Deep End(102)

I instantly spot Lukas, even though everyone in the delegation is as tall as him. His hair is a little shorter than when I walked out of his house a week ago, but he’s still himself. Still handsome. Still mi— “Scarlett?”

A second later he’s in front of me. He reaches out to touch me, but I feel myself inch back a little, even through the flutter in my chest, the prickling heat in my throat.

I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just too overwhelming and too soon, having him near me after the gaping void of his absence.

He gets the memo. Of course he does, dialed in as he is. “I thought you’d rest at the hotel.” His blue and yellow compression shirt does great things for his eyes.

“Our coach doesn’t believe in rest. She’s probably wondering why I’m not running laps.”

He smiles, wider and so much more boyish than usual. So happy to see me, I’m a little floored. “How’s your pool?” I ask, to distract both of us.

“Only used the warm-up one, but fine. The diving tower?”

“A problem, actually.”

“How so? ”

“I’ve been looking for something to complain about. Lay the groundwork for what I’ll blame my future failed dives on. Can’t find anything, though.”

“A tragedy.”

“See, you get it.”

He stares, smiling. I stare, smiling. Maybe no one would catch a single, tiny hug. A small kiss. My hand in his.

“Hi.” A man appears at Lukas’s side—wearing the same shirt, built like him, dark skinned. His smile is warm. “Wasn’t your hair red last time we met?”

My heart capsizes.

“Different person, Ebbe.”

“Oh, shit.”

“This is Scarlett Vandermeer. Scarlett, Ebbe Nilsson.”

Ebbe shakes his head. “And an idiot.”

“Don’t worry about it. Pen and I don’t look too different.”

“That’s probably a lie, but thank you. USA, right?”

“Yeah. Lukas and I are in school together. We . . .” We? Lukas watches me, entertained, like he’d be fine if I said, Responsibly practice BDSM together. “Collaborate on a biology project,” I end weakly. Big middle school science fair vibes. “I was looking for food, actually. Where did you get your, um . . .”

“Ball?” Ebbe asks.

“Precisely.”

“Come with me.” Lukas’s fingers wrap around my upper arm. “I’ll walk you to one of the stations.” We’re on our way out when someone yells something at him, which starts a quick back-and-forth in Swedish that ends with laughter and “Vi ses.” It was on my app, but I can’t recall the meaning.

“What was that?” I ask. His teammates seem to be studying me.

“They wanted to know whether I’d join them for dinner.”

“And? What did you tell them? ”

He guides me out, fingers pressed against my upper back. My world coalesces to five points of contact. “I told them that I had better things to do.”



I can tell from the way Lukas touches me that he’s becoming impatient about the long bubbles of time in which we are apart.

It’s possible that I am, too, but he is in charge. He sets the rhythm. He is the one who fucks me standing up, my pants pulled down and my back pushed to the wall as soon as we’re inside his room. I’m not at my most lucid, but I estimate it lasts about three minutes. We both come, but he doesn’t stop. When he slips out of me, it’s like being thrown into a freezing lake. Then he turns me around and shoves me face down on the bed.

“I need a minute to—”

“Nah.” He pushes inside me in one thrust. I’m as wet as I could be, but he’s Lukas, and it’s not easy to let it happen. “I’ll fucking tell you what you need.”

He’s been rocking inside me for about fifteen seconds when I come again, a rush of heat spreading through me, my cunt clenching in tender little pulses. I can’t stop. Can’t get myself together.

“You’re made for this, aren’t you?” His fingers fist at my nape. They take several turns in my hair, until it’s wrapped around his hand, until I feel the brush of his knuckles against my scalp with each tug.

“A beautiful thing. Made for me.”

I nod, and it pulls at my skin. Then he’s moving inside me deeper than before, deeper than ever, and the achy spot he presses against feels like the origin of all pleasures and pains.

“Shhh. You have to be quiet.” I realize that I’ve been making wretched little noises. “I know, baby. I’m right here. Just breathe for me, it’s okay.” I hide my face in the pillow. It smells like cotton and laundry detergent and Lukas. “Be a good girl and bite into that. ”

Afterward, when the sun sinks and the shadows lengthen, I lift from the me-shaped spot in his arms, and press a kiss into the sweat gleaming at his temple. Gross, I tell myself, salt clinging to my lips. Except, it isn’t. I’m not capable of perceiving Lukas and his body as anything but good.

“Should we stop having sex?”

His look is mystified. Offended, too.

“I mean, doesn’t it interfere with athletic performances?”

“Is that a thing in diving?”