Page 90 of Deep End

“Because I say so.”

“So just because you’re Swedish, you get to decide—”

“Correct.”

I hide my smile into my knees. “I never get to use the only Swedish word I know. Just because yousayso.”

He snorts a laugh, and mutters something under his breath—something that sounds a lot liketroll.

“Hey, why do you keep calling me a—”

“I’ll teach you another.”

“Another what?”

“Swedish word.”

I give him an expectant look.

“Mysig.”

“Mysig,” I repeat slowly, and he chuckles. “What?”

“You really aren’t great at foreign languages, are you?” I glare. “Me-sig,” he says again. His smile tells me that my second attempt is no better. “Still sounds a bit like an intestinal parasite.”

“Hey,” I say mildly, “if you can’t handle me at my xenoglossophobic worst, you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best. What’sm. . . that word?”

He waves his hand at something that encompasses us, the trees, this moment in time. “This ismysig.”

“But what does itmean?”

“I’m sure whatever website taught youfikawill be happy to clarify that for you.”

“Somean.” I steal a long sip of his juice. The link betweenexcellent sex and appetite must have a titanium core. “Did Jan get home okay?”

Lukas nods. “Asks me to send you his regards every time he texts—and he texts a lot.”

“Oh. Did you tell him that we . . . ?”

“He figured it out all by himself.”

“When?”

He shrugs. “About two and a half seconds into seeing the way I look at you, according to him.”

“Oh.” A hot flush hits my face. “I’m sorry for coming along. I didn’t mean to intrude on your brotherly time.”

He laughs. “Brotherly time?”

“Isn’t that what you people with siblings call it?”

“Maybe monks do?” We exchange a long, intimate, too-full glance. “I’m glad you joined us,” he adds eventually, quiet in the outdoor morning. My heart . . . it doesn’tskip, but tripping is involved.

“Yeah?”

“I like spending time with you.”

The beats completely unravel, one after the other. “Thanks,” I say, instead of what I’m actually thinking.Maybe we could be friends. Aside from the sex, I mean. Idon’t have many. And you and I—we get along, right?Instead, I opt for the most milquetoast thing I can find. “I like hiking. Never get to go.”

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