Page 6 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

three

LEA

“Hey.”

I tense up as a guy nearby calls out to me. My first instinct is to tell whoever it is to get lost—I’m not in the mood for some frat bro’s drunken attempts at flirting, given I already barely avoided being spewed on by the human wall. But something in the tone makes me turn around.

And… oh .

He’s perched on a tree stump, one leg drawn up, the other stretched out in front of him. The party lights from inside catch the sharp angles of his face, casting half of it in warm gold, the other in shadow. Dark hair falls across his forehead in artful disarray.

My heart does a complicated little flip-flop in my chest, and I find myself looking him up and down.

He’s gorgeous. Muscles for days, and he’s tall. Best of all, I’m not getting the asshole vibes that many guys throw off, and the fact he’s sitting out here rather than chugging the trash can cocktail or fucking some drunk freshman gives him at least some chance of not being a jerk .

As I size him up, he watches me, and his lips curve into a slight smile. And wow. It’s not just that he’s hot—which he totally is—but it’s that smile. A shy, subtle one that doesn’t scream: “I’m going to hit on you because you’re a freshman girl by yourself at a frat party.”

Stop it, Lea. You’re done with guys, my mind shouts at me. Embargo, remember?

But even as I think it, and force away thoughts of Chris and heartbreak, I know I’m in trouble. Because this guy is my type—the kind that makes me want to grab my sketchbook and go crazy—and the way his eyes are locked onto me suggests the feeling might be mutual.

“Are you OK?” he asks, his voice rough, like he’s been yelling over the music inside.

I tense a little at the presumptiveness of the question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You looked pretty pissed when you came out here.” His smile widens slightly. “Like you were about to declare war on that pool of Jell-O… or dive in…”

The tension immediately dissipates, and I laugh. “In this dress?”

He takes the mention of my outfit as an invitation to size me up again, but it doesn’t feel invasive or creepy. “You could go knee-deep and not stain a thing…”

“I’ll pass.” I glance at the toxic-looking pool full of green gelatin. “If the booze inside is any indication, what’s in that pool will melt my shoes…”

Laughing, he shifts on his stump, making room. “It looks like those shoes are torturing you, so do you want to sit?”

He’s not wrong. I perch carefully on the edge of the stump, letting out a small sigh of relief. “These were definitely not made for walking.”

“Or standing. Or existing in our current plane of reality.” He studies my wedges. “Though they do make your legs look amazing.”

Heat creeps up my neck at the compliment, but his tone is more observational than leering. And something about this guy puts me at ease—maybe it’s the way he keeps a respectful distance, even when I’m right next to him.

“Thanks. I think.” I adjust my dress, suddenly very aware of how short it is. “I let my roommate dress me.”

“Ah, the blind trust of new friendship.” He grins. “How’s that working out for you tonight?”

“Well, I’m sitting on a tree stump at one in the morning with a stranger, so…” I trail off, hesitating about how much I’m telling this guy.

He must read my expression, because he adds, “Full disclosure: I’m only out here because I hate EDM, I hate parties like this, and I like air.

Also, I’ve been watching that girl… Sarah?

Sienna?— ” He nods toward the phone-yelling woman.

“—‘destroy some guy named Brad for the last ten minutes. It’s better than Netflix.”

I can’t help but smile. “What’d Brad do?”

“Well, he’s currently up to three counts of being a ‘lying, cheating bastard’ and one count of ‘thinking with his dick instead of his brain.’ ” He fakes a serious expression. “The prosecution’s case seems pretty solid, although at times she seems on the verge of dropping the charges….”

This draws a long, genuine laugh from me. “Sounds like Brad’s having a worse night than I am.”

“So you are having a bad night.” His expression turns sympathetic. “Party not living up to expectations?”

We’re not quite touching, but I can feel the warmth radiating from him, quickening my pulse. “You could say that. ”

“Let me guess. Your friends dragged you here promising ‘the college experience’ and then immediately abandoned you to the mercy of frat boys.”

“That’s… disturbingly accurate.” I give him an impish grin. “So what about you? Bad night?”

“Nah.” He takes a sip from a bottle of what looks like actually decent beer. “Just not that interested, after my friends basically kidnapped me tonight.”

“And are you a frat boy?”

“Hell no,” he laughs. “I live in an apartment off campus…”

“So you’re not a frat boy and you didn’t want to come,” I say, carefully. “And yet here you are.”

“Here I am.” He shrugs. “If I always did what I wanted—hole up in my room and sketch—I’d be a pretty shit friend, and?—”

My breath catches, interrupting him. “You sketch?”

“Yeah, I…” He trails off, studying me with new interest. “Why? Do you?”

“Art major,” I admit. “Though after tonight, I’m seriously considering changing it to something that requires less social interaction, like mortuary science.”

“Or biology? To figure out what’s in the punch?” He laughs, and the sound does dangerous things to my insides. “Night that bad, huh?”

“Well, let’s see. I got separated from my friends, almost got vomited on, got hit on by someone who I thought was a wall, almost twisted my ankle in these stupid shoes…

” I snort, then glance back at the house, where the music has somehow gotten even louder.

“Do you think our friends will notice if we don’t go back in? ”

“Probably not. Though fair warning—if we stay out here much longer, we might witness the freshman frat pledges doing their traditional midnight performance of Sweet Caroline , totally butt naked, while standing on top of kegs… and, well, some things you just can’t unsee once you’ve seared your eyeballs… ”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish.” He shudders dramatically. “I’ll never be the same again.”

I laugh again, surprised by how easy this feels.

How natural. Maybe it’s the late hour, or the way the party seems far away out here in our little corner of the yard.

Or maybe it’s just him—this beautiful boy who sketches and makes me laugh and doesn’t seem to mind that I’m basically a walking disaster tonight.

Don’t, warns the voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like my mother. Remember what happened last time you got swept away by a charming stranger?

But this feels different than it did with Chris.

Less like being swept away, more like… finding solid ground.

Shut up, I think, banishing my stupid thoughts. It’s not like we’re doing anything… (yet?)…

He holds his hand out and his smile widens, and oh , that’s not fair at all . “Declan. Everyone calls me Dec.”

“Lea.” I shake his hand, noting the careful way he holds mine. “Short for Leanndra, but only my Mom calls me that… when she’s mad...”

“I’ll try not to make you mad, Lea,” he says.

“Tell me about your art…”

His eyes light up, and as he launches into a story about his latest project—a series of rural landscapes done in charcoal—I find myself drawn in by his enthusiasm, by the way his hands move when he talks, and by the way the party lights dance in his eyes.

I’m in so much trouble, I think. But trouble can be fun, right?

“So what’s your medium?” I ask, unable to hide my excitement at finding another artist, and trying to ignore my attraction. “You mentioned charcoal…”

“Yeah, there’s something about the way it moves, how you can create these really deep shadows…” His eyes light up. “But I also paint. Oils, mostly. You?”

“Graphite for sketching,” I say. “But for painting, watercolors. Though I’m trying to branch out into acrylics.”

“That’s cool. What draws you to it?”

“What draws me to drawing?” I smirk at my own joke, then consider for a moment. “I think… it’s the stories that good art can tell…”

“And you prefer painting faces?”

I hesitate, suddenly cautious. “How’d you know that?”

He shrugs, a slight smile playing at his lips. “Just a guess. The way you were talking about stories… faces tell stories too, right?”

“Exactly!” I lean forward, excited. “Every line, every wrinkle—they’re like a map of someone’s life. Though I have to say, after spending the summer in Europe, I’m obsessed with painting architecture again. There was this one building in Bulgaria…”

“Bulgaria?” His eyes widen with interest. “That must have been amazing.”

“It was. Though I did get locked in an art museum there…”

He laughs. “How did you manage that?”

“Lost track of time staring at this one painting. I was so absorbed…”

“Like now?” he asks with a smirk .

I feel my cheeks blush, and I’m suddenly glad we’re in the dark. To meet this guy out of nowhere, and to have conversations this comfortable… it’s like a higher power has seen me brooding about Chris and dropped the most compatible man in the world down in front of me.

“So, what happened?” he asks, to break the awkward silence.

“Sorry?” I look at him, confused and lost in my thoughts.

“With the museum?”

“Oh!” I exclaim, too loudly. “Uh, they turned off the lights, I set off an alarm, and I was kicked out by a security guard who was pissed .”

“Those are the best kind of travel stories though, right? The ones where everything starts wrong but somehow turns out perfect?”

Kind of like this night is heading… I think, but don’t dare verbalize.

“Exactly! Like this other time in Paris—” I catch myself. “Sorry, I’m totally dominating the conversation…”

“No, keep going. I love hearing about it.” His smile is genuine. “What brought you to Pine Barren? Besides the stellar party scene, obviously.”