Page 17 of Facing the Line

The imposing house on Old Greek Row is made less so by the debauched college students that populate the lawn. Tarps have been set up outside, creating walls and covering everything from view, so it feels like we’re inside a tent. There’s a bonfire going somewhere, and the smell of smoke lingers in the air. That and weed. The night is crisp, too close to fall for me to be wearing this dress. But I look good, so it’s worth the goosebumps that pebble my arms.

When Devon offers me the green plaid flannel shirt he’s wearing, I’m not too proud to say yes. It’s soft and smells like expensive cologne. He and I started a conversation when I got my drink. He’s a member of the frat, but not in a “frat boy” sense. He’s a junior, a music major, and he plays guitar in a band. I have to admit, that’s hot.

He’s handsome, with straight brown hair, cut a little too long, and brown eyes. A tattoo peeks out from the hem of his white t-shirt sleeve, and that’s hot, too.

We’ve covered the small talk topics already, and Devon is nice. He hasn’t blatantly stared at my chest or used cheesy pick-up lines. For all he’s attractive, there’s not much of a spark between us.

Why did I feel more of a thrill when Jonas’s name popped up on my FaceTime? Or when he said my name, his voice low and urgent?

Jonas is off-limits. Maybe sparks are overrated. I could be friends with Devon, and aren’t all decent relationships built on friendship? He’s not a jock, that’s for sure, and while Hunter wouldn’t approve, that doesn’t count. He wouldn’t approve of anyone. Sparks can probably grow over time.

So I shrug. “You can call me, if you want.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, and he hands me his phone. “Here, put in your number.”

“You’re just going to hand over your phone? That’s awfully trusting.” I inject a singsong note into my voice to let him know I’m teasing.

But Devon puts his hands in his pockets and rocks on the balls of his feet. “Look at whatever you like. I’m an open book.”

What kind of invitation is that? I raise a brow, but he doesn’t stop me. Instead, he steps closer and peers over my shoulder. I open his texts, and his mom is top of the list. I check his camera roll. No dick pics. Shouldn’t be a high bar, and yet. It’s the sad reality of dating in the twenty-first century.

While he watches, I type in my name and number and text myself. I show him the notification on my screen so he knows I didn’t give him a fake number. I wouldn’t mind if he called me.

“You don’t fit the frat stereotype. How did you end up here?” I ask, returning his phone.

He puts it in his pocket and runs his hand over his hair. “I was a legacy. It was kind of expected in my family.”

I nod. I guess that’s probably how it is for Hunter. I’m not sure he had a choice about playing hockey.

What’s expected of me? If I follow in my mom’s legacy, I’ll end up pregnant, married to a professional athlete, andeventually obsessed with men who will let me down. No sense of self, no independence. Yikes.

I need to try harder to avoid that path. The thing is, I’m not sure what I want, and I’m not ready to settle down. I know what Idon’twant, though, so I put my hand on Devon’s arm and lean in.

“Well, I’m glad, because I might not have met you otherwise.” I let a flirty note creep into my voice and based on the way his brown eyes light up, Devon is picking up what I’m putting down.

Before I can reel him in any further, Kendall appears at my side.

“Girl, I need you!” Laughing, she tugs me away, and I wave helplessly at Devon.

“What’s the big emergency?” We stop, breathless, by the back door to the big frat house.

“First off, I have to pee, and I’m not standing in line by myself.” She shakes her head. “And second, I’ve gotta get my dance on.”

I follow her into the house. It’s an odd mix of traditional decor and college life. There are also lions everywhere. Doorknobs, drawer pulls, knickknacks on shelves, and framed pictures on the walls. Is that… a majestic oil painting in the living room? Weird. Music blares from speakers set up somewhere, and partygoers mill around, drinking and talking.

We make our way through the kitchen, where people are crowded around the counter bar, and we wind through the house until we find the long line for the bathroom.

I sigh, but I get it—I wouldn’t want to stand here by myself either.

“So how are things going with JaShawn?” I ask as Kendall leans against the wall.

She smiles and bobs her brows. “Good. Actually, if it’s okay with you, I might stay the night here with him?”

I wink at her. “Of course it is! I can get myself home. I’m glad things are good between you!”

“I really like him.” Her face shines with enthusiasm, and I get a little pang in my chest in response. I’m happy for her, and JaShawn is nice. But there’s a part of me that wants what she has—the anticipation, the excitement over another person.

Kendall takes her lip gloss out of her pocket and uses her cell phone camera to reapply. “Who were you talking to? He was familiar.”

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