Page 1 of Depths of Desire
ONE
LENNOX
I hitSave on the essay, stared at the blinking cursor, and let my forehead drop to the edge of the keyboard in defeat. The keys clacked under the weight of my skull like they were applauding my descent into academic mediocrity. One paragraph left, and nothing left in my brain but static.
The bathroom door creaked open behind me. A wave of steam rolled into the dorm room, along with Rhett, who looked like he’d just wrestled the shower to a draw. His skin was pink and raw, drops of water trickling down his body. He wore nothing but a pair of black gym shorts that hung low on his hips, and the scowl he was sporting could’ve soured milk.
“Your turn,” he grumbled, grabbing his phone off his bed like it had personally wronged him.
I turned in my chair, still half-slumped. “Thanks for leaving me the last three molecules of hot water.”
He shot me a contemptuous look. “You get what you get.”
Classic Rhett. Always three seconds from throwing hands, but never with me. We’d lived together since freshman year and had settled into a rhythm that worked—he grunted and glowered, I smiled and made tea. Balance.
“Did you finish the psychology essay?” I asked, mostly because misery loves company.
Rhett squinted at me, then dropped back onto his bed like his muscles were over it. “What essay?”
“The one due tomorrow at nine.”
He groaned into the pillow, then turned his head toward me, face half-smashed and expression bleak. “God. I thought that was next week.”
“You going to write it?”
“Hell no. I’ve got enough points to pass.”
I laughed, because of course he did. Rhett was one of those guys who never looked like he was trying but always landed just shy of failing, by design. It was his brand. Casual chaos.
He stretched, long arms folding behind his head, and I caught myself looking, just for a second.
His chest was damp, flushed from the heat of the shower, and the water droplets on his collarbones shimmered in the low dorm light. He had that hockey build, a testament to the countless hours spent between the rink and the gym. And the scowl he wore like a second skin pulled something deep and weird out of me.
I blinked, turned back to my laptop, and pretended I hadn’t noticed anything.
What the hell was that?I wondered.
It wasn’t an attraction. Not really. It was one of those moments where someone looked a little too good for a second, and your brain short-circuited. A glitch in the matrix. A hot flash of “maybe,” followed immediately by a wave of “no, no, no.”
Still, I couldn’t help the thought.Why do I react like that to a scowl?
Was something wrong with me?
No. Not wrong. Just…a little messed up in a way I was used to by now. I knew where that line was. Rhett was too close, toofamiliar, too quietly queer in the same unspoken way I was. We’d never talked about it. We never needed to. It hung between us like an agreement carved into stone:We could, but we won’t.
I liked our friendship too much to touch it. And I think, deep down, he did, too.
I typed another line of my essay, letting the sound of his playlist fill the silence. Something moody and lo-fi. Something that matched the smell of eucalyptus shampoo still hanging in the air.
One day, maybe, I’d stop staring at hard abs and bad attitudes like they were invitations. One day, I’d have something real enough to anchor me.
But tonight wasn’t that night.
“Hey,” Rhett said suddenly. “If you go down to the laundry room, can you grab my stuff from the dryer? I’ll owe you a protein bar.”
I smirked. “Make it two, and I won’t fold your underwear wrong on purpose.”
“Deal.”
