Page 9 of Beyond the Lines (Pine Barren University #1)

We walk back toward campus in comfortable silence, our shoulders occasionally brushing. Each contact sends a jolt through me, but I resist the urge to take her hand. Something tells me this girl is worth taking slow, worth doing right.

Doing right, eh? My mind mocks me.

And that’s when it hits me.

A sudden, vivid image flashes through my mind: Lea stretched out beneath me, her skin flushed and glowing in the moonlight streaming through my bedroom window. Her dark curls spread across my pillow like spilled ink. Those lips, whispering my name. Her slim legs wrapped around my waist as I? —

I stumble slightly, forcing the thought away. But the damage is done. Now I can’t stop noticing how the streetlights catch the curves of her body beneath my jacket, how her perfume lingers in the night air between us, how her lips curve into a knowing smile when she catches me staring.

“You’re staring again,” she says softly, but there’s no accusation in her tone.

“Sorry,” I manage. “Sometimes I obsess about the things I want to draw.”

She stops walking and turns to face me fully. “And what do you see right now?”

The question hangs between us, loaded with possibility.

I could tell her the truth—that I see beauty and mystery and something that makes my fingers itch for charcoal and paper.

That I want to capture this moment, and then strip off every layer of her and thank her in the best possible way for an amazing night.

But that feels too heavy for a first… whatever this is.

So instead, I grin and say, “I plead the fifth.”

She laughs, the sound bright. “Art school isn’t so bad after all…”

“Just don’t tell your Mom, right?” I snort. “So, any more travel plans?”

“Not really.” She shakes her head. “I miss traveling already, but between classes and trying to figure out this whole college thing…” She trails off, then looks at me curiously. “What about you? Ever get away from the ranch in between semesters?”

I hesitate for a moment. This is where I’d normally mention that it’s difficult to travel with my hockey career. I need to stay in shape over the vacation breaks, and most of the time I enroll in a pro clinic or program to keep me on top of my game.

But for some reason, I don’t mention that.

Maybe it’s because I don’t ever love telling people I play hockey. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it—I love the sport, and plan to play it for as long as I can, maybe even in the pros—but more that people tend to have a certain impression of hockey players.

Dumb.

Sleazy.

And while it’s certainly true of some guys on the team, most of my teammates work their asses off. Coach doesn’t accept partying slackers who do the bare minimum academically, and anyone who tries to follow that path soon finds himself on the bench.

Or maybe it’s because, for once, I want someone to see me as more than a hockey player.

But it’s definitely because of the way she’s looking at me, and has been all night. Like I’m interesting just as I am, not as the hockey player everyone else sees. It’s because I don’t want to be that guy right now. I want to be the artist who made her laugh.

“I wish,” I eventually say. “Between my major, the ranch, and my extracurriculars, my life is pretty busy, even in the summer.”

“Extracurriculars?” She raises an eyebrow, curious.

My stomach tightens. I hate lying—especially to someone I’m attracted to—but I also hate how people’s perceptions change the moment they hear I’m a hockey player. Suddenly, I’m not Dec the artist anymore; I’m Dec the jock who happens to draw sometimes.

“Yeah, I play floor hockey sometimes,” I say, reasoning that it’s not completely untrue. We do play floor hockey sometimes during practice—if the figure skaters are using the ice.

“No way!” Her eyes light up. “My brother plays hockey too.” She pauses, considering. “I’ve always been kind of jealous of him, actually.”

That catches me off guard. “Of his hockey skills?”

“God no.” She laughs, wrinkling her nose. “I’m not really a hockey fan. But more because he’s always had this built-in friendship group, you know? The team, the guys… whereas I’ve usually found it harder to find long-term friendships. I’m kind of hoping that college changes that.”

“Right…” My voice trails off, because I’m not really sure what to say. How could a girl this awesome struggle to make friends?

The vulnerability in her voice makes me want to pull her close, but before I can say anything else, she stumbles slightly on her heels. Without even thinking, I catch her elbow, steadying her.

“Careful there, Cinderella,” I say, righting her on the path. “These aren’t exactly walking shoes, you know?”

“Yeah, well, blame my roommate,” she grumbles, but there’s affection in her voice. “Em didn’t mention the part about them being torture devices.”

“Smart girl, your roommate,” I say without thinking.

Lea stops walking and stares at me. “And why’s that?”

Because those shoes make your legs look incredible, I think, but manage not to say. Instead, I shrug, aiming for innocent. “She has good taste in friends. Like me.”

She exhales slowly through her nose, but I catch her smile and the way her cheeks flush pink, and God, it’s so fucking cute I can barely stand it.

My own face feels hot, and I wonder if I’m blushing too.

Which would be ridiculous, because I’m not usually the blushing type.

But there’s something about her that gets under my skin.

“Bold of you to assume we’re friends,” she says with mock severity, but her eyes are dancing. “Maybe I just used you for your French toast.”

“Betrayed!” I clutch my chest in feigned shock. “And here I thought we had something special.”

She exhales with dramatic effect. “ Fine , we can be friends, but only because you kept me safe from Brad and Sarah/Sienna…”

We’re approaching her dorm building now, and I find myself walking slower, trying to stretch out these last few moments. I don’t want this night to end, and I don’t want to say goodbye to this girl who makes me laugh, but we walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence.

When we reach her dorm, she slips off my jacket and hands it back. Our fingers brush, and that electric current runs between us again. She shivers slightly, but I don’t think it’s from the cold.

“Thanks for tonight,” she says softly. “It was… unexpected. In a good way.”

“Yeah,” I agree, unable to stop smiling. “It really was.”

She hesitates, as if weighing up a choice, then nods. “Give me your phone…”

My heart does a victory dance in my chest as I comply, unlocking my phone and handing it over to her in a repeat of my earlier move. I hope she’s going to put her number in. Because I want to keep making her laugh and learning what makes her tick and so much more.

She quickly inputs her number and hands it back. “Text me sometime… if you want…”

I smile and nod, tucking my phone away in my pocket, and for a moment we just stand there, neither wanting to be the first to say goodnight. The tension between us crackles like static electricity, and I find myself swaying slightly closer to her, drawn by some invisible force.

But I don’t kiss her.

Not yet.

Because something tells me that kissing Lea isn’t something to be rushed. That when it happens—and God, I hope it happens—it should be perfect. Something special and worth waiting for.

So I take a step back, preparing to say goodnight, when suddenly her hand catches mine. Before I can process what’s happening, she pulls me closer, rises on her tiptoes, and presses her lips to mine.

The world stops.

Her lips are soft, and when I slide my hand into her hair to cup the back of her head, she makes this tiny sound that nearly undoes me completely. My other hand finds her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens.

She kisses like she talks—thoughtfully at first, then with growing confidence and humor. When she nips at my bottom lip, I can’t help but smile against her mouth, because this is so much better than I could have imagined.

“Trouble,” I murmur again, and feel her answering laugh.

Finally, reluctantly, we break apart. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and her eyes are bright with something that looks a lot like happiness. I want to draw her like this—wild-haired and beautiful in the moonlight.

“What?” she asks, her voice slightly breathless.

I grin. “Just getting one last look so I can draw you tonight… ”

“That’s… unique…” she laughs. “But I better have clothes on…”

“Can’t promise it.” I shrug. “Coffee tomorrow?”

“I’d like that.” She smiles, then adds, “Goodnight, Dec.”

I watch her disappear inside, then turn and start walking toward my apartment, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face. My lips still tingle from her kiss, and my mind is already racing ahead to tomorrow.

This year at Pine Barren just got a lot more interesting.

And for once, it has nothing to do with hockey.