Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

But my celibate phase has been going on so long, I’m not sure it’s voluntary anymore, and I’d rather not mention that after what happened with my dad, men can be unsettling to be around.

(even if Dr. Carlsen’s perennial glower is a little unsettling).

OMG

“But you fixed the issue by getting wasted and offering me your teammate. Who, by the way, hasn’t breathed in over a minute.”

A pinch of discomfort is well worth the obscene amount of lo mein I’ll stuff inside my face once I’m home. I can be brave. I can be anything for noodles.

The thing is, I love reading Mafia erotica as much as the next girl with daddy issues, and my attraction for fictional guys making scenes in iconic, over-the-top ways is among my most virulent traits. But jealousy is born less of love and more of insecurity. And it intrigues me, the way Lukas obviously cares about Pen without being possessive of her.

The subject line just reads What you need. The body: If you decide to go for it, I think it should be me.

“It’s six fifteen a.m.,” she grunts. “Let’s keep unconscionable displays of happiness at a minimum.”

if Dr. Ozone-Hating Triassic Dinosaur Carlsen didn’t demand hard copies.

the one of Dr. Adam J. (Jackass?) Carlsen,

much more in line with my colleague’s research, and if my colleague wasn’t incredibly…persuasive,

ehehehehhehe

I’m starving, but my walk to the athlete dining hall is slow, because I’m busy writing an email to one Dr. Olive Smith.

His smile is kind. The “unfamiliar man, solo meeting” combo is not my favorite, though.

God, they’re loud. It’s all I can do not to jolt.

“Dude, maybe that’s why you’re so slow in the water. Your nose drags.”

“Earlier, in the hallway, you kept putting barriers between you and Zach—me, mostly. Then your face, with Kyle and Hunter. It’s not hard to guess, if one cares enough to pay attention.”

It’s not that women can’t be noisy, but boys feel so unpredictable, with their deep voices and abrupt movements and boisterous attitudes. Male athletes, on top of that, tend to take up so much space.

“What you and I want, it’s all about trust. We decide to be part of it.

“ ‘I desire to follow the footsteps of my heroes, such as Hippocrates of Kos…which is how I realized that my favorite bacterium was Bordetella parapertussis…and as I looked at Queen Amidala dying on the screen, I decided that I would become a doctor to help people like her survive to see their Force sensitive twins thrive…’ ”

Hobbies include staring at the As on my student transcripts.

Unknown: I do. I have a thing for women who are smarter than me. My heart hiccups.

And I think the German homework I’ve been turning in might be the written equivalent of burning a German flag?” Lukas returns and hands me my water bottle. “You’re taking German?” “Regrettably for everyone.”

His hand is a vise, and— It’s just the way I’m wired. It’s written in my neurons, how much I enjoy the strength behind his grip. His size.

“Do you remember Kent Wu?” “I don’t—wait. Swimmer?” “Butterfly. Distance. He was a senior when you joined the team.”

“He and Hasan are talking about soccer—sorry, football—somewhere in the living room. It’s so European in there, I had to get out before my dick turned into a bidet.”

Lukas, though, doesn’t give me the satisfaction. “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.

“Look at you.” His expression softens to something almost tender. “Is it so hard to believe that I saw you, and thought that you needed touching?”

For people like me, like him—like us—trust is the real currency. I nod, hazy.

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.” We’re in the middle of the lobby of our place of employment. Lukas’s voice is low and warm. And in my hand…

“Hey,” he says, soft. “I need to know what you need, Scarlett. And whether I can provide it for you.”

Because he may have touched me, but I never touched him before. And he knows that, too, because the following silence stretches long, as thick as molasses.

The reason I spend so long on each item is that they require an almost ridiculous amount of introspection. I’ve never been in the position to be fully sincere about my fantasies, and as a result I don’t yet know what they are.

His harrowing screech of pain after I tried to give him a hand job seconds after hand sanitizing.

“I’m meeting Hot Teacher. He’s…making dinner for me—Vandy, please, regain control of your jaw.”

Free? It’s Lukas. My pulse trips, but quickly steadies. I tilt my head and type: 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:

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s not a deal-breaker. But you clearly have triggers, and understanding what happened might help me steer away.”

Highly susceptible to inspirational messaging. Must NOT join cult.

Jeans and a dark Henley

nooooo

“I do miss them, but when I’m with them, I sometimes contemplate violence.”

I’m not sure how it happens. Maybe he’s the one pulling me between his thighs. Maybe I step into him. All I know is that I’m in his arms, my face buried in him,

He shakes his head. “You’re not cold, Scarlett,” he says. “You’re…soft.” “I’m not soft.” “You are with me.” His eyes meet mine. A dark, unflinching look that sands layer upon layer off me. “Maybe I make you soft.”

Maryam and I have quarterly household meetings that share a tried-and-true agenda: we start by blaming each other for the pigsty-like quality of our place, continue with some superficial stress cleaning that temporarily assuages the heft of our shame, and conclude by swearing on what’s dearest to us—my dog, her Cthulhu funko pop—that we’ll procure coasters and never again let entropy conquer us.

“We’ve got a bit of a regime situation going on.” He shoots a heavily insinuating stare at Lukas—who settles apple wedges on a plate, unbothered. “A full-on dictatorship, some would say,” Hasan adds.

“Is Kyle as enthusiastic a, um, cleaner as you are?” “He’s as terrified of Lukas and susceptible to his authority as I am, yes.”

“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.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Did you consider that I’m not a bed, or a condiment. I’m not hot water.” I try to sound as disengaged as he seems to be, but I doubt I’m succeeding. “Did you consider that I might be the type to hold a grudge? Or self-respecting enough to pick up the phone on the fifteenth day and say, ‘Fuck off’?”

I liked it more than I thought I would, and it scared me.

“Even if it’s just sex, it’s not a good idea for me to be with someone who resents wanting me.”

“They grew up together and are basically the same person. They know how to strike the chakra that’ll hurt the most.”

He must have expected to have to work much harder for my forgiveness, because it takes a long while to get the gist of what I’m offering.

I ponder shuffling his books out of alphabetical order, just to make a forehead vein twitch.