Page 120 of Beyond the Lines
I glance down at my outfit—just simple leggings and an oversized sweater with the Eiffel Tower on it that slips off one shoulder. “Nothing special. I didn’t even try.”
“That’s why it works,” he says simply.
I busily arrange my pencils, hoping he can’t see the blush creeping up my neck. Even after weeks of this—ofus—I’m still not used to how he looks at me. Like I’m something precious. Something worth looking at. Something that he’s at risk of ravishing at any single moment.
“Stop distracting me,” I say firmly, though my voice wavers slightly. “This is serious art time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He adjusts his position slightly, his T-shirt riding up to expose a sliver of toned stomach. “Is this pose working for you?”
I grip my pencil tighter. “The pose is fine. Just stay still.”
My initial marks are hesitant. He’s not making this easy—lying there like some Renaissance painting come to life. When the hockey uniform comes off, Declan is all lean muscle and fluid grace. Even at rest, there’s a coiled energy to him, like he could spring into motion at any moment.
He’s an artist, with an artist’s gentle soul.
But with the Incredible Hulk’s body.
Even as my pencil moves faster over the page, I risk glancing at his face and immediately regret it. He’s watching me with that penetrating gaze that makes my insides turn to liquid.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I mutter
“Like what?”
“Like you’re mentally undressing me.”
“But I am mentally undressing you.” His voice drops. “Should I stop?”
I hide my smile behind my sketchpad. “Yes. We’re being professional artists.”
“Right. Professional.” He shifts, and I see he’s fighting back a smile too.
“Declan…” Isigh.
He grins. “I should point out that artists and their models have a history of?—”
“Don’t finish that,” I warn, but I’m laughing. “We have an assignment due.”
As I work, tracing the curve of his jaw, and the breadth of his shoulders, I’m struck by how comfortable this feels. How right. An easy silence falls between us, broken only by the soft scratch of my pencil and the occasional direction to adjust his position.
And that’s when it hits me, with the force of a sledgehammer.
I love him.
The realization makes my hand freeze mid-stroke. When did this happen? This feeling that’s so big it makes my chest ache with the pressure of containing it. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.
It’s incredibly inconvenient.
Because loving Declan means the stakes just got a lot higher.
It’s not just about sneaking around and having fun anymore.
It’s about lying to my brother. It’s about potentially fracturing his relationship with his teammate. It’s about the scout and hockey and Declan’s future andmyfuture and a million other complications.
“Hey.” Declan’s voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. “You look like you just saw a ghost. Did my face suddenly get that hard to draw?”
I force a smile. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”
“About?”
