Page 13 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

“Art, actually.” I push my food around my plate, trying to hide my smile. “She’s an art major too.”

“No shit?” Linc’s eyebrows rise. “So what, you guys just sat there talking about... I don’t know, brush strokes and stuff?”

“Something like that.” I think back to our conversation, how easily it flowed, how she got excited about the same things I did. “It was nice.”

Linc stares at me for a long moment. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“You’re into her.” His voice rises slightly. “Like, really into her.”

“Keep it down,” I hiss, glancing around, knowing the guys will give me no end of shit if they find out. But they’re still caught up in their own conversations.

“Dude.” Linc’s expression is somewhere between amused and shocked. “I’ve never seen you talk about anyone like this. Not even that girl from the paper.”

“That was different.” I stab at my chicken. “That was just...”

“Sex?” Linc supplies helpfully.

“Yeah.” I feel my face heat up again. “This is... I don’t know. Different.”

“Different how?”

I think about it. “She’s just... she gets it, you know? The art thing. And she’s funny, and smart, and when she smiles it’s like...”

“Like what?”

“Like everything else just... stops.” I scratch the stubble on my chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about a girl... ever...”

The room suddenly goes quiet. Too quiet. It’s like a scene out of a movie, where a secret is suddenly broadcast to a whole crowd. And when I look up, I find every single one of my teammates staring at me, identical shit-eating grins on their faces.

“What?” I demand, but I already know.

They heard everything .

“Declan Andrews.” Maine’s voice is filled with mock solemnity. “In love ?”

“Our little Dec,” Simon wipes an imaginary tear from his eye, “all grown up.”

I bury my head in my hands. “I hate all of you.”

“Tell us more about her smile!” Rook calls from the end of the table.

Maine snorts. “Does it light up the room? Make your heart skip a beat?”

The table erupts in laughter and terrible romantic clichés, each guy trying to outdo the other in the game of high stakes bullshit. I slump in my chair, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

“Guys.” Mike’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Leave him alone.”

“But Cap!” Maine protests. “This is historic! Dec’s showing human emotions!”

“I show emotion,” I mutter.

“Yeah.” Simon snorts. “Annoyance and... more annoyance.”

“What’s her name?” Rook asks, leaning forward eagerly.

I hesitate, because something in me wants to keep Lea to myself. Like saying her name will somehow break the spell of last night. But I know they’re not going to leave me alone unless I give them something to talk shit about before moving on to talking shit about something else.

“Come on!” Maine urges me. “We need details!”

“Her name’s Sienna,” I lie. “And she’s... she’s amazing.”

The table erupts in a chorus of “awws”.

I flip them all off, but I can’t stop grinning.

“When are you seeing her again?” Linc asks.

“Later tonight.” My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know without looking that it’s her. We’ve been texting all day, and every time I see her name on my screen, my stomach does this weird flip thing that I probably shouldn’t admit to anyone, ever. “We’re getting coffee.”

“Coffee?” Maine looks horrified. “Bro, step it up. Take her somewhere nice.”

“Coffee is nice,” I argue.

“Coffee is what you do with study partners.” Simon shakes his head. “Dinner!”

“Or dancing!” Rook suggests.

“Or to bed to show her your stick!” Maine blurts out.

The table falls silent again, everyone turning to stare at him.

“What?” He shrugs.

“Leave him alone,” Mike says again, but this time his voice is harder, and the guys drop it. He reaches over and gives me a fist bump. “About time.”

“About time for what?” Rook asks, his fork paused halfway to his mouth, looking around for answers.

Mike grins. “Unlike the rest of you animals, Dec’s actually a gentleman. He doesn’t sleep around.”

“Hey!” I protest, heat creeping up my neck. “I’ve been with plenty of women before.”

“Yeah.” Maine snorts. “Like, what, three?”

“More than that.” I stab at my chicken, knowing the real number is actually two. “I just... choose ones I’m actually compatible with.”

“Instead of what?” Rook asks.

“Instead of fucking any girl who offers,” Mike explains, then grins at Rook. “You animals can date whoever you want—except my sister—but Dec is different.”

The table falls silent .

Even Maine stops eating, which is practically unheard of.

“You have a sister?” Simon asks finally.

“Yeah.” Mike shrugs. “Andy. She’s starting here this semester.”

I lean back in my chair, studying Mike. In three years of friendship, he’s barely mentioned his family, and he’s never mentioned a sister.

His parents rarely show up to games—I think I’ve seen them maybe twice—and he never talks about home.

I always figured there was a story there, but I never pushed.

“Andy?” Rook perks up. “What’s she like?”

Mike’s expression darkens. “She’ll be at the Princeton game.”

Simon grins. “She cute?”

“I’ll cut your face off with the blade of a skate if you try anything , Sim,” Mike glares. “And be extra nice—she’s had a rough summer.”

Something in his tone makes it clear that’s all he’s going to say on the subject.

The table falls into an awkward silence, broken only by the scrape of forks against plates.

I keep my gaze on Mike, but some of the others are clearly feeling a bit awkward about the vibe shift, because they’re looking at each other.

So I do what Mike helped me do a minute ago, change the topic, backing him up like he’d helped me.

Off the ice and on it, we’ve been like that for the last three years, reading minds and firing off assists when needed.

I’ll miss that when we’re both done with our senior years, unless by some fluke we land on the same NHL team.

I clear my throat. “So, Princeton game…”

The conversation shifts easily to hockey, and I watch as the tension drains from Mike’s shoulders. Whatever’s going on with his sister, he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. But I can’t help wondering why Mike keeps his family life so private, even as my mind keeps drifting back to Lea.

“Dec!” Maine’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I blink, realizing everyone’s staring at me again. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted more chicken.” Linc holds up the serving plate. “But you were too busy daydreaming about Sienna .”

The way he says the name makes it clear he knows it’s fake, but thankfully he doesn’t call me out on it. I pass my plate over, trying to ignore the knowing grins around the table, even as Linc piles my plate higher.

“So.” Rook leans forward. “When do we get to meet her?”

“Never.” I take my plate back from Linc. “Because you’re all assholes.”

Maine waves his hand dismissively. “But seriously, Dec. Bring her to a game!”

The thought of Lea in the stands, watching me play, makes something warm unfurl in my chest. But then I remember—she doesn’t even know I play hockey. As far as she knows, I’m just another art student...

“Maybe,” I say noncommittally, shoving more food in my mouth to avoid further questions.

Linc’s chicken Marsala is so good it should be illegal.

I take another bite of the leftovers as I head down the stairs from Mike’s apartment, savoring the blend of spices. The guy may be a pain in the ass about his cooking, but damn if he doesn’t know what he’s doing in the kitchen.

The team dinner went well, all things considered. No one brought up my mysterious girl again after that initial excitement died down. Though Maine did raise his eyebrows at me a few times when no one was looking.

But something’s definitely up with Mike.

He was quieter than usual, picking at his food instead of inhaling it like he normally does. And when Rook asked about the upcoming Princeton game, Mike’s whole demeanor changed. He got tense and defensive.

I round the corner of the stairwell, still pondering Mike’s behavior, and?—

WHAM

—something solid collides with my chest.

The impact knocks my container of leftovers from my hands. Time seems to slow as I watch in horror as the container flies into the air, sending an arc of Marsala sauce and rice through the air.

“Oh shit,” says a familiar voice.

Lea?

Before I can process that it’s her I just crashed into, out of every possible person on campus, my feet hit the slick tile floor. My sneakers slide on spilled Marsala. I windmill my arms, desperately trying to keep my balance as?—

SPLAT

—a glob of Marsala sauce lands directly in my hair.

More food rains down around us. Chocolate chip cookies skitter across the floor like edible hockey pucks. A particularly large chunk of chicken does a graceful swan dive into a potted plant.

“I am so sorry!” Lea’s hands flutter in the air between us, like she can’t decide whether to help me up or run away. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, and?—”

“It’s OK,” I laugh .

She finally gets a good look at my face. Her eyes widen. “Declan?”

“Hey.” I try for a casual smile, which probably looks ridiculous given that I’m covered in Marsala sauce and cookie crumbs. “Fancy meeting you here.”

A snort of laughter escapes her. She claps a hand over her mouth, but her shoulders are shaking. “Uh…”

“Go ahead,” I sigh. “Get it out of your system.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, wiping tears from her eyes. “It’s just—you have Marsala sauce—” She points vaguely at my head.

“In my hair?” I reach up and feel the sticky glob clinging to my scalp. “Great. Nothing like smelling like a takeout container around the girl you like…”

She laughs again, the same full-body laugh from the diner, unrestrained and warm. And despite the complete disaster we’re standing in, my heart dances at the sound, and suddenly wants to hear more of it.

“Here.” She roots through her bag and pulls out a small pack of tissues. “Let me help.”

Our eyes meet, and my pulse quickens. The memory of our kiss hits me anew—her soft lips against mine, her fingers curled in my shirt. I take a step toward her, hoping to leverage the humor of the situation into something positive?—

“Andy?”

A familiar voice echoes down the stairwell, cutting my thoughts off. I look up at the landing above us and see Mike, carrying a bag of trash, his expression quickly shifting from confusion to recognition.

“Mike?” Lea’s hand freezes midair, tissues still clutched between her fingers.

I feel like I’ve been dumped in ice water. Andy?

As in… Leanndra is Andy ?

Mike’s sister?

Oh shit.

“What happened here?” Mike asks as he comes down the stairs, his gaze darting between us. “Dec? What are you doing talking to my sister?”

“Your sister?” I repeat stupidly, like maybe if I question it enough, reality will reshape itself into something less catastrophic.

Lea’s expression darkens as she looks between us. “Do you two know each other? Mike? Declan?”

“He’s on the hockey team,” Mike says, descending the stairs. “Meet my teammate, Declan Andrews.”

“Your teammate.” Lea’s voice has gone flat, and she takes a step back from me. Her eyes, so warm moments ago, have cooled to ice.

My stomach drops. “I?—”

“So when we were at the diner last night, and I asked if you played sports, and you said—” Her voice rises. “What was it again? Oh right, ‘floor hockey’, right?”

“Wait, wait,” Mike interjects, stepping between us. “You were at Marie’s last night? With my sister?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I say, which is both the truth and a complete lie.

“It clearly was to her.” Mike’s protective brother mode is in full swing now. “What exactly happened here?”

I turn from Mike, knowing the wrath that will bring down upon me, and look to his sister. “Lea, I can explain?—”

“You know what? Don’t bother.” She shakes her head, anger visibly building. “I can’t believe I fell for this again?—”

“No kidding.” Mike snorts. “One day on campus, and you’re letting guys cut you up again, Andy? Seriously? You need to show better judgment?—”

“Better judgment?” Lea’s laugh is bitter, hollow. “You mean like you do? Showing up hungover to practice? Skipping classes?”

Mike’s face darkens. “That’s different.”

“Right. Because you’re the golden boy who can do no wrong.” She swipes at her eyes. “God, I’m such an idiot for trusting both of you!”

“Lea—” I step forward, but Mike blocks my path.

“You’ve done enough.” His voice is low, dangerous. “Stay away from my sister.”

Lea doesn’t wait to hear my response. She turns and strides away, her hair bouncing with each angry step. The sound of her boots on the stairs echoes through the stairwell until it fades completely.

“What the hell were you thinking, Declan?” Mike rounds on me. “My sister, man? Really?”

“I didn’t know she was your sister.” The Marsala sauce is starting to dry in my hair, making it stiff. “And for the record, I wasn’t trying to?—”

“To what? Play her? Because that’s exactly what it looks like from where I’m standing, pressing the art buttons you knew she’d respond to.” He jabs a finger at my chest. “I need you to focus on Princeton, not trying to get in my sister’s pants.”

The words hit like a body check I’m not prepared for. “That’s not what this is about, Mike, come on…”

“No? Then what is it about?” His eyes narrow. “Because from what you were saying, you were all over Sienna at the diner last night…”

“I— ”

“No, Dec, time to listen, not talk.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Look, Lea had a rough summer. The last thing she needs is?—”

“Is what? Someone who actually likes her?” The words come out sharper than intended. “Someone who spent hours talking to her about art and?—”

“And lying about who you are?” Mike’s laugh is harsh. “Yeah, that’s exactly what she needs. Stay away from her, Dec. I’m not asking.”

I want to argue. Want to tell him that maybe there are things more important than hockey. That the way Lea’s eyes lit up when she talked about her art made something warm unfurl in my chest. That her laugh at the diner was the best sound I’d heard in months.

But the way she’d stormed out was enough to tell me I’ve already screwed this up beyond repair, and that any attempt to continue to prosecute my case further with Mike would just leave him and Lea hating me, so I relent.

“Fine,” I say quietly. “I’ll stay away.”

Mike nods once, then heads back up the stairs. “And clean this shit up.”

With a sigh, I survey the disaster around me. Marsala sauce drips from my hair onto my shirt. A lone cookie, somehow still intact, sits mockingly at my feet. I pick it up, staring at the chocolate chips that now seem to be arranged in a sad face.

“Well,” I say to no one, “that went great.”