Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

I lift my chin and meet Lukas’s eyes, a little combative. Maybe I thought about you after what we did. Maybe I find you interesting. Maybe I like you without being liked back. I refuse to be ashamed.

“Please, Jan.” I prop my chin over my palm. “Tell me everything about his self-deception.” “Well, I’m sure you already know how good he is at denying himself. The more he wants something, the less he’ll let himself have it.”

interesante

I ask, “How long?” He knows what I mean. How long were you going to deny yourself, this time? How long till you planned to reach out to me again? “Fifteen days.”

“Because sometimes I can’t breathe when you’re around.”

“I had no frame of reference for how much I…” I can fill in the blanks. I liked it more than I thought I would, and it scared me.

“Am I overstepping here? Are you two…?” “No.” I shift away. I can’t take him touching me again. “Why do you care, then?” He’s asking Lukas, who informs him, “She’s my sister.”

“Last week I learned a German proverb. ‘Even a blind chicken finds a piece of corn every once in a while.’ Or something.” I shrug. “And Trevor did ask a fair question.” “Which is?” “Why do you care?”

“By process of elimination…” I lift my index finger. “You’re not warning him off out of jealousy, because that’s not a feeling you are capable of entertaining.”

“I owe you respect, I owe you care, and I owe you the truth. You, on the other hand, do not owe me forgiveness. But if you ever enter this kind of relationship with someone else…” His jaw grinds, tense. I don’t think he likes the idea. “These are the things you should demand.”

“I have heard great things about being stuck in traffic?” “Vacuuming is excellent, too.” I laugh. “Sadly, I don’t have a car. Or—and you’re not going to like this—a vacuum cleaner.” He looks genuinely worried. “What conditions do you live in?”

“My point is, I don’t have other options available to me.” My heart races. Slow down, I order, trying to breathe around the heavy thump. “Unless you have other ideas.”

Lukas takes my chin between his index and thumb. “After,” he starts. “Don’t just leave.” My brow wrinkles. “Wake me up if you need to. But don’t leave without saying anything.”

por favor qué pena

and the second he finds me wet, his tongue clicks, like I’m exactly what he expected and also— “Fucking out of this world,” he rumbles against my throat.

until his lips curve. “I despise him. I should just be grateful, though. If he wasn’t a world-class asshole, I wouldn’t be able to do this—” He pinches one of my nipples so hard, I forget how to breathe. Then his finger circles around my clit until I can get the stimulation I need, and— “You love it, don’t you?”

“You can take some more. My good girl.”

“Look at you.” Lukas presses a sliding kiss into my lower lip, adjusts himself with a hand between our bodies. “A fucking dream.”

“Too much?” he asks. I nod, a little desperately.

“That’s too bad,” he says, his voice at once mean and fond, like he contains every multitude I’ll ever need. “Since you’ll take what I fucking give you.”

Oh, sweetheart. Already? Just from this?”

“Abysmal timing,” Lukas groans before closing his teeth around my collarbone. “Coming home while I’m having the best fuck of my life.”

“We’re gonna have to train you to come a bit more silently, Scarlett. In the meantime.” His hand wraps around my mouth like last time, and my brain swims. Yes. Yes. Is it sick that I like it this much, knowing he controls my ability to breathe and scream?

When he comes, he lets go of my wrists and scoops me up, holds me even closer, and none of the rough things he chants in my ear are in English—except for my name.

I could stay here forever.

<3

“Will you spend the night?”

“I would like to, yes.” He almost smiles. I almost do, too. It’s so easy, slipping under the duvet, burying my face into his neck, savoring his sigh of relief as I settle in his arms.

voy a llorar

“Should I apologize about these, too?” I huff a small laugh. “You don’t sound apologetic.” “Because I’m not.”

“I don’t know if it’s right, but this is…” His mouth flattens. “You are exactly what I wanted.” The skirt drops, forgotten. “I think…” He’s so rarely hesitant, or lost for words, I almost don’t recognize his confusion for what it is. “I’d imagined it a lot. Ever since I became aware of sex, before I had a name for it. And I’d hoped that it would feel good, but this…I just didn’t know it could be like this.”

“Am I taking it too easy on you, Scarlett?” Teeth scrape against my jaw. “Am I being too nice?”

“That list, Scarlett?” His mouth slides against mine, messy, uncoordinated, sharing air that feels dangerously thin and hard to come by. “I’m going to do it all to you. All of it. And when I’m done, I’ll do it again. And if you don’t ask me to stop, I’ll do it again—”

“Oh. Did you tell him that we…?” “He figured it out all by himself.” “When?” He shrugs. “About two and a half seconds into seeing the way I look at you, according to him.”

“I like spending time with you.”

Mysig. Swedish adjective. Cozy. Warm. Soothing. The quality of sharing a comfortable moment with a person whose company one enjoys.

“I…don’t feel well,” I say, not meeting his gaze. I should have planned my excuse. Come up with an ailment that’s equally sudden and debilitating. I’m not ready to field any kind of question, but it turns out that I don’t need to. Because Coach Sima gives me a single glance, a glance that feels like his voice sounded a few days ago, in his office. All he tells me is “Then you should go home, kid.” My heart is full of thanks, but I cannot bear to say even one before I leave.

“A male underwear model is here to see you,” she yells.

“Is this going to be a thing?” I ask flatly. “Where you offer to pity fuck me after every competition I don’t win?” “Sure. I’m selfless like that. Right now, though, I’m more interested in figuring you out.”

“How do you even know that I was at Avery? Did you GPS me, or something?” “Oh, sweetheart.” My belly swoops at the endearment. His tone lives somewhere between sympathy and amusement. “If you don’t think that I’m very aware of your presence, always, you have no idea what’s going on.”

“You’re sounding more like my therapist, and less like a fun guy who threatens me with ball gags when I’m mouthy.” “We’ve established that neither of us is into those, and that I have better uses for your mouth.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” “Too bad, because I want to know.”

What Lukas fucking Blomqvist says to me, damn him to hell, is: “I’m sorry, Scarlett.”

“I never cry,” I say, sniffling, in lieu of an apology. “Liar.” He presses a kiss against my temple. “I’ve made you cry plenty of times.”

He kisses a hot tear from my cheek. “I think letting yourself be sad would be a great start.”

“You don’t have to be angry at your ex or at your father. I’m angry enough for you. But you need to acknowledge that what happened to you last year was terrible, that it gave you pain, and that you deserve time to heal in more ways than just the physical.”

“It’ll be okay, baby. No matter what happens, you will still be you. No matter what happens, you will be okay.”

“I’m here, okay?” I hope he’s right. Because I don’t know how much longer I cry on his shoulder—but I do know that once I cannot bear it anymore, I fall asleep in his arms.

I tilt my head, open my mouth, and bite into his triceps like it’s an Iowa State Fair corn dog. I expect him to yelp. Instead he slowly opens his eyes, buries a yawn into the bottom of my throat, kisses the very same spot, and asks, “Is it morning already?”

“Americans are so weak,” before pulling me even closer.

“You put stripper pole wax on your shins?” “It’s a grip aid. Divers use it to hold on to their legs, strippers use it to hold on to their poles. Have you ever seen strippers do their thing?” “This feels like a trick question.”

“Right. Well, I prefer the stripper stuff.” “You prefer the stripper stuff,” he repeats, toneless.

“So, no last words?” “Scarlett, I’ll talk to you in five seconds. What ‘last words’ are you going on about?”

“Scarlett,” he says, in that tone that’s final, that makes me feel like he’s hearing me and he’s got me and he’s there. That tone that makes me go silent. “I learned what an inward dive is after the first time you mentioned them to me. And I know one when I see it.” I blink up at him, my lashes clumped with water and chlorine and something else. “You mean…” “I mean.” He smiles, lopsided. “You did it.”