Page 33 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

nineteen

LEA

Well, I took a leap.

Not quite the one I was planning— sorry , Ben—but a leap, nonetheless.

Surging forward to kiss Declan, I expected him to reject me.

Instead, he kisses me like he’s been starving for weeks and I’m his first meal.

His hands slide inside the varsity jacket—his jacket—finding the bare skin of my waist. I gasp against his mouth as his fingers trail upward to my breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Everything about this is a bad idea. Everything about this is exactly what I want.

“Lea,” he breathes against my lips. “What are we?—”

“Shut up,” I murmur, yanking him closer. “Don’t ruin it.”

A distant part of my brain is screaming that I should stop. That I spent a week actively avoiding this man. That I tried to draw him until I was over it. That I’ve tried to think of every reason not to do this. That I’ve tried to drink it away and flirt with someone else.

Didn’t I literally just spend an entire hour with Ben trying to forget Declan existed? And here I am, not even twenty minutes later, practically climbing him like a tree in public. There’s something clearly wrong with me, and the cure is him.

Declan Andrews.

I want him, and I’ve given up pretending I can forget about him.

At least until I’ve had him.

But as one of his hands drifts down, hesitating at the waistband of my jeans, I gasp, pulling away slightly. “Wait.”

Declan freezes immediately, his hand withdrawing from my jeans, his breathing ragged against my cheek. “Too much?”

“Not here,” I say, glancing around the dimly lit park. “It’s just—we’re kind of out in the open.”

His eyes search mine, darkened with desire but surprisingly lucid. “My place is a ten-minute walk. If you’re sure you want to do this?”

Another good question. The alcohol-induced haze is already starting to clear, and with it comes the reality of what I’m about to do. I’m about to have sex with Declan Andrews. The same guy who lied to me and humiliated me in life drawing class.

But also the same guy who fingered and mouth-fucked me in a bathroom. The same guy who just stopped Ben from adding me to his freshman conquest list. The same guy whose sketchbook had my face among the pages.

The guy I can’t seem to quit.

“Yes,” I say, because clarity doesn’t necessarily mean wisdom. “I want to.”

I glance back at the bench where Em still sits. I raise a hand to signal I’m leaving with Declan, and she gives me a thumbs-up that somehow manages to be both enthusiastic and concerned, although it’s clear she’s happier with this outcome than my moves with Ben…

We walk in silence, his fingers laced through mine, the cold air finally cooling my overheated skin. My thoughts race as the remaining vodka creates a pleasant buzz rather than a total fog. This doesn’t feel like the impulsive hookup I was heading for with Ben.

It feels… weirdly significant.

Important, somehow.

God, I need to shut that train of thought down immediately.

When we reach the brick apartment building on the edge of campus, Declan unlocks the door and leads me up three flights of stairs. His apartment is small but surprisingly neat—clean dishes in the rack, books organized on shelves, and no piles of laundry anywhere.

Well, neat except for the art.

The walls are covered in artwork—some prints I recognize from museums, others are his own. A large drafting table sits by the window, littered with sketch paper and charcoal pencils. This isn’t a hockey player’s apartment.

This is an artist’s studio.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, unnecessarily.

“It’s nice.”

We stand there awkwardly, the heat of our earlier encounter still simmering under my skin but tempered now by nerves and the sobering walk. But it’s clear that there’s a ton of gunpowder inside both of us, and all it will take is one spark to set the whole thing off.

“So…” he says, shifting his weight.

“So,” I echo. “I want you. Just once. ”

His eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline. “Just once?”

“To get it out of our systems,” I clarify, the idea forming as I speak.

“We clearly have this… thing between us. This attraction. And it’s making everything worse, for both of us.

So we have sex, just once, and exorcize whatever this is.

Then we can go back to being art project partners and nothing more. ”

Declan looks at me with an expression I can’t quite read. But I’m pretty sure it’s disbelief, with a side of longing, and just a hint of regret. I can tell he’s chewing on something, not sure if he’s brave enough to utter the words, and with each passing second, I start to feel more like a fool.

“Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You think if we have sex once, it’ll just… solve the problem? Make the attraction go away?”

When he puts it like that, it sounds ridiculous. But I’m committed now. “Yes,” I say firmly. “Like exposure therapy. Or… getting vaccinated against a disease.”

“So I’m a disease now?”

“You know what I mean.” I sigh. “Please, Declan, this is killing me, and I just want things to be simple again…”

He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. His hand cups my cheek, and he brushes a tear away from my eye. “You’re drunk, Lea.”

“Not that drunk. Not anymore.” I lean into his touch despite myself. “So what do you say? Just once?”

Declan studies me for a long moment, his blue eyes darkening. He looks like he’s having an intense internal debate, which is fair—I just propositioned him out of the blue after spending the last few days acting like he was my archnemesis, and now I’m on the verge of breaking down again.

“OK, here’s what’s going to happen,” he finally says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re going to drink some water, get some sleep, and if you still want to…” he pauses, searching for the right words, “…work things out in the morning, we’ll revisit this conversation.”

I blink at him, not processing what he’s saying. “What?”

“You’re drunk.” He repeats, scratching the stubble on his chin. “And I’m not that guy.”

“I told you, I’m not that drunk.” But even as I say it, I realize the room is tilting slightly, and the words come out just a touch too loud.

“OK, fine, I’m a little drunk. But I know what I want, and I can’t believe you’re not going to fuck my brains out when I’ve asked you to… and when that’s all I can think about…”

“I want to, but I’m not taking advantage of you when you’re not completely clear-headed.” He takes my hand. “If I did, I’d be no better than Ben.”

The comparison hits me like a slap. “You’re nothing like Ben,” I protest. “Unless there’s a scoreboard in here I missed…”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m still saying no.” His expression softens. “Look, if you wake up tomorrow still wanting this, I’m all in.”

Part of me wants to argue—the same reckless part that took off my bra at that party—but a wave of exhaustion suddenly crashes over me. I wobble slightly on my feet and Declan steadies me with a hand on my elbow. And, begrudgingly, I concede that maybe I am a little too drunk.

“Fine,” I mutter. “But you’re being ridiculous.”

“Probably,” he agrees, guiding me to the kitchen counter. “Drink.”

He pours me a water and I start to drink, suddenly realizing how thirsty I am. The cold water tastes incredible going down, and I drain the entire glass before setting it on the counter. When I look up, Declan is watching me with a caring expression that makes my insides twist.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

He leads me to his bedroom. It’s small, dominated by a queen-sized bed with rumpled navy sheets. A half-finished canvas leans against one wall—something abstract with sweeping strokes of blues and grays that remind me of ocean waves in a storm.

“You take the bed,” he says. “I’ll crash on the couch.”

I sit on the edge of the mattress, suddenly hit by the absurdity of the situation. Just an hour ago, I was at a party playing strip card games with a guy I barely knew, trying to forget about Declan. Now I’m in Declan’s bedroom, and about to sleep in his bed.

Alone.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I whisper, staring at my hands. “I’m not… I don’t do things like tonight.”

Declan sits beside me, careful to leave space between us. “You’re in college. Everyone does stupid shit.”

“Not me.” My voice sounds small even to my ears. “But since I got here, since I met you... I’m out of control. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

The words hang in the air between us, too honest, too raw.

I shouldn’t be saying these things to him, but they spill out anyway.

And I know it’s only partly true. I’d been out of control long before I met Declan.

It’s why I needed a gap year… and why I fell neck-deep into things with Chris… and why he broke me…

“You know exactly who you are, Lea,” Declan says quietly. “You’re just... figuring things out. We all are.”

A tear slides down my cheek and I brush it away angrily. “God, I’m such a fucking mess.”

“A beautiful mess… a drunk mess…” he says with a small smile. “But yeah, still a mess.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “Thanks for the honesty.”

“Anytime.” He stands up. “There’s a T-shirt in the top drawer if you want something to sleep in. The bathroom is through that door.”

I nod, suddenly feeling shy. “Thank you. For... you know. Not being like Ben.”

“Low bar, but you’re welcome.”

When he turns to leave, panic rises in my chest. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts right now.

They’re too loud, too chaotic. And suddenly, with the clarity of a comet hitting the Earth, I realize all the shit I’ve been blaming him for—the hockey thing, the criticism—was just me finding excuses to push him away.

“Wait, Declan, please,” I call out to him. “Can you... would you stay with me? Just to sleep?”

He pauses in the doorway, his shoulders tense. “Lea... I told you, if you still want to in the morning, we?—”

I swallow hard. “I’m not trying to seduce you, I swear. I just... I don’t want to be alone right now.”