FAULT LINES ? art donaldson

?. breaking serve

Brie had even started going to basketball games just to sit next to Val as she cheered for her boyfriend, Cameron. It was easy with Valerie. The kind of friendship that stuck like pine sap—quiet, sweet, and strong.

Val kept nudging her about Jaxon lately, giggling about how they'd be adorable together, about how Brie should finally "just give in already." But Valerie didn't know about Art. Not really. She only knew fragments about the half-smiles, a whispered kiss, a history Brie kept tucked under her tongue like a secret prayer.

Her father's voice echoed in the back of her mind, heavy as lead: He'll ruin you. She wanted to believe he was wrong but Art had her twisted up in ways she couldn't untangle. There was something about him, something that tasted like a mistake she'd make a thousand times over. A boy made of contradictions. Sweet lips, reckless hands.

Tashi's stare burned into her back during serves. Brie noticed it, of course she did, but she never flinched. They were two girls aiming for the same price. After losing to her in the Junior Opens, Brie had come back stronger. She had the cups, the record, the headlines. And she could feel Tashi's envy every time her name was called first in practice.

The glares? They tasted like victory.

The locker room buzzed with post-practice energy. Coach Williams had let them out early, and now cold water dripped from damp hair and bare shoulders as the girls sang along to the pop song blaring from the speakers. The air was thick with floral body spray, shampoo steam, and the kind of gossip that only bloomed in locker rooms. Laughter echoed off the tile.

Brie leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Val's cheek. "I'll swing by later, okay?"

Val grinned. "You better. Don't make me hunt you down."

Brie laughed, slipping her bag over her shoulder and stepping into the bright morning outside. The Stanford campus shimmered with spring. The snow had melted, leaving behind wildflowers that peeked from the grass like secrets.

She barely made it three steps before strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind, lifting her clean off the ground. A soft gasp escaped her lips, but it was swallowed instantly as Art's mouth found hers—slow, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to kiss her right there on the sidewalk.

"Morning, gorgeous," he murmured against her lips.

Brie's fingers instinctively found the edge of his jaw, brushing over the stubble that had no business being that distracting. Her heart did that annoying flutter again, the one she could never seem to control around him.

She tried to ignore the tightening in her chest, the memory of her father's voice warning her that love was nothing but a pretty detour. Art didn't seem to notice. He just looked at her like she was something he never thought he'd get to hold.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice still colored with sleep and steam from the locker room. A blush rose to her cheeks, but she kept her expression even. "You're really committed to this whole 'ambush me in public' thing, huh?"

Art grinned, unapologetic. "Only when it works."

Brie arched her brow. "And when does it not work?"

He didn't hesitate. "Wouldn't know. You keep kissing me back."

She laughed, finally, sliding down from his grip but letting her hands linger on his chest. "You've got a staring problem."

"Yeah," he said, letting his eyes sweep over her in a way that was both cocky and oddly reverent. "But only with you."

Her breath caught just slightly. He noticed, of course. He always noticed.