Page 31 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

“Fine,” Ping relents. “But underwear stays on.”

“And no cell phones…” I add, keeping this safe and private.

“Totally,” Ben says quickly, looking at me as he speaks. “All limits respected.”

And just like that, we’re playing.

The first rounds are mostly harmless. Trevor loses his hoodie, revealing the arms that Marnie has been swooning over for weeks. She actually applauds, earning a grin from Trevor. James throws his socks into the center of the table. Ping sacrifices a hair tie.

But it’s all fun, and none of it feels sleazy.

“My turn,” I announce, placing down two cards. “Two fives.”

“Bullshit,” calls Marnie immediately.

Shit.

I flip the cards—a seven and a three.

“Boots,” I decide, kicking off my chunky ankle boots.

“Your poker face needs work,” Ben says, leaning closer.

“Does not,” I protest.

“Your left eyebrow twitches when you lie.”

“Liar…” I smirk, feeling warmer all of a sudden.

“Just did it again,” he grins.

I knock back the rest of my drink, feeling warmth spread through my limbs. It’s nice being here, having fun, and flirting with a cute guy who doesn’t have any complicated connections to my brother. For the first time in weeks, I feel light. Normal.

Is this what college was supposed to feel like?

I like it more than the emotional tumble dryer of the last few weeks.

Three rounds later, I’ve also lost my socks and my bracelet. The room has taken on that pleasant, spinning quality that makes everything funnier than it probably is, and there’s reckless freedom in the moment that feels more intoxicating than anything I’ve consumed.

“Three aces,” I declare, putting down three cards.

“Bullshit,” Ben and James say simultaneously.

I turn over the cards—none of them aces.

“Well, damn,” I laugh. I’m wearing a tank top underneath, so it’s not like I’ll be sitting here in my bra, but still.

“You really are terrible at this,” Ben says, his voice lower.

“Told you,” I shrug, pulling my sweater over my head. I’m left in a thin black tank top and jeans, while most others have only lost accessories.

The game goes around the table again a few more times, and I even manage to keep my clothes on a few rounds while others lose various items. And, seeing what’s happening from across the room, Em returns to the group and positions herself strategically next to me, on the other side of Ben, her worried glances becoming more frequent.

I’ve got no pairs, so I put down three cards. “Three kings.”

“Bullshit,” Trevor calls immediately.

The cards are, predictably, not what I claimed. I groan dramatically.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Em whispers as I debate my next move.

“Am not,” I whisper back, but honestly, I’m not sure. There’s something liberating about this silly game, about the way Ben’s eyes linger on me, about feeling desired without all the complications. About not overthinking and just letting go…

“Jeans,” I announce boldly.

“Whoa, you still have jewelry on,” Ping points out, gesturing to my earrings.

“But jeans are more dramatic,” I argue, and the others laugh. “And I’m an artist!”

Em puts a hand on my arm. “Maybe take a water break first?”

“I’m fine,” I insist, though the room is definitely spinning. “Just having fun.”

“Bathroom break!” Em declares suddenly, grabbing my arm. “We’ll be back.”

Before I can protest, she’s dragging me down the hallway, my jeans still partially unbuttoned. She pushes me into the bathroom, locks the door, and turns to face me with her arms crossed. The look on her face is the most serious I’ve ever seen.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Playing the game,” I say, leaning against the sink for support.

“No, you’re strip-teasing for the hot blonde guy while getting progressively more drunk.” Em’s voice is gentle but firm. “Which is fine if that’s what you want to do, but I need to know you’re doing it because you want to, not because you’re torn up inside and trying to forget about someone else.”

I blink at her, the words cutting through the pleasant haze. “I’m just having fun, Em, I promise.”

“Are you? Because you’re losing clothes and downing drinks faster than anyone else,” she puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, I know Dec?—”

“It’s not about him,” I say, defensively.

“Are you sure?”

I stare at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “Yes,” I lie.

“Bullshit.” She smirks. “But if this is what you want, I support you, OK?”

I nod.

“Besides,” she adds, “I’ve been watching Marnie down white wine like it’s water. If anyone’s going to get naked tonight, my money’s on her.”

As if on cue, a cheer erupts from the living room, followed by Trevor’s distinctive whoop.

“See?” Em grins. “We’re probably missing the show.”

We return to the living room to find exactly what the cheers suggested—Marnie is now sitting proudly in just her bra and skirt, and Trevor is shirtless beside her. His chest is indeed as impressive as Marnie has been telling us for weeks, all defined muscles and smooth skin.

“Took you long enough,” James calls as we rejoin the circle.

“Just girl talk,” Em says dismissively, settling back into her spot on the couch. She’s watching, not playing, but nobody seems to mind.

Ben scoots over to make room for me, his arm immediately finding its way around my shoulders again. “Are you OK?” he asks, his voice low so only I can hear.

“Never better,” I reply, although I’m not sure I mean it.

The game resumes, and I find myself paying more attention to Ben than to my cards. His blonde hair falls across his forehead in a way that makes me want to brush it back, and the pleasant buzz of alcohol makes everything feel dreamlike and uncomplicated.

“Three sevens,” Ping declares, placing her cards down.

“Bullshit,” I call without thinking.

Ping flips the cards—three sevens exactly. “Nice try!”

“Dammit,” I grumble, unbuttoning my jeans the rest of the way as Ben watches with undisguised interest. I shimmy out of them. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Ben murmurs, his gaze lingering on my bare legs.

I should feel self-conscious sitting here in just my tank top and underwear, but instead, I feel… powerful? The way Ben looks at me, like I’m the only person in the room worth seeing, sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

Then Marnie laughs and stands. “We’re, uh—” she stammers.

“Going to take a break,” Trevor announces, as he stands, not trying to be subtle.

“Use protection!” James calls after them.

“And don’t break anything!” Ping adds.

Em gives me a told-you-so look, and I can’t help but laugh. The game continues with our reduced circle, and I find myself leaning into Ben more and more. His hand traces idle patterns on my bare shoulder, sending pleasant shivers down my spine.

“Two queens,” Ben says, placing down his cards.

“Bullshit,” James challenges immediately.

Ben flips the cards—a queen and a jack. “Damn.”

With a theatrical sigh, he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a toned chest. He’s not built like a hockey player— not that I’m comparing him to anyone—but he clearly works out. And he’s never sent me sprawling into an emotional morass.

“Your turn,” he says to me, and suddenly, I’m very aware of how close we are.

I place down two cards. “Two fives.”

“Bullshit,” James says immediately.

I flip them over—a three and a six.

I sigh, then reach for the bottom of my tank top and pull it over my head in one smooth motion. The cool air hits my skin, and I’m suddenly sitting there in just my bra and underwear.

The rational part of my brain—the tiny sober corner that’s still functioning—whispers that this is probably not my best decision ever. But the rest of me is riding a wave of recklessness and freedom.

Look at me now, Declan.

Wait, what? Where did that thought come from?

I push it away. This isn’t about him. This is about me having fun, letting go.

Right?

The next few rounds pass in a blur of cards and laughter. I manage to keep what little clothing I have left, while others lose items. James is down to his boxers, Ping has lost her outer shirt but kept her jeans, and Ben… frustratingly… has lost almost nothing.

“Drink?” Ben offers, standing. His jeans sit low on his hips, and I let my gaze linger.

“Please,” I say, holding out my cup.

Em gives me a concerned look. “Maybe some water too?”

“Yes, mom ,” I say, although I appreciate her looking out for me .

As Ben heads to the kitchen, Em leans over. “You sure this is what you want? Because Ben’s interested in more than cards, and you’re running out of clothes.”

I glance at where Ben is mixing drinks. “Maybe that’s what I want too,” I say, surprising myself with the admission.

“Just checking,” Em says, patting my knee. “You do you, girl. Or do him. Whatever works.”

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Maybe I will.”

Ben returns with drinks, handing me a glass of the pink stuff and a bottle of water. “Hydration is important,” he says with a wink, settling back beside me.

The next several rounds pass without anyone losing more clothing—either everyone’s getting better at the game, or we’ve all reached the limits of what we’re willing to remove in public.

Either way, I don’t mind. I’m having fun, the alcohol has me feeling warm and relaxed, and Ben’s undivided attention is precisely the ego boost I needed after weeks of Declan drama.

“I’m thinking about calling it a night, guys,” Ping announces after a particularly long round.

“Same,” says James, gathering his discarded clothing. “Some of us have morning labs tomorrow.”

“Should we keep playing?” Ben asks after the others drift away, leaving just me and him playing.

Em looks pointedly at me. “Lea doesn’t have much left to lose.”

“I think that’s the appeal,” Ben says with a smile that’s all confidence.

“One more round,” I say, my voice sounding distant even to myself .

Em gives me a look I can’t quite decipher. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I reply, though I’m not sure at all.

Ben shuffles the cards. “Ladies first,” he says, dealing.

I glance at my cards, but the numbers and suits blur together. I play two jacks, and he doesn’t call me. Then Ben’s turn comes around. By now, I’ve decided I want him to be the last to lose something, and then we’ll see where this goes…

“Two fours,” he announces, putting down two cards.

“Bullshit,” I call immediately.

He flips the cards.

Two fours.

Shit .

Ben leans forward, his eyes gleaming. “I think you know what comes next.”

Em shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe this has gone far enough?”

“It’s fine,” I tell her, though the room is spinning slightly. “It’s just a game.”

“Exactly,” Ben agrees, his eyes never leaving mine. “Just a bit of fun.”

I reach behind my back to unhook my bra, feeling a strange mixture of power and vulnerability. This is me being spontaneous, being free. This is me showing that I’m not hung up on someone.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

My fingers find the clasp just as I hear the front door opening.

And the silence that follows is absolute.

I freeze, my hands still behind my back, and turn toward the doorway just as Em whispers, “Oh shit.”

Standing in the entrance to the living room, looking like he just stepped out of my most complicated dreams and into my waking nightmare, is Declan.

His expression darkens as he takes in the scene—me in just my underwear and about to remove my bra, Ben beside me, the scattered cards, and the empty cups. It paints a clear picture of what’s happening.

Something shifts in his eyes, a dangerous flash that makes me both gooey and concerned all at the same time. A mix of attraction and panic shoots through my alcohol-numbed system.

Declan.

Here.

Now.

Seeing me like this .

Time seems to slow to a crawl as our eyes lock. His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping along its edge. I should stop. I should grab my clothes and run. I

Should do anything except what I’m about to do.

But some defiant, wounded part of me—the part of me that’s still hurting and the part desperately wanting to escape the emotional hell of the last few weeks—refuses to back down.

I hold Ben’s gaze instead of Declan’s, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it. With deliberate slowness, I unhook my bra, letting it slide down my arms and into my lap.

Ben’s eyes widen in surprise—clearly he hadn’t expected me to follow through—but his shock quickly transforms into appreciation as his gaze drops to my newly exposed chest, while Em mutters something that sounds like a prayer or a curse, I can’t tell which.

And Declan ?

I don’t turn to look at him, but I can feel the weight of his presence like a physical force pressing against my skin. The air in the room feels charged, dangerous, as if one wrong move might ignite everything around us.

And the next move is his…