Deep End(37)

“Have you met Johan?” He points at the guy next to him, whom I recognize as The Other Swede. He looks like he could be Lukas’s cousin, just blond.

“I’m Scarlett, nice to meet you.” I smile and hold out my hand.

Which he takes, even as he says, “It’s also very nice to see you, but we already met.”

Shit. “Oh. Um, right, of course, I—”

“Don’t take it personally, Johan. She didn’t remember meeting me, either.” Lukas’s smile, somewhere between teasing and tender, has me flushing. He and Johan have a brief Swedish conversation that ends with Johan nodding, and then smiling at me like we’re more than one—no, two-time acquaintances. Like he knows things about me.

I look up at them, neck craning. They could be talking about the stock market economies, their favorite dactylic pentameters, or the size of my boobs—I have no way of telling. Did I hear the word troll?

“What was that?” I ask Lukas after Johan leaves.

“He asked me if we’re together.”

Does he know Lukas broke up with Pen? “And what did you say?”

“The truth.”

“Which is?”

I’m beginning to suspect that a conversation is over when Lukas Blomqvist decides he’s had enough, because he doesn’t reply. Instead he reaches into his pocket and hands me a sheet of paper, folded once and then again. I open it out, and— Oh my god.

Cheeks on fire, I hug it to my chest. Where my heart is racing against my ribs.

“You know what that is?” he asks casually, like he’s talking about calculating a molecular orbital and not— “Bye, Luk!” A small group of swimmers walks by us. “See you later, Sweedy,” another adds, trailing behind them.

“Great job today, everyone,” Lukas says. 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 . . .

In my hand there is a list of the filthiest things two people can do to each other.

“Do you know what that is?” he repeats, patient.

I nod, forcing myself to inhale deeply. Here, brain, have some oxygen and glucose and . . . porn? “I am familiar, yes.” It just caught me by surprise. And it’s not my fault if the first thing I read on it was cum play. It’s a dramatic sea change—from talking about sex in the vaguest of terms, to holding a piece of paper that proudly proclaims DDLG.

“Ever used one of these?”

“Not really. I . . .” Truthfully, I researched them. And I read them through. And I debated showing them to Josh. And then I realized someone who balked at the idea of nipple clamps would probably not enjoy reading a BDSM checklist that included stuff like anal fisting, cross mounting, and chastity gear. “No.”

“Are you okay with using it now?”

“Yes. I am.” Very Fifty Shades, Pen would say with a smirk.

Pen. God. Will sober Pen still be okay with this?

“Text me when you’re done filling it in,” he says. All business.

“What about yours?”

“I’m done with mine.”

“Can I see it?”

One of those crooked smiles. “Are you trying to copy my homework?”

“Well, it would help.”

“And it would save you the ordeal of having to admit to your own wants, wouldn’t it?”

He’s absolutely right. And I am mortified that I even asked. “Okay. I . . . thank you for giving this to me. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” I make to leave, but a finger slides in the belt loop of my jeans and pulls me back. Close.

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

It should be me.

“What if . . .”

“Listen.” His thumb and forefinger find my chin and lift it. His eyes are a level, impossibly pretty blue. “I spent the last few years with someone who had no interest in any of this, and have lots of experience with mismatched sex drives. I can handle you not wanting the same things as I do, and I’ll never judge you for what you’re into. Fuck, some of the things that I want—” His laugh is an unamused huff. His hand runs through his hair, tousling it a little.

It occurs to me that maybe it’s hard for him, too, coming clean about this. That we both have some baggage when it comes to being honest about what turns us on. And more importantly, that I want to know everything about his desires, and it’s natural for him to want the same.

“Okay.” My smile is small, but sincere. “I’ll do it as soon as possible.”

“Take your time. Think it through.”

I snort. “I feel like the weak link in a group project. Last to do her part.”

“Hmm. That’s not incorrect.”

I poke at him. My index finger finds the side of his stomach, and for a moment I cannot process the everything of what I’m feeling. The solid muscle of his obliques, the lack of yield, the shock of warmth.