Page 17 of Beyond the Lines
“The potential violence…”
“Theentertainment value.” He grins wickedly. “We’reartists, Lea, weneeddrama in the human form tolive, tobreathe!”
I find myself laughing harder than I have in a long time. “What do you think Brad looks like?”
He snorts. “I’m picturing a backwards baseball cap and a tank top that says ‘Suns Out, Guns Out.’”
“Nah, that’s too obvious,” I slap his leg playfully, then instantly pull my hand away. “I bet he’s one of those guys who wears salmon-colored shorts…”
“And boat shoes…” Declan continues, not making a big deal about me momentarily touching him.
“With no socks?”
“Obviously. And probably a polo shirt with the collar popped.”
We both dissolve into raucous laughter. The movement brings us closer together, and suddenly I’m very aware of how little space there is between us. Dec shifts slightly, and his knee brushes against mine. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I have to resist the urge to lean into him.
“Hey,” he says softly, his voice taking on a different tone. “Do you want to get out of here?”
My stomach drops to the core of the Earth, and I tense up immediately, feeling like all the energy and warmth has been sucked out of the conversation. Because ofcourse—of course—this is where it was heading. He might be different from the other guys at this party, but he’s still a guy, and?—
“Not like that,” he adds quickly, clearly sensing I’d gone ice-cold. “I just meant… there’s this diner nearby. Marie’s. Good coffee, good French toast, no EDM…”
I study his face, looking for any sign that this is a line, and his real intent is to whip me away to his apartment, get me naked and ravish me. Not that that sounds likesucha bad idea, but I was enjoying just talking to him, and I’m worried my embargo might be a little shaky if push comes to shove.
But coffee and French toast?
There’s no harm in that, right?
“I don’t know,” I say, unsure.
“No problem, another time, maybe,” he says. “Hand me your phone?”
I stare at him for a second, confused, then do as he asks. I unlock my phone, and hand it to him. Any concern I have about what he’s doing disappears when I realize he’s putting his number in my phone, and then he hands it back to me with no drama. He’s giving me the choice. And that means the world to me after Chris lied to me and made me feel sofuckingsmall.
“Text me, or not, you’ve got the option either way,” he says. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lea, and I’d love to talk more about art with you.”
And like that, he’s climbing to his feet, clearly intending to head back inside the party, taking my uncertainty for a rejection. No pressure, no hard sell, no gross pickup lines, and no sleazy glares or sweaty gropes. And, as he takes a few strides away, I suddenly don’t want the night to end.
Watch the fuck out, Lea, my mind shouts.You might have found a nice guy!
“Wait,” I say.
He turns. “Yeah?”
“French toast, you said?”
“The best.” He nods. “Although you might prefer to wait for Brad…”
I laugh. “You make a compelling argument.”
“I try.” He grins. “And I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”
I pretend to consider, even though I’ve already made up my mind. Because yes, I barely know him, but I also feel like I’ve known him forever. And the thought of ending this conversation right now feelssowrong somehow. I stand, wobbling slightly on my heels.
Dec reaches out to steady me, his hand feeling warm on my elbow. “You good?”
“Great,” I smile. “But I reserve the right to stab you with my fork if you try anything.”
