Page 21 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

twelve

DECLAN

The locker room is blissfully quiet after the chaos of morning practice. Everyone else has already bolted—either to class or back to bed—leaving just the echo of water dripping from the showers and the sharp scent of sweat mixed with industrial disinfectant.

Peaceful.

At least until my thoughts creep back in.

I stare down at my sock, halfway onto my foot, frozen there like I’ve forgotten the complex motor skills required to dress myself. Maybe I have. My brain certainly hasn’t been firing on all cylinders lately—not on the ice, not in art class, not anywhere.

In the few days since being paired up with Lea, I’ve managed to avoid her, but not thoughts of her. She infests my every waking moment—my mind fighting a war between desire and anger—and it’s getting to me. I’m not sleeping, I’ve been useless on the ice, and it’s impacting my friendship with Mike .

Days on from Princeton and he still hasn’t spoken to me.

The heavy metal door swings open with a familiar squeal, and Linc appears, his practice jersey dark with sweat. He spent extra time on shooting drills while the rest of us hit the showers, and he clearly misses my ‘I’d like to be alone’ vibe as he drops onto the bench across from me with a grunt.

“What’s up, Picasso?” he says, scratching the stubble on his chin.

I finally pull my sock the rest of the way on. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Dec,” he scoffs.

My head snaps up.

Linc starts unlacing his skates, not looking at me. “I know your ‘nothing’ face… and it doesn’t involve staring at your foot like it insulted your mother.”

“I wasn’t?—”

“And your hockey’s gone to shit, man.” Now he glances up, dark eyes daring me to argue. “Princeton… two practices since… you’re playing like ass…”

I don’t argue.

Can’t, really.

“And things with you and Mike are weird,” he says, pulling off a skate with a squelch. “You going to tell me what’s going on, or do I need to beat it out of you?”

The mention of Mike makes my stomach clench.

Our communication on the ice has always been nearly telepathic—so good it used to freak the coaches out.

And off the ice, we’ve been inseparable since our freshman year.

But now, it’s like we’re speaking different languages and can barely stand each other.

I sigh and grab my shirt from the bench. “Remember that art project I mentioned? ”

He raises an eyebrow. “The one where you got paired with some chick you hate?”

“Hate is a strong word,” I insist, pulling my shirt over my head. “She’s… she’s actually the girl I was telling you about at team dinner before the season.”

“Wait—Sienna? The one from the party? The one who—and I quote—” Linc’s voice takes on a mocking falsetto that sounds nothing like me, “‘looks like she fell out of a Renaissance painting’ and ‘gets my art in a way no one else ever has’?”

“I didn’t say it like that.”

“You absolutely did.” He grins, reaching out to slap me on the knee. “But that’s great, man!”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not great. She’s pissed at me because I didn’t tell her about hockey, and because I criticized her art. And her name’s not Sienna…”

“It’s not?” He freezes at the laces of his other skate, his face twisting in confusion. Then his eyes widen suddenly. “Dude! Is it a dude? Because it’s totally fine if it’s a dude…”

“No, idiot,” I sigh. “Her name is Lea… and she’s Mike’s sister…”

Linc blinks. “Mike’s sister?”

“Yeah.”

“Mike Altman’s sister?”

“That’s what I said.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, and then he throws his head back and laughs. Not a polite chuckle—a full-body, loudly echoing, you’re-so-screwed laugh. It goes for at least fifteen seconds, and by the time he’s done, there are tears in the corners of his eyes.

“It’s not funny,” I mutter, shoving my practice gear into my bag with more force than necessary .

“It’s a little funny.” He wipes his eyes, still grinning. “You spend three seasons avoiding the puck bunnies, and the one girl you actually like is Mike’s sister…”

“First, I don’t like her,” I lie, almost managing to convince myself, despite my residual anger at Lea. “Second, she’s mad at me. And third, she’s Mike’s sister…”

“Since when do you care what Mike thinks?”

“He’s our captain and my friend.” I zip my bag roughly. “And his sister just went through a bad breakup.”

Linc waves dismissively. “So she had a shitty ex. Nothing getting fucked properly won’t fix.”

“Jesus, Linc.” I scowl at him, although my dirty mind flashes an image of Lea, naked, beneath me in bed…

“I’m just saying?—”

“She’s not some random hookup. She’s Mike’s sister. And even if she wasn’t, that’s not really—” I stop, frustrated. “It doesn’t matter anyway. She hates me.”

He grins. “Perfect!”

“Perfect?” I stare at him. “What part of this clusterfuck seems perfect to you?”

“Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen, dumbass.” He taps his temple like he’s divulging some profound cosmic insight. “It’s like, a rule of the universe.”

“Pretty sure it’s a rule of Linc…” I sigh.

“Well, even if you want to be a pussy, maybe there’s a reason you both keep ending up in the same place.” He pulls off his other skate.

“Yeah, shit luck.”

“Or maybe”—he grins—”she’s not as off-limits as you think.”

“Great…” I snort. “Now I just have to get through six weeks of life drawing… ”

His head pops up, eyebrows comically high. “Wait—life drawing?”

I sigh, knowing where this is going. “Yeah.”

He grins. “Isn’t that where they have naked models and shit?”

“Yeah, but?—”

“Holy shit! And you’re partnering up with her?” A mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Does that mean you’re going to see Mike’s sister naked?”

The question sends my brain spinning into dangerous territory. Before I can stop it, a vivid image flashes through my mind: Lea reclining on the drawing table, completely nude. Her olive skin glowing under the studio lights, shadows playing across the dips and valleys of her body.

Those dark curls framing her face, cascading over her shoulders like silk. Her small, perfect breasts with nipples hardened in the cool air, begging to be touched and warmed. The gentle curve of her waist flaring out to hips I could grab onto while I?—

No.

Stop.

“Dude, you still with me?” Linc’s voice snaps me back. “You went a million miles away…”

“What?” I blink, heat rising to my face. “No—no, we don’t strip down. The class has professional models for that.”

I adjust my position on the bench, suddenly uncomfortable in my jeans.

Linc studies me for a second, then he grins and picks up his hockey stick.

A second later, he’s hitting me in the balls with it, no doubt confirming to himself that the brief flash of…

whatever that was… about Lea has got me hard.

“Holy shit!” Linc explodes with laughter again. “You’re thinking about boning Mike’s sister! ”

“Keep it down!” I hiss. “If he comes back into the rink and hears you, we’ll both be dead…”

“Right.” Linc smirks. “But you are , right? And that’s why you’ve been playing like shit—because you want her, and she’s mad at you…”

I sigh. Linc may be crude sometimes—hell, he is the campus man-whore—but deep down he’s got a heart of gold and a knack for getting people to open up and find their way to the truth.

He’s done it for years at the team dinners, and in side chats with any number of teammates, and he’s got me by the balls right now.

“Look, Linc,” I say. “She’s in my head and I can’t stop thinking about her, and the night we had after the party, OK?”

He nods. “I sense a but …”

“ But she’s also mega pissed at me, I’m a little pissed at her, and I just can’t get past the fact that she’s Mike’s sister.” I shake my head, trying to dislodge the mental image of naked Lea that stubbornly persists. “And if I keep playing this badly, I’m going to ruin Mike’s shot at the pros.”

“Mike’s shot?” Linc frowns, but I notice he doesn’t argue I’ve been playing like ass. “What about yours? Aren’t you worried about your chances?”

The question hangs in the air between us, heavier than it should be. I’ve avoided thinking about this—really thinking about it—for months now. But it’s there. Because, while the NHL tried to recruit me out of high school and has tried every year since, and while everyone assumes I’ll go pro…

“I’m not so sure that I want to go pro anymore,” I say, like I’m in confession.

Linc stops moving, his shirt half over his head. “The fuck you say? ”

“Look,” I say, suddenly exhausted. “Despite everything with Lea, I’m actually enjoying my life drawing class. Art in general, really.”

“But hockey?—”

“Has always been the plan,” I finish for him. “I know. But lately, when I think about what I’d rather be doing, art wins every time.”

“Dec…” Linc, now topless in only shorts, suddenly goes serious.

“You’re talking crazy. NHL scouts have been watching you since high school.

You could go straight to the show any time you want, and for sure after graduation, and once you’re there…

” He shakes his head. “Money. Fame. Any girl you want.”

“Maybe.” I shrug.

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it. You’re that good.”

“Was that good,” I correct him. “You’ve seen me lately.”

“Everyone has slumps.”

“This isn’t a slump,” I say. “This is me realizing I’ve been chasing someone else’s dream.”

Linc shakes his head. “Man, I’ve seen you light up when you score. When the crowd’s chanting your name. That’s not someone else’s dream.”

“I didn’t say I don’t love hockey,” I clarify. “Of course I do. But art…” I search for the words. “Art feeds something else in me. Something hockey never touches.”

For a moment, Linc just watches me, an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression on his face.

Then he lets out a long breath. “Look, take a step back for a second. Deep breaths. You’ve got plenty of time for art, Dec.

Your whole life, actually. But hockey? That’s got an expiration date stamped on it. ”

I nod reluctantly. He’s not wrong .

“You’ve worked too hard not to give this season your all, so while you work to figure things out—with art, with hockey, and with your future—just don’t tap out on us, OK?

” He smiles at me. “Do it for yourself, not just for Mike. And maybe, in the meantime, your head will clear up enough to figure out the rest of it.”

“What about the girl?” I ask.

Linc stands, clapping me on the shoulder. “You said it yourself… she’s Mike’s sister, and she hates your guts… so it’s time to move on, man. But if it makes you feel better, I guarantee she’s not thinking about you nearly as much as you’re thinking about her.”

I grab my hockey bag. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

I realize he’s hit on the real problem. Not that I’m thinking about her too much, but that she’s probably not thinking about me at all. And that bothers me more than it should, because I can’t get her out of my head.

“Fuck that,” Linc says, “I’d be afraid of being alone in a room with Mike’s kid sister, and trying to keep those life drawing sessions tame.”

I snort. “That won’t be hard. Mike’s reaction when he realized I kissed his sister was bad enough. If he ever found out that I saw his sister naked…”

“He’d definitely kill you,” Linc says with absolute confidence. “Like, straight-up murder. Hockey skate to the jugular. One-way ticket to the morgue.”

“Thanks for that… overly vivid assessment…” I say dryly. “Now I’ll sleep great tonight…”

Because the fact is, Linc is right. Mike would probably kill me if he found out I had feelings for Lea.

Mike’s passionate about everything he does, and that includes revenge.

I’ve seen him take out a vendetta on a player who checked him too hard last season , and sleeping with Lea would be a million times that.

“Dec?” Linc’s voice snaps me back. “Are you good?”

“Yeah.” I stand. “Just thinking.”

“About Mike’s naked sister?”

“Shut up.” I head for the door. “I’ll catch you later.”