Page 14 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

seven

LEA

“And then he looked at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes…” Marnie sighs dreamily, stabbing at her salad with a plastic fork.

I nod mechanically, pushing my food around my plate. The dining hall’s fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow over everything, making the already unappetizing food on offer look even worse.

Not that I’m hungry anyway—my appetite vanished somewhere between Marnie’s detailed analysis of Trevor’s “perfect jawline” and her twenty-minute monologue about his “adorable” hair when he’s nervous.

Not as cute as Declan’s…

The thought sneaks in before I can stop it, and suddenly I’m back in Mike’s hallway, watching Declan’s fingers rake through his Marsala-soaked hair as he tries to explain. The memory hits like a sucker punch?—

Stop it, my mind screams at me. He lied to you.

“Lea?” Marnie waves her hand in front of my face. “Are you OK? You look… murdery. ”

“I’m fine.” The words come out sharper than intended. “Just… tired.”

Em shoots me a knowing look across the table. She’s the only one who knows the full story about what happened with Declan. And, if not for her, I might have just packed up and gone home, feeling stupid for trusting a guy and getting hurt again only a few months after Chris.

In the few days since, I haven’t heard anything from Declan, and I’m glad. I’ve got no doubt Mike would have put the clamps on him anyway, his ‘don’t date my baby sister’ act as effective as it is infuriating, but Declan not even trying to text me puts the matter to bed anyway.

He’s just another hockey player.

Saying and doing anything to get in the freshman’s pants.

I know the kind, because my brother is the kind.

And I shouldn’t have been so fucking stupid.

Anyway, ancient history…

“So then,” Marnie continues, oblivious to my internal crisis, “Trevor asked if I wanted to study together sometime, and?—”

“Oh!” Em’s voice cuts through Marnie’s lovesick rambling like a merciful knife. “Did you guys hear about the food truck festival next week?”

I could kiss her.

Actually kiss her, right on her glossy, perfectly lined lips.

“Food truck festival?” Ping—one of the other strays we’ve picked up—perks up from her end of the table. “When?”

“Thursday,” Em says. “Right before the Princeton game.”

My stomach drops at the mention of the game. Because of course it does. Everything seems to circle back to hockey lately, like the universe is deliberately trying to torture me. It’s all Mike talks about, it’s all Declan didn’t talk about, and now even my friends are in on the act.

“We should totally go!” Marnie bounces in her seat, nearly knocking over her water. “I heard the Korean BBQ truck is supposed to be there. And maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Em’s eyes narrow.

“Maybe Trevor will be there too, because I saw on Insta that he likes Korean food…” She smiles. “I might wear a?—”

“Because heaven forbid we do anything without the possibility of running into Trevor,” I mutter under my breath.

Em kicks me under the table. Hard.

“Ow!” I glare at her. “That was my shin!”

“Was it?” She blinks innocently. “My foot must have slipped.”

I narrow my eyes at her, but she just grins and takes a deliberate bite of her apple. I let out a sigh, and conclude that I probably deserved it. I’ve been in my head about Declan and Mike and the whole stupid situation for days, and I’ve probably been lousy company.

I’m angry at Declan, for lying to me…

At Mike, for being an overprotective ass…

At the whole stupid situation, because I’d been happy, and now I’m miserable…

And, if I’m being honest, at myself.

I’d had an embargo on guys for a reason. After the summer and the clusterfuck with Chris, I’d told myself I’d just settle into college and forget about romance for a while. Because, unlike some girls, I’m not interested in racking up a body count.

I’m here for art.

And, for a moment, I thought Declan was as well.

“So what do you think, Lea?” Ping asks, pulling my attention back to the group. “Food trucks? Maybe we could all go to the game after?”

“I—” The word sticks in my throat. “Uh, I don’t know…”

Going to the game means seeing Declan. Seeing him with Mike. Seeing him doing the thing he conveniently forgot to mention he was passionate about, the thing that doesn’t involve sketches or painting or going to galleries…

He looked so excited talking about art that night.

Was any of it real?

I scramble for an excuse to back out. Because, since that night, the whole campus has been awash with chatter and flyers about the game. The posters have Mike’s big, dumb face on them. And the promotional video on the college socials has Declan’s big, beautiful body in it…

Gah!

No way!

Can’t do it!

“Sorry, I…” I scramble for an excuse. Any excuse. “I have this thing. For art class. A project.”

“On Thursday night?” Marnie’s skepticism is palpable. “Trevor is pre-law, and not even he has class on a Thursday night…”

“Yep.” I stuff a forkful of mystery meat into my mouth to avoid elaborating. “Big important project.”

“But the Princeton game is, like, the game,” Ping protests. “Everyone goes. Even people who hate sports.”

“Which I do,” I say around my mouthful of probably-beef. “Hate sports, I mean. With a burning passion. Like, Olympic-level hatred.”

Em’s foot connects with my shin again.

“Jesus!” I yelp. “Would you stop that?”

“Stop what?” She examines her perfectly manicured nails, bubbly as hell despite dishing out corporal punishment below the table. “I’m just sitting here, being a supportive friend, who thinks maybe getting out of your room for something other than class might be good for you.”

I shoot her a death glare. “I?—”

“Not done talking!” she says. “And hoping that a friend who has been a miserable downer for, I don’t know, three or four days, might recognize that her super supportive friends are trying really hard to keep her spirits up and get her out of bed…”

“I went to the library yesterday!”

“To hide from Trevor.” Em glares. “When he came looking for Marnie…”

“Trevor asked about me?” Marnie says, in a sickeningly gooey voice. “That’s it, I’m going to text him and?—”

“Offer to fuck his brains out, please , for the sake of all of us ,” Ping laughs, cutting Marnie off from gushing for another hour, then turns to me. “Lea…”

“ Fine , I’ll come to the stupid game, but I won’t promise to like it,” I sigh. “But can we please stop talking about it.”

“Do I ever stop talking about anything ?” Em laughs, but at least she’s stopped kicking me. “It’ll be fun! We can paint our faces in school colors?—”

“Hard pass,” I say.

“—make signs?—”

“Absolutely not.”

“—talk about which members of the team we’d like to spread rumors about?—”

I smirk. “Now we’re talking…”

“—and which ones would totally have STDs…”

I burst into laughter, Em’s cheer and persistence cutting through my mood like sunshine through clouds. The others join in too, and for a moment, I forget all about stupid Declan, and stupid Mike, and stupid me for being stupid enough to get sucked in by another boy so soon…

But then, just like that, the gloom returns.

“I have to go.” The words come out in a rush as I grab my bag. “I just remembered I have… a thing.”

“Another thing?” Marnie frowns. “But you already have a thing on Thursday night, is that right?”

I look at her, wondering how she got into college, but then I shrug. “This is a different thing, Marn. A very important thing. That I need to do. Right now.”

I’m already halfway to the exit when Em catches up to me. “Lea, wait,” she says.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, even though she hasn’t asked.

“Sure you are.” She falls into step beside me. “That’s why you’re fleeing the dining hall like it’s on fire. Because you’re totally, completely fine.”

“I just…” I push through the heavy doors into the crisp air. “I just can’t sit there while Marnie is all gooey for Trevor and you’re all talking about the game…”

“Sorry.” She grabs my hand and pulls me into a fierce hug. “But you know, going to the game won’t be the worst thing. It’ll show him you’re not hiding.”

“I’m not hiding,” I say, my chin resting on her shoulder. I should pull away, because we’re making a scene, and everyone is watching, but I don’t want to.

She looks up at me and raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Well, admit it or not, I refuse to let that jerk ruin your year before classes even start!”

Despite myself, I crack a smile. “You’re annoying.”

“I prefer ‘charmingly persistent.’” She squeezes me tight. “ Look, I get it. The guy pulled a dick move. But you can’t let him—or your brother—dictate where you go and what you do. Whether you decide to get back on the horse, or on the cock?—”

“Em!” I squeal, laughing.

“Horse, then…” She grins. “Just try not to let it ruin everything else for you, OK? There are awesome classes to look forward to… you’re basically my bestie now…”

“I know.” I sigh. “It’s just… I really liked him, Em.

Like, really liked him, when I told myself I wasn’t going to do the boy thing for a while.

And now every time I think about that night—first night of college—all I can see is how fake it was.

How he sat there talking about art like it was his whole world, when really… ”

“When really he was just trying to get in your pants?”

“When really he was just trying to be something he’s not,” I say.

“OK, that too.”

“And I fell for it. Just like I fell for Chris’s whole ‘soulful traveler’ act.”

Em studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “Come to the game, OK?”

I hesitate. “No face paint?”

“No face paint.”

“And no signs?”

“Cross my heart.” She makes an X over her chest. “Though I can’t promise Marnie won’t spend the whole time looking for Trevor.”

“If I hear one more word about his ‘rock-hard ass’…” I groan. “Although at least she’s moved on from his ‘soulful laugh.’”

“It’s a date, then!” Em smiles. “You better get to class… ”

I nod, reach out, and give Em’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks, Em,” I say.

I head off, and I’m still thinking about Em’s words as I walk across campus. It’s a beautiful day, and in any other circumstance, I’d be pulling out my sketchbook to capture the way the sunlight filters through the tree branches.

But right now, I’m too preoccupied with not being late to my first life drawing class. It’s the class I was most looking forward to this semester, and if anything can blast me out of my misery, it’s this, and there’s no way Declan can ruin this , at least.

Focus on school , my mind chimes in, helpfully. On art.

I check my phone.

Shit.

I’m cutting it close .

I pick up my pace, my messenger bag thumping against my hip as I speed-walk across the quad. The art building should be… right… there? No, that’s the music building. Or… nope… that’s an admin wing…

Damn it.

Despite Mike’s tour the other day, and all the walks Em has dragged me on, I somehow manage to get lost. The campus isn’t that big, but between the collection of identical red-brick buildings and the winding paths, it’s like a maze.

My heart races as I finally spot the right building. And, a minute later, I burst through the doors. I’m headed for room two-oh-four. Second floor. The elevator would take too long, so I take the stairs two at a time, my bag bouncing wildly.

I skid into the classroom, slightly out of breath, to find every easel taken except one. The professor—a tall woman with silver-streaked hair and paint-splattered jeans—is already speaking, and she stops when she spots me .

“Nice of you to join us,” the professor raises an eyebrow, questioning me being late, but I can’t sense any malice in the look. “Please sit over there…”

I nod and slide into the empty seat as quietly as possible, keeping my eyes down and trying not to draw attention to myself. My heart is still pounding from the run, and my cheeks are probably flushed, but at least I made it.

The professor continues, “As I was saying, welcome to Life Drawing. I’m Grace Lucas. Most of you know me already, but for those who don’t—or for those of you who were late—I expect excellence, dedication, and above all, respect for the craft and your fellow artists.”

As she talks, I pull out my supplies: charcoal, pencils, and erasers. The familiar tools calm me, grounding me in the moment, sending a jolt of happiness to my heart and my head. Because this is where I belong, and this is what I’m here for.

Not boys.

Not hockey.

Art.

The model takes their position on the raised platform, and I’m so focused on getting my materials ready and listening to the professor’s instructions that it’s only when the timer clicks that I register the person sitting next to me.

My stomach drops.

Because of course.

Of course it would be him .

Declan.

In the flesh.

And suddenly, life drawing becomes a lot more complicated than I expected.