Page 102 of Deep End

“Naturally.”

“We really need to get out. I doubt the Avery family had this in mind when they bankrolled the aquatic center.”

His laughter is a hot huff against my ear. “Plus, we need to check those MCAT scores.”

“What—why do you evenrememberthat?”

“Because I listen when you talk. You’re on such a brave streak, you can open one little email.”

I groan into the curve of his shoulder. “Just let me have this moment.”

“You’re still going to have this moment.”

“It will betainted.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I—should we go to sleep? I have practice tomorrow morning.”

“Me, too. Let’s just accept that we’ll be asked to leave the team and make the most out of tonight.”

We laugh. He kisses me. I kiss him. It becomes something heated and deeper and—

“MCAT,” he reminds me. I feel the shift of his muscles as he lifts me to sit on the edge. The chill pebbles my skin, teeth instantly chattering.

“I really do hate you.”

“I know.” He pushes himself out effortlessly. “Your loathing cannot be contained. Troll.”

“Okay, why do you keep calling me—”

Another lingering kiss, and a couple of minutes later, I’m in the men’s locker room.

It’s the exact copy of ours, no messier or more foul smelling. Lukas cracks open a locker, pulls out a towel, and dries me, thoroughly, and himself, quickly. He puts one of his hoodies on me, and I savor the way it hangs softly past my thighs. “Hand me your phone,” he says.

“Actually, can we go to my locker and get a scrunchie?”

He knows exactly what I’m doing, but he’s willing to let me stall one more minute. In the women’s locker room, he watches me patiently as I detangle my hair, then asks, “Your phone.”

“Maybe we should go? You shouldn’t be here. Stanford Athletics might send you back to where you came from. Where you’ll enjoy all the skiing and upwards of seven herring-themed meals per day.”

“Scarlett.”

I sigh, and we sit next to each other on the uncomfortable wooden bench. I pluck at the fray of his well-worn jeans, half baking the idea to distract him with sex, but he traps my hand in his and doesn’t let go.

Instead, he holds out my phone.

“Why do I have to do it right now?” I whine.

“Because I’m leaving tomorrow night.”

I jerk back. “You’re leaving?”

He nods.

“What . . . for how long?”

“Ten days.”

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