Page 83 of Beyond the Lines
We fall into easy chat while he mixes the drinks—Marnie and Trevor aside, who are busy sucking face—and when Ben returns he’s carrying glasses of a suspiciously innocent-looking pink concoction that tastes like strawberry lemonade with barely a hint of alcohol.
I sip mine, partly because of his remark about mixing them strong and partly because I’m not a big drinker. But, even so, I’m halfway through when I realize my cheeks feel warm and the room has taken on that slightly soft-edged quality that signals the first stage of tipsy.
As the game resumes, Ben stays close, hisshoulder occasionally brushing mine. Each time I empty my cup, another appears as if by magic. It’s… nice, honestly. The game, the easy conversation. After days of emotional whiplash with Declan, it feels uncomplicated.
“You’re pretty good at this for a first-timer, Lea,” Ben says, voice lowered so only I can hear.
“I’m a fast learner,” I reply, suddenly aware of how close he is, how his knee is now touching mine under the table.
Em catches my eye from across the table and gives me an exaggerated thumbs-up. I shake my head slightly, trying to communicate that this is just innocent flirting, nothing more. She responds with an elaborate series of facial expressions.
She texts me:
Okay, spill, what’s happening with blondie?
I reply:
Nothing! We’re just playing cards!
Em:
Uh huh… and his arm just happens to be draped across the back of your chair…
I throw a chip at Em, and she grins conspiratorially, then the game continues. But even as we keep playing, I concede that Ben is cute, attentive, and seems genuinely interested. And unlike Declan, there are no lies, no criticism, and no connection to Mike…
No drama.
And after the last few weeks, that’d be a real plus.
Three drinks in, the room has taken on that pleasantly fuzzy quality where everything’s just a bit softer around the edges. Ben’s arm is still draped casually behind my chair, and the heat of him so close makes my skin tingle in a way that’s not entirely unwelcome.
“I’m bored with this game,” says a guy whose name I think is James. “Anyone up for something more interesting?”
Ben perks up. “Like what?”
“Same game, but with consequences,” James suggests, shuffling the cards with a flourish. “If someone calls bullshit on you and they’re right, you do a forfeit.”
“What kind of forfeit?” Ping asks, sounding skeptical.
James grins. “Dares. Nothing too crazy. Sing a song, do a dance move, whatever.”
Trevor nods enthusiastically, coming up for air after kissing Marnie for most of the last two minutes. “Hell yeah.”
“I’m in,” Marnie says, eyes flicking to Trevor. Her intentions are about as subtle as a neon sign, and she looks at Em and me, desperate for support.
“What do you think?” Ben asks me, his breath warm against my ear. “I’ll go whichever way you do…”
I shrug, feeling brave. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact that for the first time in weeks, I’m not thinking about Declan every five seconds. “Why not?”
Em gives me a look across the table—part surprise, part approval—then she nods. “I’m in as well, but anyone who wants to bail on a dare can do so?”
“Alright then, that sounds fair,” James deals new hands. “Let’s see what we can cook up…”
The first few rounds are innocent enough. Someone has to do the chicken dance. Ping recites the first twenty digits of pi (because, of course, she knows them). Trevor does a surprisinglydecent impression of a Professor that has us all in stitches.
They’re nerd dares for a nerd party.
It feels like we’re getting closer as we play, and maybe it’s the booze in me, but this feelssomuch warmer and more welcoming than the frat party. There’s no bro culture, no bullshit… just a bunch of us having fun, within our limits, respected by others.
