Page 20 of Deep End

“My ex sleeping with someone else? Why should it matter whetherIam okay with it?” He could stuff so much recrimination and self-pity in the words, but he’s a straight arrow. I detect only genuine puzzlement.

He and Pen really were perfect for each other. Extroverted and reserved. Grumpy and sunshine. Warm and frosty. They remind me a bit of Josh and me—except thatIwas the Lukas of the relationship. “You just recently broke up. Are you really not jealous?”

“Nope.”

“Is it a Swedish thing?”

“Maybe? I’ll ask my brothers. They might have some insight.”

I catch a small smile with the corner of my eye, and it relaxes me just enough to ask, “Do you still have feelings for her?”

It’ssonot my business. He tells me, though. “Sure. We’ve been through a lot.”

It’s not really an answer, but it echoes what Pen said. I wonder what it is that ties them together. Blood pacts? Body in the trunk of their car? Same sleeper cell?

I should tell him that I’m better, that he can let go of me, but my shoulder is in the throes of a hundred little orgasms. Which must be why I blurt out the question that has been buzzing in my head for days. “If Pen hadn’t . . . if you guys hadn’t broken up, would you have just gone with vanilla sex for the rest of your life?”

He mutters something under his breath. “Put like that, it sounds . . .” He exhales a laugh. His grip remains steady.

“Sad?”

“Frustrating.” A pause. “But yes, I would have.”

“Because you love that much?”

“Because I made a commitment to her.”

That’s more stubborn than noble, I think. Or maybe I say it out loud, because a soft laugh slides out of him, and my cheeks burn. “What I meant is, I don’t think that settling for an unsatisfying sex life because you take your commitments seriously automatically makes you a better person than Pen, who—”

“I know what you meant, Scarlett.” His thumb digging into my trapezium feels so good, I lose track of my mortification.

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.

His quiet self-assurance seems surprisingly mature. Boys around me, they feel like . . . well. Boys. But Lukas might already be a man.

“So,” I ask, “are you going to . . .” He finally lets go. My shoulder begs me to whine at him to continue, but I shut it up and turn to him. “Start seeing other people? Ball gag them, or . . . whatever it is that you prefer.”

His smile sits there, at the corner of his lip. “Still considering.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You’re single. Isn’t it simple?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“You can probably go to a bar tonight and find five hundred options.”

“Five hundred.”

“Well . . . many. Several.”

He nods like I’m making a good point, but then asks, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you seeing someone?”

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