Page 37 of Beyond the Lines
Actually kiss her, right on her glossy, perfectly lined lips.
“Food truck festival?” Ping—one of the other strays we’ve picked up—perks up from her end of the table. “When?”
“Thursday,” Em says. “Right before the Princeton game.”
My stomach drops at the mention of the game. Because of course it does. Everything seems to circle back to hockey lately, like the universe is deliberately trying to torture me. It’sall Mike talks about, it’s all Declandidn’ttalk about, and now even my friends are in on the act.
“We should totally go!” Marnie bounces in her seat, nearly knocking over her water. “I heard the Korean BBQ truck is supposed to be there. And maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Em’s eyes narrow.
“Maybe Trevor will be there too, because I saw on Insta that he likes Korean food…” She smiles. “I might wear a?—”
“Because heaven forbid we do anything without the possibility of running into Trevor,” I mutter under my breath.
Em kicks me under the table. Hard.
“Ow!” I glare at her. “That was my shin!”
“Was it?” She blinks innocently. “My foot must have slipped.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but she just grins and takes a deliberate bite of her apple. I let out a sigh, and conclude that I probably deserved it. I’ve been in my head about Declan and Mike and the whole stupid situation for days, and I’ve probably been lousy company.
I’m angry at Declan, for lying to me…
At Mike, for being an overprotective ass…
At the whole stupid situation, because I’d been happy, and now I’m miserable…
And, if I’m being honest, at myself.
I’d had an embargo on guys for a reason. After the summer and the clusterfuck with Chris, I’d told myself I’d just settle into college and forget about romance for a while. Because, unlike some girls, I’m not interested in racking up a body count.
I’m here for art.
And, for a moment, I thought Declan was as well.
“So what do you think, Lea?” Ping asks, pulling my attentionback to the group. “Food trucks? Maybe we could all go to the game after?”
“I—” The word sticks in my throat. “Uh, I don’t know…”
Going to the game means seeing Declan. Seeing him with Mike. Seeing him doing the thing he conveniently forgot to mention he was passionate about, the thing thatdoesn’tinvolve sketches or painting or going to galleries…
He looked so excited talking about art that night.
Was any of it real?
I scramble for an excuse to back out. Because, since that night, the whole campus has been awash with chatter and flyers about the game. The posters have Mike’s big, dumb face on them. And the promotional video on the college socials has Declan’s big, beautiful body in it…
Gah!
No way!
Can’t do it!
“Sorry, I…” I scramble for an excuse. Any excuse. “I have this thing. For art class. A project.”
“On Thursday night?” Marnie’s skepticism is palpable. “Trevor is pre-law, and not evenhehas class on a Thursday night…”
