Page 79 of Beyond the Lines
Two texts from Em:
5 minutes!
Followed by:
I’m ordering you extra fries. Heartbreak carbs don’t count. You’re welcome.
Rushing to the bathroom, I scrub my hands vigorously, then splash cold water on my flushed face. My reflection stares back at me, cheeks flushed pink, pupils still dilated, and lips bitten red.
I reapply some lip balm, tug my sweater down, and run my fingers through my disheveled curls. Better. Not great, but better. And by better, I meant there’s probably a fifty-fifty chance of my roommate figuring out what I just did.
Back in my room, I carefully close the sketchbook and return it to its hiding place. My body still pulses with the aftershocks of my orgasm, a pleasant, liquid warmth spread through my limbs.
The rational part of my brain knows this solved absolutely nothing. If anything, I’ve only made it worse—reinforcing the connection between Declan and pleasure, and feeding the attraction I’m trying to deny.
But as I grab my jacket and keys and race out the door, I can’t ignore the relief coursing through me. For the first time in days, my mind feels clearer, the obsessive thoughts temporarily silenced.
Maybe now I can sit across from Em and have a normalconversation without Declan’s name flashing in neon letters behind my eyes. Maybe. But probably not. And as I lock my door, a sudden thought hits me…
Tomorrow I have to actually face Declan.
Sit across from him.
Talk to him.
Look him in the eye.
After what happened in that bathroom, and what just happened in this room.
Oh god.
“I swear the dining hall somehow manages to make pasta both overcooked and undercooked at the same time,” Em says as we walk back from lunch. “It’s like a violation of the laws of physics.”
“A culinary paradox,” I agree, tucking my hands into my jacket pockets, still feeling comfortably full from lunch and still buzzed from my… starter. “Like fancy restaurants charging more for less food…”
Em laughs vigorously, then launches into her theory about the dining hall’s unwavering commitment to disappointing students’ taste buds, but I largely tune out. Because, holding hands as we walk back to our dorm, my mind isstillfor the first time in days.
We just finished lunch and, shit food aside, being able to talk to her for an hour about everything but Declan had been a godsend. Especially after my… moment… back in the room. She didn’t ask about him, I didn’t mention him, and it waswonderful.
So, of course, right now would be when I spot him.
Declan.
Head down in his phone, walking straight toward us.
“Oh shit,” I mutter, letting go of Em’s hand and ducking behind her so fast I nearly take out an innocent sophomore passing by.
“What are you doing—” Em starts, but I grab her shoulders and use her as a human shield.
“It’s Declan,” I hiss, hunching down to hide behind her five-foot-three frame, which would be laughable if I weren’t completely desperate. “Don’t look! Oh shit!Shit!He’s looking at you. Uh, wait—yes, look, but like, casually! Like you’re not looking for him specifically!”
Em sighs deeply. “You realize that you’re five-foot-five, right? And that I’m shorter than you?”
“Just… expand! Take up space! Channel your inner diva!” I whisper, trying to make myself impossibly small.
Em snorts but squares her shoulders as I attempt to contort my body into the least visible shape possible, pulling my hood up and practically crawling behind her legs. I’m being ridiculous, but the last person onEarthI want to see right now ishim.
“Is he gone?” I peek through the gap between Em’s arm and torso.
