Page 38 of Deep End

“Oh, shit—sorry about that, man.”

“You’re fine. Same peninsula.” His thumb presses into my arch, strong, capable. I bite my lower lip. Hard.

Zach, whose hobby appears to be inquiring upon the five-year plan of everyone he meets, asks, “You going to move back there when you’re done with school?”

“We’ll see.”

“Your girlfriend lives here, right? Wait—weren’t you dating a diver?” His eyes dart to mine. “It wasn’t you, right?”

“No.” I clear my throat. Consciously slow down my breathing as Lukas’s grip trails upward, under the hem of my leggings.

Zach nods anyway. “Gotcha.” He laughs. And after an awkward beat: “What about you?” He points a pencil at me. “Are you dating a swimmer?”

“Me? I—”

Suddenly, Lukas’s hand is a manacle around my ankle, like I’m something for him to hold and control and restrain. My brain trips. I’m sure everyone—Lukas, Zach, the front desk librarian downstairs—can hear the erratic pound of my heart.

“She’s not,” Lukas replies, eyes steady, fixing mine. Voice rumbly and calm. His hand is a vise, and—

It’s just the way I’m wired. It’s written in my neurons, how much I enjoy the strength behind his grip. His size. The ease with which he could overpower me. He couldmakeme do things, and knowing that stokes a hollow ache in my abdomen. But he will not, not unless I give him the go-ahead, andthat’sthe kind of belly-warming knowledge that makes that ache even sharper.

It’s not morallywrong. It doesn’t hurt anyone. There are no victims here, but maybe it’s messed up? At the very least it’s sofucking—I don’t even know, heteronormative of me. Gender conforming. Regressive. Stereotypical.Banal. I hate it.

Iloveit.

“A diver, then?” Zach jokes, somewhat clumsy, and I need to rethread the conversation, find its lost stitches. Whether I’m dating a swimmer. Or a . . . ah.

“Nope,” I say, and Zach nods, like I’ve given the correct answer. He excuses himself with a soft “be right back,” and Lukas and I are alone, his touch light again. I open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing, why now, whyhere, but—I haven’t opened my mouth at all.

I’m just staring, lungs and heart not quite steady.

“He was trying to figure out if you’re single,” he tells me. His casual stroking continues in small, light patterns.

I swallow. Collect myself. “I knew that.”

“Did you? Really?”

Truthfully, no. But it has nothing to do with me being oblivious, and everything with his hands. “I’m not clueless.”

He hums low in his throat. By now, I know him better than to believe it’s in agreement. “Do you remember Kent Wu?”

“I don’t—wait. Swimmer?”

“Butterfly. Distance. He was a senior when you joined the team.”

“I think I do?”

“He tried to ask you out twice.”

“What?” I frown. “How do you—how wouldyoueven know that?”

“We were good friends. Still are.” He drums his fingers over the back of my foot. “He noticed you. We talked about it.”

Talkedabout it? What does that even mean? Lukas is probably thinking of someone else. Swimming and Diving are more incestuous than we like to admit, mostly because our chaotic schedules match well enough to allow the penciling in of some fucking. “You’re mixing him up with Hasan. He asked me out when I was still with my ex, a million years ago—”

“A million?”

“Two.Twoyears ago.” I bite the inside of my mouth. “You are very literal.”

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