Deep End(15)

I slacken in relief when he turns to Pen and Victoria’s synchro dives. Their hurdles are different heights. Their twists are poorly timed. And they’re both doing whatever the opposite of nailing is to that pike.

“Just to be clear, you two are attempting the same dive, right?” Coach yells.

I spare myself the roast comedy, change into dry clothes, grab a protein bar from the snack shed, and go stretch.

My PT gave me a list of exercises that should keep my injured shoulder from crapping on me again. Three times a week, over one hour. When she told me that skipping them would equal certain reinjury, I wished for a swift death, but they’ve grown on me. They are gentle, slow, an excuse to be kind to my body. To not push it past its physical boundaries and instead follow its lead. It’s after sunset by the time I’m done. Avery is deserted, and when I swipe my ID, the locker room door won’t open, no matter how many times I try.

And it’s many times .

My house keys, my laptop, my wallet, are all in there. Maryam’s out of town for a wrestling meet. I feel bad about calling Pen, but team captains have physical, old-fashioned keys.

“Hey,” I say when she picks up. There’s noise in the background. Hopefully she’s still on campus.

“Hey! Everything okay?”

“Kind of.” I think I can hear music. “The locker room door is doing that thing again, and I can’t find any staff.”

“Oh, shit. Hang on—I’ll . . . give me a second.”

What comes next is muffled, like her phone mic is pressed against the fabric of her shirt. I pick up a brief exchange between Pen and a deep, male voice, but only make out two words: someone and else.

“Vandy? Hey, could you . . . could you call Luk? Or any of the other captains? We all have keys.”

But isn’t Lukas with you? I almost ask. Before I can, everything clicks into place.

“Oh.” I pause for too long. “Sure, I will,” I say, with no intention of doing so. First of all, I don’t have his number. Secondly—fuck that. My nonconsensual involvement in this relationship is maxed out. I’m not calling Lukas because Pen is—

“Actually, I’ll text him your number and tell him myself, okay?”

Shit. “I don’t want to bother him.”

“He’s the captain. Part of the job description. Just sit tight, he’ll be there ASAP.”

Thirty seconds later, I’m considering drowning myself in the pool, when my phone pings with a text from an unsaved number.





CHAPTER 9


UNKNOWN: On my way I stare into the abyss of those three words—and boy, does the abyss stare back.

Does Lukas know why Pen won’t come herself?

I close my eyes and lean back against the wall, taking several deep breaths. This will be over soon. 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.

Lukas arrives less than ten minutes later, damp hair falling on his forehead, a single pair of keys dangling from his index finger. He approaches with the relaxed, long-legged gait of someone who’s at peace with the universe. I stare at him staring at me, not quite sure how to make myself stop.

Notable fact of the day: he’s wearing shoes.

It occurs to me that one of us should probably say something—hi or how are you or you ruined my night, shithead—but for indecipherable reasons that don’t fully have to do with nerves or discomfort, neither of us speaks for too many seconds. Until: “Want to get it out of the way?” he asks .

Rich. That’s what I’d call his voice. Rumbly, maybe. “Get what out of the way?”

“The elephant in the room.”

I swallow. Is he referring to . . . ?

“The one with the ball gag in his mouth.”

Laughter pops out of me. “Wow. Ball gags?”

He shrugs. “Not really my thing, actually.”

I stop myself from saying, Not mine, either, because—it’s not like he cares. Still, the knot of tension between us loosens. “Maybe the elephant’s just . . . blindfolded?”

He nods slowly. “And tied up.”

“And doing as it’s told.”

He looks like he might find that more appealing. “What a good elephant.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks. I tear myself away from the weight of his eyes. “Okay. Well. I’m glad we got over the awkwardness of barely having had a conversation and yet somehow knowing the kinky sex stuff the other’s into.”

“I don’t know what you’re into,” he says. It almost feels like something’s being withheld. A yet. A but I’d like to. An unfortunately. Or it could just be his intonation. English is not his first language.

I clear my throat. “Thank you for coming.”

“No problem.” He unlocks and holds the door open for me, careful to keep his distance—which I appreciate. Deserted hallway. Big man. Not a huge fan. “I’ll wait till you’re out.”

“You don’t have to.”

“The doors have been jamming both ways.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

He stares at me, doesn’t move, and . . . okay. Fine. Thank you. Polite, decent people who care about your safety—gotta hate them. I hurry to pick up my stuff. Dinner, I tell myself. My reward. The promised land .