Page 30 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

seventeen

LEA

OK, so maybe this might be fun…

The cluster of people shuffling into the party at Ping’s friend’s place looks nothing like the crowd at that frat house where I first met Declan. Even better, there’s no bass thumping through the walls, no throng of sweaty bodies, and decidedly fewer crop tops.

“Told you this would be chill,” Em says, bumping my shoulder with hers as we follow Marnie up the walkway.

“You weren’t kidding. For once I don’t feel underdressed…” I tug at my plain black sweater, which I paired with jeans.

“You know it’s not a real party if people aren’t throwing up by midnight,” Marnie quips. “But Trevor is coming, and thus, so am I…”

Em laughs. “Well, thanks for gracing us with your presence, my queen, and may the event be worthy…”

Ping waves to us from the doorway, her hair pulled into a high ponytail, and her face alight with excitement. “You guys made it! Come in, we’re just getting started!”

The apartment is nice. String lights cast a soft glow over mismatched furniture, and people are actually talking at volumes that don’t require lip-reading. A couple of guys are setting up board games on a coffee table, and there’s some background music.

This is what I pictured college would be like before I got here—cozy gatherings with interesting people, not sticky-floored frat houses filled to bursting, where you have to shout to be heard by strangers who are likely to vomit on you anyway.

“Drinks are in the kitchen,” Ping says, pointing. “And we’ve got a card game going in the corner if you want to join.”

“Trevor is over there…” Marnie goes all gooey, then leaves us in her dust as she heads for the card game.

Em hooks her arm through mine. “Come on, we better make sure Marnie doesn’t eat his face off…”

“I’m terrible at cards…” I say, but with no real resistance as she starts to drag me over there.

“So am I,” Em says. “But I’m positively excellent—and I mean *excellent—*at trash-talking.”

We make our way to the table where five people are already seated. Marnie is now next to Trevor, who I have to admit is hot. I don’t know any of the others, but a guy with wavy blonde hair looks up as we approach, his blue eyes glowing under the party lights as he smiles.

“Hey, new players?” He scoots over, making room for us. “I’m Ben. And you guys are…?”

“Lea.” I slide into the space next to him, in the process catching a whiff of cologne that’s pleasant.

“Em,” my roommate supplies, plopping down across from us. “But you may as well call me ‘victor’, because that’s all I plan to be tonight…”

Ben laughs, but his gaze is on me the whole time. “Cool. You guys want drinks before we start? I’m about to grab another.”

“I’ll just take a beer,” I say, hoping to pace myself. I’ve had enough drama lately without adding drunk texts to Declan into the mix.

Stop thinking about Declan.

It’s officially been five minutes since my last Declan thought.

Progress!

Em asks for a beer as well, and Marnie asks for a white wine. The group chit-chats until Ben returns with drinks and settles in beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he deals the cards.

“Ever played bullshit before?” he turns to me and Em.

“Only with my exes,” I respond without thinking.

The table erupts in laughter, and a girl with a nose ring declares, “I like her.”

Ben explains the rules, which are simple enough—try to get rid of all your cards by playing them in sequential order, and lie when necessary. Everyone else has to decide whether you’re bullshitting or not, and whoever is wrong ends up with the cards.

The first round starts, and I’m surprised by how quickly I get into it. Ben is a good player, subtly coaching me without being condescending. My competitive streak emerges as we continue, and I find myself getting genuinely invested in catching other players’ lies.

Everyone wins their share of hands, me included, and before too long an hour passes in laughter and good-natured accusations. It shocks me when Em tells me the time, and I realize that I’ve gone a full twenty minutes without thinking about Declan .

Until now.

Damn it.

But still, that’s more progress!

“Two queens,” Ben announces, placing cards face-down on the pile.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Bullshit.”

He flips the cards. Two queens. “Guess you can’t read my intentions…” he says.

That was definitely flirting.

Wasn’t it?

I glance at Em, who’s wiggling her eyebrows at me like a cartoon villain.

Subtle.

Someone announces their victory in the next round, and a guy in a Pine Barren sweatshirt suggests shots to celebrate. Before I can protest, Ben’s on his feet volunteering to mix drinks.

“Don’t worry,” he tells me, “I’m known for making drinks that taste like juice but hit like a freight train.”

“That… doesn’t sound reassuring, actually.” I laugh, then wince inside at how schoolgirly the laugh sounds.

We fall into easy chat while he mixes the drinks—Marnie and Trevor aside, who are busy sucking face—and when Ben returns he’s carrying glasses of a suspiciously innocent-looking pink concoction that tastes like strawberry lemonade with barely a hint of alcohol.

I sip mine, partly because of his remark about mixing them strong and partly because I’m not a big drinker. But, even so, I’m halfway through when I realize my cheeks feel warm and the room has taken on that slightly soft-edged quality that signals the first stage of tipsy.

As the game resumes, Ben stays close, his shoulder occasionally brushing mine. Each time I empty my cup, another appears as if by magic. It’s… nice, honestly. The game, the easy conversation. After days of emotional whiplash with Declan, it feels uncomplicated.

“You’re pretty good at this for a first-timer, Lea,” Ben says, voice lowered so only I can hear.

“I’m a fast learner,” I reply, suddenly aware of how close he is, how his knee is now touching mine under the table.

Em catches my eye from across the table and gives me an exaggerated thumbs-up. I shake my head slightly, trying to communicate that this is just innocent flirting, nothing more. She responds with an elaborate series of facial expressions.

She texts me:

Okay, spill, what’s happening with blondie?

I reply:

Nothing! We’re just playing cards!

Em:

Uh huh… and his arm just happens to be draped across the back of your chair…

I throw a chip at Em, and she grins conspiratorially, then the game continues. But even as we keep playing, I concede that Ben is cute, attentive, and seems genuinely interested. And unlike Declan, there are no lies, no criticism, and no connection to Mike…

No drama.

And after the last few weeks, that’d be a real plus .

Three drinks in, the room has taken on that pleasantly fuzzy quality where everything’s just a bit softer around the edges. Ben’s arm is still draped casually behind my chair, and the heat of him so close makes my skin tingle in a way that’s not entirely unwelcome.

“I’m bored with this game,” says a guy whose name I think is James. “Anyone up for something more interesting?”

Ben perks up. “Like what?”

“Same game, but with consequences,” James suggests, shuffling the cards with a flourish. “If someone calls bullshit on you and they’re right, you do a forfeit.”

“What kind of forfeit?” Ping asks, sounding skeptical.

James grins. “Dares. Nothing too crazy. Sing a song, do a dance move, whatever.”

Trevor nods enthusiastically, coming up for air after kissing Marnie for most of the last two minutes. “Hell yeah.”

“I’m in,” Marnie says, eyes flicking to Trevor. Her intentions are about as subtle as a neon sign, and she looks at Em and me, desperate for support.

“What do you think?” Ben asks me, his breath warm against my ear. “I’ll go whichever way you do…”

I shrug, feeling brave. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact that for the first time in weeks, I’m not thinking about Declan every five seconds. “Why not?”

Em gives me a look across the table—part surprise, part approval—then she nods. “I’m in as well, but anyone who wants to bail on a dare can do so?”

“Alright then, that sounds fair,” James deals new hands. “Let’s see what we can cook up…”

The first few rounds are innocent enough. Someone has to do the chicken dance. Ping recites the first twenty digits of pi (because, of course, she knows them). Trevor does a surprisingly decent impression of a Professor that has us all in stitches.

They’re nerd dares for a nerd party.

It feels like we’re getting closer as we play, and maybe it’s the booze in me, but this feels so much warmer and more welcoming than the frat party. There’s no bro culture, no bullshit… just a bunch of us having fun, within our limits, respected by others.

But even my limits are being tested, even though I haven’t had to do a dare.

Ben’s hand has somehow migrated from the back of my chair to rest lightly on my shoulder, and I don’t shrug it off. I’m enjoying myself, and the way Em is smiling at me tells me she knows it. But we’re interrupted after James suggests a rule change.

“New rule—if you get called bullshit, you lose an article of clothing. But if you call someone else and you’re wrong, you lose an article.”

“Seriously?” Ping says. “That’s so cliché.”

“Scared?” James challenges.

There’s a beat of silence as the suggestion hangs in the air.

“I’m in,” Marnie says quickly, exchanging a look with Trevor.

“The girls choose,” Ben says, looking at Em, Ping, and me. “We play if you want to.”

I glance at Em, who shrugs. “Your call.”

Marnie slides over to me and Em, whispering urgently. “Please say yes.”

“I don’t know…” Ping hesitates.

“I’m out…” Em says, standing.

Suddenly, I want to help Marnie. She and the others have been there for me in the last few weeks, although in different ways. And besides, I’m having fun and feel comfortable, so as long as everyone has their boundaries respected, what’s the harm?

“I’m willing if others are,” I hear myself say.

Wait, did I just agree to play strip bullshit?

The alcohol must be hitting harder than I thought…