team's season prospects.

Except all I could think about was Sean, and the kiss we'd shared in the gym.

Every time I tried to write about the team's "solid defensive line," my mind wandered to the feel of Sean's lips against mine, the surprising gentleness of his hands, the way he'd looked at me afterward with equal parts desire and confusion.

"Earth to Lucas," a voice said, accompanied by a finger snapping in front of my face. "Hello? Anyone home?"

I blinked, focusing on Ava, the campus newspaper's photographer, who was perched on the edge of my desk with an amused expression.

"Sorry," I said, rubbing my eyes. "Just trying to get this piece right."

"Uh-huh." She didn't sound convinced. "You've been staring at that same paragraph for twenty minutes. I've been watching you."

"That's not creepy at all."

"Says the guy who spent our entire staff meeting yesterday doodling little hockey sticks in his notebook." She grinned, pushing a glossy photo print across my desk. "Speaking of which, thought you might like this for your 'research.'"

It was an action shot of Sean from the game, perfectly timed as he checked an opposing player into the boards. His expression was intense, focused, a study in controlled power. Even frozen in a photograph, there was something magnetic about him.

"For the article," I said quickly, trying to sound professional. "Good composition."

"Oh please." Ava rolled her eyes. "I've seen how you look at Hockey Hunk over there. Not that I blame you—those shoulders should be registered as lethal weapons."

I felt heat creep up my neck. "It's strictly professional."

She chuckled, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Come on, Lucas. We've been friends for what, two years now? You think I can't tell when you're crushing on someone?"

There was no point denying it to Ava. She had an uncanny ability to read people, which made her both an excellent photojournalist and an occasionally annoying friend.

"Fine," I admitted, lowering my voice. "I might find him... interesting."

"Interesting," she repeated, eyebrows raised. "That's the adjective you're going with? Not gorgeous, or ripped, or—"

"Okay, okay." I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "Yes, he's attractive. But there's more to it than that. I think he might be hiding something."

Ava's playful expression sharpened with journalistic interest. "Like what?"

I hesitated, torn between confiding in her and protecting Sean's privacy. "I think he has a shoulder injury. A serious one that he's not telling anyone about. And when I went to the gym the other day for that training piece, he was there doing rehab exercises. I saw him with an ice pack before he noticed me and tried to hide it."

Ava whistled softly. "That could be a story."

"Or it could be nothing," I cautioned, suddenly protective. "Maybe it's just a minor strain."

"Then why hide it?" she countered, always the pragmatist. "Players get injured all the time. It's only a big deal if it's serious enough to affect his performance or the team's season."

"Exactly." I frowned, remembering Sean's evasiveness when I'd asked about it. "And I think it might be. He's definitely in pain, but he's playing through it."

"If you're right, that's a legitimate story, Lucas. The star defenseman hiding an injury that could compromise the team's championship hopes? That's headline material." She leaned closer. "But you'd better be sure before you run with it. Accusations like that can blow up in your face."

"I know. That's why I haven't written anything about it." I sighed, closing my laptop. "And honestly, I'm not sure I want to."

Ava tilted her head, studying me. "Because you like him."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yes. And because it feels invasive. Using something I observed during a private moment to potentially cause problems for him."

"That's literally our job, though," she pointed out. "Observing things and reporting on them, even when it might cause problems for someone."

"I know. But there's a line between reporting facts and exploiting someone's vulnerability." I picked up her photo of Sean, studying his face, trying to reconcile the fierce competitor on the ice with the conflicted man I'd kissed in the gym. "I need more information before I decide how to handle this."

"Fair enough." Ava's expression softened. "Just be careful, okay? I don't want to see you compromise your journalistic integrity for a pretty face."

"It's more than that," I found myself saying. "There's something about him that makes me want to understand him, not just report on him."

"Oh boy." Ava patted my hand sympathetically. "You've got it bad, don't you?"

Before I could respond, the editor's door opened, and Mia stuck her head out. "Lucas! Just the person I wanted to see. Got a minute?"

I nodded, grateful for the interruption. Ava gave me a "this isn't over" look as I stood and made my way to Mia's office.

The editor-in-chief of The Daily was a senior journalism major who ran the paper with military precision and an almost supernatural ability to spot a buried lead.

"How's the hockey coverage coming along?" she asked, gesturing for me to take a seat. "Getting good material?"

"Definitely," I said, settling into the chair across from her desk. "The team's been very cooperative. I'm working on a piece about their season prospects now."

"Good, good." Mia shuffled through some papers on her desk. "What angle are you taking?"

"I'm focusing on their team chemistry," I explained.

Mia nodded, but I could tell she wasn't particularly excited by my approach. "Sounds solid. But you know what would really make your coverage stand out? Finding the story no one else is telling."

I swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"I want The Daily to dig deeper. Anything beyond the usual 'we're working hard and taking it one game at a time' nonsense?"

My mind immediately went to Sean—his hidden injury, his closeted sexuality, the pressure he seemed to be under from his father. Those were certainly stories "no one else was telling." But they weren't my stories to tell.

"I'm still getting to know the team," I hedged.

"Good. Keep at it." Mia leaned back in her chair. "We could use a standout piece for the sports section. Something that gets attention beyond campus."

As I walked back to my desk, I couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that I was caught between my journalistic ambition and my growing feelings for Sean.

My phone buzzed with a text notification, and my heart jumped when I saw it was from Sean.

Team's going to Hat Trick's tonight to celebrate the win. Press welcome, according to Coach. You coming?

I stared at the message, trying to decipher its subtext. Was this a professional invitation or a personal one? Was Sean reaching out because he wanted to see me, or just doing his duty as a team member?

Probably. Nate and I are supposed to do a human interest piece on team bonding , I replied, keeping it professional just in case.

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.