Page 13 of Depths of Desire
The cabin was small, but not cramped. It was warm, the air smelling faintly of cedar and something buttery, like cookies had been baked there recently. Wood panels lined the walls and ceiling. A fireplace sat on one side of the room, across from a little living area with a two-seat couch and a deep armchair. A kitchenette stood against the left wall, with a bar-height table and two stools. To the back, half-screened by an open wooden beam divider, was the bed.
One bed.
One large bed, centered neatly under a wide window.
I stared at it for one long, frozen second before I dragged my eyes away.
The couch was too small. So was the armchair. There was no spare mattress, no fold-out anything.
Lennox dropped the bags by the kitchenette and gave a little stretch. “This place is kinda nice.”
I didn’t answer. My brain was busy running calculations. Angles, distances, options. None of them good.
He walked over to the fireplace and extended his arms, palms forward. Flames danced up behind the glass. He rubbed his hands together and glanced at me over his shoulder.
“You want first dibs on the shower?”
I shook my head. “You go.”
He gave me a curious look, then nodded and grabbed his bag, vanishing into the bathroom.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
I stood in the center of the cabin and stared at that bed again. My chest tightened. I could already picture the night ahead. Too much heat, not enough space, the unbearable proximity of his skin. And Lennox, warm and close, relaxed and asleep, while I spent the night doing breathing exercises with my limbs nailed to the mattress.
This was not survivable.
But it would have to be.
I checked the kitchenette again like I might’ve missed something at first glance. I opened the cabinets: nothing but plates and two mismatched mugs. I tried the coat closet near the door. Just hangers. I even squinted at the couch like it might magically grow a second cushion or foldout if I looked at it hard enough.
It didn’t.
From the bathroom came the sound of running water. Then humming, soft, off-key, like Lennox was in a shampoo commercial.
I gritted my teeth.
How was he relaxed? How was he humming right now, like this wasn’t completely insane? Like we weren’t two guys about to share one bed during a snowstorm with no escape and nowhere else to go?
I turned in a slow circle, then stopped myself before I could scan the room again. There was no point. The layout wasn’t going to change just because I hated it.
The bed sat there in the back, neat and innocent. Like it didn’t know what it was doing to me.
I dropped down into the armchair and sat stiffly, arms folded across my chest. My bag sat untouched by the door. I couldn’t even think about changing. My skin already felt too tight.
I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. Just one night. No one was asking me to do anything but sleep.
And yet…
Something about Lennox made my thoughts spin. The way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way he smiled without warning, and then the smile stayed in his eyes for a while after.
I’d caught him watching me earlier in the car. He’d turned away fast, but not fast enough. There’d been something in his expression. Something open and quiet and curious.
I didn’t have proof. I was probably reading into things. Wishful thinking, which was dangerous. He could be straight. Hell, he could be gay and still not want anything to do with someone like me.
Better to keep the walls up. Better not to want anything at all.
The bathroom door opened.
