Page 16 of Beyond the Lines
“Would you believe it wasn’t my first choice?” I laugh, then tell him about my Rhode Island School of Design rejection, the gap semester, how I ended up here almost by accident. “But I’m actually really glad now. The art program here is amazing, and…”
“And?” he prompts.
I hesitate, then try to keep my tone light. “And the company isn’t bad either.”
“Oh, so I should beflattered?”
“Absolutely.” I grin. “I don’t just hide in a corner of a party withanystranger…”
“Hey, I’m an excellent candidate. I have beer,andI can draw.”
I laugh, but there’s truth in his words. Something about him puts me at ease in a way few people do. Maybe it’s the art connection, or his dry humor, or just… him. Between Em and Declan, I’ve kicked off my college experience in thebestpossible way.
And I also can’t deny the chemistry between us.
The way I laugh at his jokes, the way I blush every time he says something complimentary towards me. We’re eating out of each other’s hands, feasting on shared attraction and shared interests, and there’s electricity between us that’s impossible to deny.
Deny it, my mind shouts at me.Lea, for the love of God, deny it!
I shift slightly, trying to get more comfortable. “Favorite artists?”
“Contemporary or classical?”
“Either. Both.”
“I love Arden Surdam’s work. And Daniel Gordon…”
He launches into an enthusiastic explanation, and his hands move expressively as he talks. I find myself watching them—artist’s hands—as much as his face. There’s something captivating about the way he talks about art, like he’s revealing pieces of himself.
“What about you?” he asks. “Who inspires you?”
“Jenny Holzer,” I say without hesitation. “And Jean Shin…”
We fall into an easy conversation about art, the places we’ve been and would love to go, about the certain pieces that have stopped us in our tracks and made us see the worlddifferently—thatoh my Godyouhavetocheck out—and as we do, the party fades into background noise.
I can’t remember the last time I clicked with someone like this. Even with Chris, our conversations never went this deep this fast. We’d discussed travel and music and movies, sure, but those conversations were nothing like this—not about the things that really matter to us. Then, out of nowhere, a thought catches me off guard as we talk.
God, I want to draw Declan.
I haven’t felt the urge to sketch someone this strongly since… well, since Chris. But where Chris had been all sharp angles and dramatic contrasts, Dec is different. There’s a softness to him that belies his athletic build, something almost classical about his profile, and my imagination is ablaze with possibility.
Stop it,I tell myself firmly.You’re not doing this again.
But even as I think it, I know it’s too late. I’m already mentally considering how best to capture the exact shade of his eyes in the half-light. Then, for a brief moment, my mind flashes to imagining what he’d look like without his clothes on, alone with me in my bedroom, and I flush beet red.
“Are you OK?” Dec’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “You went quiet there for a minute.”
“Uh… just thinking.” I look away so he can’t see me blushing, gesturing vaguely at the party, desperate for a change of topic. “Wonder how Brad is going…”
Dec chuckles, looking at Sarah / Sienna. “Well, she’s crying into her phone… so now we get to bet on how long before she sleeps with someone else?”
“Twenty minutes, tops.” I pretend to consider. “Unless Brad shows up to ‘explain.’”
“Oh God, please let Brad show up.” Dec leans forward eagerly.
“No!”
“Yes!” Dec insists. “Think about it—the spectacle…”
