Page 82 of Beyond the Lines
“So am I,” Em says. “But I’m positively excellent—and I mean *excellent—*at trash-talking.”
We make our way to the table where five people are already seated. Marnie is now next to Trevor, who I have to admitishot. I don’t know any of the others, but a guy with wavy blonde hair looks up as we approach, his blue eyes glowing under the party lights as he smiles.
“Hey, new players?” He scoots over, making room for us. “I’m Ben. And you guys are…?”
“Lea.” I slide into the space next to him, in the process catching a whiff of cologne that’s pleasant.
“Em,” my roommate supplies, plopping down across from us. “But you may as well call me ‘victor’, because that’s all I plan to be tonight…”
Ben laughs, but his gaze is on me the whole time. “Cool.You guys want drinks before we start? I’m about to grab another.”
“I’ll just take a beer,” I say, hoping to pace myself. I’ve had enough drama lately without adding drunk texts to Declan into the mix.
Stop thinking about Declan.
It’s officially been five minutes since my last Declan thought.
Progress!
Em asks for a beer as well, and Marnie asks for a white wine. The group chit-chats until Ben returns with drinks and settles in beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he deals the cards.
“Ever played bullshit before?” he turns to me and Em.
“Only with my exes,” I respond without thinking.
The table erupts in laughter, and a girl with a nose ring declares, “I like her.”
Ben explains the rules, which are simple enough—try to get rid of all your cards by playing them in sequential order, and lie when necessary. Everyone else has to decide whether you’re bullshitting or not, and whoever is wrong ends up with the cards.
The first round starts, and I’m surprised by how quickly I get into it. Ben is a good player, subtly coaching me without being condescending. My competitive streak emerges as we continue, and I find myself getting genuinely invested in catching other players’ lies.
Everyone wins their share of hands, me included, and before too long an hour passes in laughter and good-natured accusations. It shocks me when Em tells me the time, and I realize that I’ve gone a full twenty minutes without thinking about Declan.
Until now.
Damn it.
But still, that’s more progress!
“Two queens,” Ben announces, placing cards face-down on the pile.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Bullshit.”
He flips the cards. Two queens. “Guess you can’t read my intentions…” he says.
That was definitely flirting.
Wasn’t it?
I glance at Em, who’s wiggling her eyebrows at me like a cartoon villain.
Subtle.
Someone announces their victory in the next round, and a guy in a Pine Barren sweatshirt suggests shots to celebrate. Before I can protest, Ben’s on his feet volunteering to mix drinks.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me, “I’m known for making drinks that taste like juice but hit like a freight train.”
“That… doesn’t sound reassuring, actually.” I laugh, then wince inside at how schoolgirly the laugh sounds.
