Page 89 of Deep End

I come with a soft warble, echoed by the deep rumble of his grunt, and it lasts a long time—me, trembling against him, the loudrhythm of his breathing, the slow, reverential kisses all over my face and shoulders once he slips out and arranges us more comfortably on the bed. The clock on his nightstand reads eight thirty-seven, the light glows yellow through the open shades, and his arms are warm around me.

“I should leave,” I force myself to say.

I wait for Lukas to let me go. All he does is dip his face in my neck and inhale me like I’m some kind of drug. “I’ll come with. Put some breakfast in you.”

Oh. That sounds . . . “Okay.”Nice. “I should shower first.”

He shakes his head before I’m done talking and then pulls back to meet my eyes. His hand cups my nape, holding my head still. “Scarlett, if I want you showered after we fuck, I’ll do it myself. Okay?”

I shiver. It’d be gross. Right? I don’t know. If it is, I’m not sure that I care. “Okay.”

His smile is small, but it makes my entire chest flutter with happiness.

CHAPTER 37

IWAIT IN THE CAR WHILE HE PROCURES FOOD—BECAUSE I’M NOTsure I want us to be seen together, because I’m not presentable, because he confiscated my damn underwear and it’s sequestered somewhere in the kingdom of his bedroom, as accessible to me as theCuriosityrover.

When I ask, “How much do I owe you?” he looks at me like I asked him to join me on a hunt to exterminate the harpy eagle. “I can Venmo you,” I add, but he glances away and proceeds to pretend that his auditory cortex leaked out of his nostrils.

Whatever.

We drive a few minutes out of campus, stop at a small clearing off the road, and sit on the hood of his car to eat, listening to the chirps of the birds. The sun warms my cheeks; Lukas’s legs are impossibly long; when he slides off his shoes, I do the same, wiggling my toes, letting the breeze run through them.

My mind slips to yesterday’s competition, my latest-but-probably-not-last failure, but I leash it back, forcing myself to stay in the moment, savor the comfortable silence that’s been stretching almost uninterrupted ever since we left his home.

I bite into my egg-and-cheese bagel, moaning like it’s being shot up my veins. I haven’t eaten anything since well before the meet.After, I just wasn’t sure Ideservedfood. Maybe this is what I need—to be harsher with myself, punish my body and brain for the things it cannot accomplish, train the weakness and the failure out of—

No. I’m not thinking about thatnow.

I focus on each bite. The rustling of the trees. Lukas’s steady presence. We exchange a few glances—me, smiling, and him inscrutable. When I finish my breakfast, he picks up his second bagel and holds it out to me.

“Oh, no, I—”

“Scarlett,” he says. Just a word. Not an order. Still, it contains so much:I know you’re still hungry. I’d rather you eat it. Make me happy. Be full. I have no clue how I can read all of it, but when I close my hand around the still-wrapped bagel, he looks so satisfied, I know I’m right.

I eat two-thirds, then hand him the rest. He scans my face, measuring, curious, and then accepts it and finishes in a single bite.

I cannot help but marvel how quiet and stoic Lukas can be when he’s not bossing me around. How relaxed I feel with him, content to just be silent. How many fewer words we exchange while sharing a meal than while having sex. That last thought coaxes a small laugh out of me.

“What?” he asks.

I shake my head. “So . . . does this”—I gesture between us—“fall under the umbrella offika?”

“This is breakfast.”

“But we’re having coffee. And a snack.”

He frowns. “Still breakfast.Fikais midmorning.”

“Well, it’s nine thirty, and we usually wake up at five.”

“Fikais between meals.”

“We are between meals—dinner last night and lunch later today. If you think about it, every meal is between other meals—”

“This isnot fika,” he says, final. Arbitrary.

He might be getting mad. I might love it. “But why?”

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