Page 85 of Beyond the Lines
“Liar…” I smirk, feeling warmer all of a sudden.
“Just did it again,” he grins.
I knock back the rest of my drink, feeling warmth spread through my limbs. It’s nice being here, having fun, and flirting with a cute guy who doesn’t have anycomplicated connections to my brother. For the first time in weeks, I feel light. Normal.
Isthiswhat college was supposed to feel like?
I like it more than the emotional tumble dryer of the last few weeks.
Three rounds later, I’ve also lost my socks and my bracelet. The room has taken on that pleasant, spinning quality that makes everything funnier than it probably is, and there’s reckless freedom in the moment that feels more intoxicating than anything I’ve consumed.
“Three aces,” I declare, putting down three cards.
“Bullshit,” Ben and James say simultaneously.
I turn over the cards—none of them aces.
“Well, damn,” I laugh. I’m wearing a tank top underneath, so it’s not like I’ll be sitting here in my bra, but still.
“You really are terrible at this,” Ben says, his voice lower.
“Told you,” I shrug, pulling my sweater over my head. I’m left in a thin black tank top and jeans, while most others have only lost accessories.
The game goes around the table again a few more times, and I even manage to keep my clothes on a few rounds while others lose various items. And, seeing what’s happening from across the room, Em returns to the group and positions herself strategically next to me, on the other side of Ben, her worried glances becoming more frequent.
I’ve got no pairs, so I put down three cards. “Three kings.”
“Bullshit,” Trevor calls immediately.
The cards are, predictably, not what I claimed. I groan dramatically.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Em whispers as I debate my next move.
“Am not,” I whisper back, but honestly, I’m not sure.There’s something liberating about this silly game, about the way Ben’s eyes linger on me, about feeling desired without all the complications. About not overthinking and just letting go…
“Jeans,” I announce boldly.
“Whoa, you still have jewelry on,” Ping points out, gesturing to my earrings.
“But jeans are more dramatic,” I argue, and the others laugh. “And I’m an artist!”
Em puts a hand on my arm. “Maybe take a water break first?”
“I’m fine,” I insist, though the room is definitely spinning. “Just having fun.”
“Bathroom break!” Em declares suddenly, grabbing my arm. “We’ll be back.”
Before I can protest, she’s dragging me down the hallway, my jeans still partially unbuttoned. She pushes me into the bathroom, locks the door, and turns to face me with her arms crossed. The look on her face is the most serious I’ve ever seen.
“What are you doing?” she demands.
“Playing the game,” I say, leaning against the sink for support.
“No, you’re strip-teasing for the hot blonde guy while getting progressively more drunk.” Em’s voice is gentle but firm. “Which is fine if that’s what you want to do, but I need to know you’re doing it because you want to, not because you’re torn up inside and trying to forget about someone else.”
I blink at her, the words cutting through the pleasant haze. “I’m just having fun, Em, I promise.”
“Are you? Because you’re losing clothesanddowningdrinks faster than anyone else,” she puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, I know Dec?—”
