Page 31 of Beyond the Lines
There’s another groan all around the table, and someonethrows a napkin at his head, then Rook chimes in. “That was terrible,” he says.
“Your face is terrible,” Maine shoots back, but he’s still grinning. “Alright, Simon. Your turn. What’s your goal?”
Simon leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, there’s this girl in my Bio class...”
“We know,” half the guys in the room chorus, everyone sick of hearing about the girl he calls his muse.
“And I really want to get all...” He thrusts his hips suggestively. “Biological with her, if you know what I mean...”
Someone mutters “Jesus Christ” under their breath, then the banter—and revealing of less than serious goals—continues until Mike clears his throat. The table falls silent again, every single one of us respecting his role as captain, even off the ice.
“My turn.” Mike’s expression grows serious, and something in his voice makes me sit up straighter. “This is my last season as a Devil.”
The weight of those words settles over the table. Mike’s been our rock for three years. Our leader. The guy who pulls us together when we’re falling apart. But he’s in his senior year, and if all goes to plan, he’ll be off to the league to find fortune and fame.
“I want to give it everything,” he continues. “Win more games. Leave it all on the ice.”
“And score more chicks!” Rook adds with a grin.
Mike lobs a dinner roll and hits Rook square in the face. “Nice save, keeper…”
The table roars with laughter, meaning Mike’s earnest statement never gets the attention I think it deserves. I can see that there’s some pain behind his forced smile, like he wantedto share his goals with the guys and leave the bullshit for just a moment. I’ll have to talk to him later.
“OK!” Linc raises his voice slightly, calming the horde. “Food’s getting cold. We can finish the attestations after we eat.”
No one argues. The clatter of forks against plates fills the air, along with the usual team dinner chaos—jokes, laughter, stories about summer adventures, and failed hookups. I’m halfway through my second helping of chicken Marsala when Linc leans closer.
“So.” His voice is low enough that only I can hear, but his eyes are locked onto me like a tractor beam. “About this girl...”
I groan inwardly, because I don’t want to talk about it, but I know if I change the topic it’ll become a bigger deal. I glance around, and see everyone else absorbed in their own conversations, so there’s a small chance I’ll be able to limit the exposure to Linc.
“We met at that party,” I say quietly. “We talked, then we went to Marie’s to get a bite to eat…”
“Wait, you didn’t take her home, like, at all?” Linc’s eyes widen. “Damn. Must be special…”
“She is.” The words come out before I can stop them, and I feel heat creep up my neck. “I mean... we just clicked, you know?”
“Over what?” Linc’s voice is still low, but his interest is clear. “Please tell me you didn’t bore her with hockey stats.”
“Art, actually.” I push my food around my plate, trying to hide my smile. “She’s an art major too.”
“No shit?” Linc’s eyebrows rise. “So what, you guys just sat there talking about... I don’t know, brush strokes and stuff?”
“Something like that.” I think back to our conversation,how easily it flowed, how she got excited about the same things I did. “It was nice.”
Linc stares at me for a long moment. “Holy shit.”
“What?”
“You’re into her.” His voice rises slightly. “Like, really into her.”
“Keep it down,” I hiss, glancing around, knowing the guys will give me no end of shit if they find out. But they’re still caught up in their own conversations.
“Dude.” Linc’s expression is somewhere between amused and shocked. “I’ve never seen you talk about anyone like this. Not even that girl from the paper.”
“That was different.” I stab at my chicken. “That was just...”
“Sex?” Linc supplies helpfully.
