Page 3 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)
Probably whatever neon concoction is being ladled out of trash cans.
The thought grosses me out as we push through the crowd, Em leading the way with the determination of a heat-seeking missile locked onto its target.
The Victorian’s layout is confusing, as if the house was designed by an architect who’d had a few too many shots of absinthe, and soon we’re on our own.
“I think we lost the others!” I yell to Em.
She turns back with a grin. “They’ll find us later! Come on!”
We squeeze past a couple making out against a door frame— hello, college —and finally emerge into what, I assume, was once a formal dining room. Now it’s been transformed into party central, with a makeshift bar setup that would make any health inspector have an aneurysm.
“What’s your poison?” Em asks, already reaching for a red cup.
“Whatever has the lowest chance of making me go blind.”
She laughs and ladles something fluorescent blue into two cups. “This’ll do…”
“What’s that?” I ask, my nose crinkling in some measure of disgust.
“House special,” a nearby frat guy laughs. “Don’t ask what’s in it…”
“Here you go, one plausible deniability,” Em grins as she hands me my cup.
I accept the cup and take a tentative sip.
It’s surprisingly not totally terrible—sweet and fruity, with an undercurrent of what might be vodka or might be paint thinner.
Hard to tell, but it’s strong, and I can tell it’s going to give me a buzz before too long.
A few more, and… well… it might not be pretty…
“Not bad, right?” Em takes a healthy swig of her own drink. “Now, let’s?—”
A surge in the crowd separates us suddenly, a group of guys pushing through and not stopping for anyone. I stumble back, getting lost in the pack, my drink sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my cup. By the time I’ve recovered, I look around but can’t see anyone I know.
“Em?” I call out, but the music swallows my voice.
I catch a glimpse of her disappearing into the crowd, but before I can follow, another wave of people sweeps through the kitchen, carrying me in the opposite direction. I end up pressed against a wall, watching the chaos unfold around me.
Great, I sigh. Fifteen minutes in, and I’ve lost my roommate, my floormates, and any sense of direction in this architectural fever dream.
I take another sip of my drink, bigger this time. The sweetness can’t quite mask the burn of the alcohol, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I’m about to attempt to retrace my steps when I notice something odd about the wall I’m leaning against.
It’s... moving ?
No, not just moving. Breathing.
I whirl around and find myself face-to-chest with someone who is definitely not a wall, though he’s built like one. I tilt my head back, following the line of a very nice chest up to a face that makes my breath catch.
No , I tell myself firmly. No, no, no. Remember the embargo.
“Sorry,” I say, though I doubt he can hear me clearly over the music. “I thought you were a wall.”
“I get that a lot, actually.” His lips twitch, and I wonder if I’m about to make a connection with someone, despite the embargo. “I?—”
But before he can finish his sentence, his face goes slack. Then green. Then?—
Oh no.
I leap back just in time as he doubles over and vomits spectacularly, missing my wedge sandals by inches.
The nearby crowd parts like the Red Sea, creating a circle of horrified onlookers around us.
More than one person shouts at him that it’s not cool to hurl inside, but I’m more focused on making sure to avoid it.
The maybe-wall-maybe-cute-guy straightens up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I... I don’t feel so good,” he mumbles, then throws up again.
And this is why I swore off boys , I think as I back even further away from the growing puddle. And parties.
After one last scan for Em or anyone else I recognize from earlier, panic starts to creep in.
The air feels thick, heavy with the collective body heat of too many people packed into too small a space.
My skin prickles with sweat, and the sweet-sour smell of spilled drinks and puke isn’t helping, either.
I pull out my phone and type a quick message to Em:
Getting out of here. Text me when you’re done living your best life.
No immediate response. Not surprising.
I spot a sliding glass door through the crowd and make my way toward it, dodging elbows and drinks with the agility of someone who really, really doesn’t want to end up wearing a stranger’s beer. The door leads to a backyard that’s also full of people, though noticeably fewer than inside.
The music is muffled out here, and the night air feels like heaven against my overheated skin. I take several deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. But, as my body cools and my mind calms, I suddenly get cold. The dress that’d seemed perfect for dancing now feels woefully inadequate.
“I shouldn’t have let Em talk me into this,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself.
But any anger or resentment flares out quickly.
I don’t owe Em or the others anything. Hell, I barely know them, and part of their college journey is finding their own path, as much as mine will be.
And despite the party being a flop, the rest of my first day on campus at Pine Barren has been pretty great.
Em included.
The thought of her makes me check my phone.
Still nothing in response to my message.
The others are probably having the time of their lives, and I’m out here still feeling sorry for myself after Chris broke my heart, all the while standing next to an inflatable kiddie pool full of. .. is that Jell-O?
College is weird.
And I’m about to leave the party in my dust when I’m startled by a male voice behind me.
“Hey.”