Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

and two results appear: the thread we’ve been using to make plans with Zach, and the other. What you need A hazy flush spreads over my cheeks.

Lukas is at the fountain right outside, refilling our water bottles. He conspicuously left the door open, and he made sure I was aware that he could see me through the glass doors. Ah, the frazzling ordeal of being known.

“Are you dating a swimmer?” “Me? I—” Suddenly, Lukas’s hand is a manacle around my ankle, like I’m something for him to hold and control and restrain. My brain trips. I’m sure everyone—Lukas, Zach, the front desk librarian downstairs—can hear the erratic pound of my heart. “She’s not,” Lukas replies,

“He noticed you. We talked about it.” Talked about it? What does that even mean?

same

“I’m not clueless,” I repeat. “You’re not. You just keep your head down. Focus on what you can control, and cut the rest out as much as you can without letting your world collapse. Right?”

“Oh? Does she—are we leaving?” “Just checking in.” His lips curve a little. “She’s protective of you.”

“Because you seemed…touch starved.” I blink at him once. Maybe twice. “And lonely.” He pushes away from the frame, finally inside. My brain hums, then blanks. “A little hungry, too.” He’s not talking about food.

“Come on, Scarlett.” His mouth twitches. “You know who I want to have sex with.”

“You know what fucks with my head?” It must be a rhetorical question, because he continues: “You’re at ease with me. I don’t think you realize it, but you tend to move closer when others are around. Sometimes you look to me, for reassurance maybe. And we’re alone right now and there are no signs of distress, and—at some point you chose to trust me, and you get why that gets me going so hard, right?” His voice is a slow roll that starts in his chest, travels through our limbs, ends in the red of my cheeks, the spill between my legs.

AMIGA

“Thank fuck,” he exhales, and my lips part against his thumb without meaning to. It gives him an idea, or maybe it was his plan all along. His finger slips inside, hooks just behind my teeth,

“The alternative?” I ask, surprised at how firm my voice is. “Say the word, and…” His jaw tightens. I marvel at the play of lights on the hollow of his cheekbones. “We’re going to find a time and place to meet.”

Instead I pull up an old email, type three words, and hit reply. When and where?

He doesn’t even have to search the crowd. His eyes lift up to meet mine, and when he nods, I finally manage a true, genuine smile.

“He asked me if we’re together.” Does he know Lukas broke up with Pen? “And what did you say?” “The truth.”

Then, still looking at his teammates, but lower: “Breathe, Scarlett.” I’m trying. I’m trying, but it’s not easy. “We’re going to need to work on this,” he says. “On w-what?” I scrape out. “Your tendency to let your vital organs shut down whenever something unexpected happens. Your neurons can only take so many anoxic events.”

“Despite what you Americans believe, Europe is not a single country where everyone speaks—” I quietly flip him off, and he laughs like I handed him the exact thing he wanted.

Pen puts down her brush. Her hand reaches out to squeeze mine, and I love, love, love that she doesn’t say shit like You can do it. Believe in yourself. It’ll be a piece of cake. Positive thinking. She’s just quietly there for me,

Scarlett: In Sweden, when you text, do they charge you by the word? Lukas: There’s an emoji surcharge, but I’ll make an exception for you: Lukas:

Lukas: Are you free tonight, Scarlett Vandermeer?

“Hey,” I say. His eyes open slowly, as though whirring to life. For a moment he looks so exhausted, my instinct is to scream, Go home, to bed, right now. Then his lips curve, just because I am here, and my heart beats in my belly.

“Scarlett.” Lukas leans forward, clearly amused. “We talked about this.” “About what?” “You need to breathe.”

“I can usually work through my triggers. I don’t like raised voices, but it’s not a hard limit. And I actually like being handled roughly. Control. Discipline. As long as it’s within specific contexts.”

Take my phone out of my pocket. Gently, hoping he won’t notice my trembling hands, I pop its case off. When he sees the piece of paper lodged inside, he smiles faintly. “Guarding it closely, huh?”

He lowers the paper and stares at me from over it, unsettlingly undecipherable. I shift on my feet. “And I couldn’t understand what—” I don’t get to finish that sentence. Because Lukas Blomqvist takes a long step, pushes me into the wall, and kisses me.

All at once it’s filthy. Deep. Sharp. Lukas’s lips are hot. His tongue is hot. His fingers, framing my face, are hot. My entire body is on fire.

It reaches the place where the hem of my shirt brushes against my lower back, gently lifts it, and his skin finally—finally—touches mine.

“Who made the rules?” “Me.” Tilt it more. “I think you’re okay with that, Scarlett,” he says.

“You say stop, I stop.” I nod. Nice of him, to remind me that— “No, Scarlett. There’s going to be some trial and error, for sure, but I need you to understand that it doesn’t matter how or when. You say stop, I stop.”

“The second thing is that I’ve read your list. And there is not a single thing you want that I don’t want more.” He leans into me for a kiss that’s at once chaste and clinging.

She shakes her head, and my heart is so heavy it’ll drag me underground, deep down to the center of the earth, where I’ll deservedly burn, because Pen, whom I’m starting to consider a dear friend, is… Grinning? “I told you so. I told you so. I told you so—I told you so. Who told you so? Me. Moi. Penelope Fucking Diana Fucking Ross, ladies and gentlemen and nonbinary friends, that’s who!”

“Yup. He called me early this morning. Said, You got your drunken wish, Penelope, and guess how I replied?” “ ‘I told you so,’ seventy-three times?” “Precisely.”

“If she’ll have me. I like her style. She’s hands-off, but involved. Trusts us to get shit done.” “And I bet you hate being micromanaged.” “You have no idea.” He cocks his head and studies me. “I bet you would, too. In the lab.” The subtext—but not everywhere else—is loud,

“You read the list?” he asks against the shell of my ear. I nod into his chest. His palm slides up, to the top of my spine, a slab of heat and touch, until his thumb finds the pulse at the base of my neck, wipes back and forth over it. “Good girl.”

“Will you do what I ask, then?”

He asked me to do something. And I cannot imagine anything better than to follow his instructions.

When my breath hitches, he presses a kiss to my cheek. “So sweet,” he murmurs, and then, “let’s go.”

I wonder if something like this birthed the expression fuck around and find out.

“Love the trust.” “It’s a hell of a drug.” We exchange a knowing look.

“You’re not cold, Scarlett,” he says. “You’re…soft.”

“No. I haven’t been pining for him. It’s been a million years, and—” “A million.” I roll my eyes. Smile. “One and a half years.”

“Is there an alternative?” he asks, like there is a right answer, before shaking his head, and mouthing something under his breath. Americans, I believe it is.

“Your house is so much tidier than mine,” I say, hating the awe in my voice. Lukas looks at me over his shoulder, a little judgmental. “That’s our closet.” He points at a wooden door. “You may borrow cleaning supplies.” I snort. “You’re officially never coming over.”

I’m still not sure why he brought me here instead of the library, but— A strong hand shoves me inside his room.

“Do you want to know a secret?” His voice is like nothing I’ve heard. A low hum. Hard-edged. Foreign. I nod. “I dreamt about fucking you.”

“Several times. Too many, probably.” I feel myself clench around nothing. “The first was about two years ago.”

“Scarlett. Can you be good?” I nod against his hand while the other pins my wrists to my belly.

“You are so fucking good,” he tells me.

“You’re pretty when you beg.” Another kiss on my cheek. “You always are.”

“I doubt Lukas wants me to go with you guys.”

“I’m no mind reader, but I know my brother, and he very much wants you to come. And even if he didn’t…” His smile is a bottomless pool of charm. “I want you to come. That’s what matters.”