Page 32 of Depths of Desire
I surfaced after another fifty and blinked water from my eyes.
Lennox.
I hated that I thought of him. I hated that the first image rising behind my eyelids was him stretched out in bed, half-asleep and smiling like the future promised him everything he desired.
I ducked underwater again, holding my breath longer than necessary. It didn’t help.
It had been weeks since the cabin. Since that night. Since that kiss that turned into more. It was a one-off. We had said as much. We had walked away like it meant nothing, even though the space behind my ribs still remembered the way his hand curved over my waist. Even though my mouth still remembered the exact sound he made when I bit his lip.
I finished the lap and rested my forearms on the pool edge, chest heaving. I stared down at the ripple of blue water and tried not to think. I failed.
The truth was, I had booked a flight home rather than take the drive with him. The flight was short. A no-brainer, according to the version of the story I told myself. Better timing. Less fuss. But that wasn’t it. That wasn’t why.
I hadn’t wanted the road trip because I didn’t trust myself not to want more. I didn’t want to sit in a car with him for ten hours, laughing and sharing snacks and forgetting the boundary I had already crossed once. I didn’t want to hear the music he liked or watch him tap the steering wheel in rhythm or lean his head back, revealing a pronounced Adam’s apple protruding from his long neck.
I hadn’t wanted to want him.
Because I had too much at stake, and every second I wasn’t training was a second someone else was gaining on me. And Lennox Ellery was a walking distraction. The worst kind. The kind who didn’t even try to be. The kind who smiled and made it feel like it might be safe to relax for a minute.
And I couldn’t afford that.
I dropped underwater again and let myself hover at the bottom of the lane, eyes open. The tile lines blurred. The pressure in my lungs built. Maybe if I stayed here long enough, I’d forget what it felt like to lie next to him.
But eventually, I rose, gasped, and dragged air in like it could fill the hollow places.
I hung on to the edge and looked up at the ceiling.
I hadn’t touched anyone since. I hadn’t tried. I’d told myself it was because of training. The season. The schedule. But that wasn’t it either. I hadn’t touched anyone because no one else was him. No one else made my chest go tight and my pulse beat low in my gut. No one else made me want things I didn’t have time for.
I pulled myself out of the water and sat on the edge, dripping and tired and too aware of how quiet the facility was.
I was getting too good at lying to myself and pretending I didn’t want what I couldn’t afford to have.
Lennox was still here. Still on campus, in my orbit, maddeningly close and frustratingly decent.
And I was still trying to swim away from him.
But the truth was, the more distance I put between us, the more he tugged at the edge of every thought.
And the harder it got to breathe.
Several exhausting laps later, I dragged myself into the locker room, showered, and left the pool. The air outside was chilly, winter still holding Chicago in its frosty fingers in February.
The oil sizzled as I dropped the chicken breasts into the pan, the skin side hitting first with a sharp pop. The smell hit me fast. Garlic, lemon, a little too much salt, probably. I didn’t cook for pleasure. I cooked because it made sense. A process. Something to do with my hands when my head wouldn’t stop.
The tablet was propped up against a roll of kitchen towels, screen dimmed until Lena’s name flashed up again. I tapped to answer, and her face filled the frame, half-shadowed, lit by the glow of her laptop. She was probably multitasking, as usual.
“Hey, Snips,” I said.
“Wow. Cooking? On a school night?” Her smile turned teasing. “Are you okay? Blink twice if you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Very funny.”
She leaned closer. “Whatcha making?”
“Lemon chicken and green beans.”
“Healthy. Responsible. On brand.” She paused, then added with a grin, “Still boring.”
