Page 36

36

LANE

“ W e could get in trouble,” I protest as we sneak through the door.

“First of all, you’re Lane Larsen. Unless you’re committing a literal murder, you’re not going to get in trouble for anything on this campus.”

A displeased sound pulls from my chest, but I don’t argue. “What’s second of all?”

“Huh?”

“You said first of all . Well, what’s second of all?”

Scarlett pops a shoulder. “I guess that’s all I got. But it’s true and you know it.”

I chuckle, and it’s only now that I realize how long it’s been since any kind of genuine laugh has passed through my throat.

Even though I still feel a pinch of guilt and worry at what we’re doing, I’m glad I followed Scarlett on this adventure. Or misadventure, I should say. Breaking the rules with her takes me back to that night when she fell into my arms outside that Chicago nightclub and I helped her sneak back in.

It’s one of my best memories. For a while I couldn’t think about anything that happened that summer without it feeling like a blade was sliding into my chest. Luckily, I’m past that point now, and I can take some joy in those memories despite how the summer ended.

“Alright,” Scarlett exclaims triumphantly as she pulls on another door inside the fitness center and finds it open. “Micky didn’t let us down.”

We step through the door and into the men’s locker room that connects to the campus pool at the fitness center.

Scarlett explained that Micky is a girl she’s friendly with in one of her classes who does some custodial work at campus facilities as part of her work-study program.

While talking with Scarlett one day, she mentioned that there’s a certain door down the hallway off the beaten path in the fitness center that they always keep unlocked, that anyone could use to sneak into the pool if they knew about it.

Micky swore Scarlett to secrecy about it, to which Scarlett then swore me before we snuck in.

We pass a stall of showers, and my cock twitches behind my sweatpants just from being near them with Scarlett.

“You should’ve told me where we were going,” I say. Only once we were out of the house and walking toward the fitness center did she spring the destination on me. “I would’ve actually, you know, brought swim trunks.”

Scarlett pops her shoulder again. “Well, since I don’t have a bikini yet and have to swim in my underwear, you can just suffer the same fate.”

Fuck. Scarlett talking about her underwear—and the knowledge that I’m about to see her in it in mere minutes—has my cock doing a lot more than twitching. It’s a good thing I’m walking behind her, letting her lead the way, or she couldn’t fail to notice the outline.

Stripping out of my clothes while Scarlett does the same and then jumping into a body of water with her … what the fuck am I thinking? Am I trying to drive myself crazy?

It’s been hard enough to hang onto the threads of my fraying sanity while coexisting platonically around Scarlett after I felt the warmth of her arousal and the clench of her orgasm on my finger in my bed.

I’m such a fucking sicko that I still haven’t washed the pillowcase she laid her head on that night.

But my shoulder really is killing me, and going for a light swim to ease the pain sounds like a slice of heaven right now.

Plus, when Scarlett gets that excited look in her eyes, like she wants to do something she knows she “shouldn’t” and wants me to be her partner in crime … well, it’s really fucking hard to say no.

We step out of the locker room and into the pool area. The air is heavy and humid, the scent of chlorine pungent in the air. I shrug out of my jacket, wincing a bit as the motion has a flash of pain going off in my shoulder muscle.

Yeah, I definitely need this swim, even if seeing Scarlett stripped down to her bra and panties is going to drive me crazy and probably make me first my cock three times tomorrow.

I kick off my slip-on shoes. The coldness of the tiled floor on the soles of my feet feels nice as I’m starting to sweat under my zip-up hoodie from the humidity of the room.

Scarlett pulls her sweater over her head. I glance at her while she’s doing so and get a quick peek of her belly button; the explosive arousal that goes off inside me tells me I’m really going to be screwed when she tugs her pants down those sweet fucking hips of hers.

But I’m in too deep now to get out. Hopefully in the water my erection won’t be too noticeable, at least.

I grab the hem of my shirt ready to shrug it off, but then I freeze when a realization smacks me.

The tattoo.

Shit. The tattoo I got under my left arm. The only one I have, the only one I ever plan to have. The one I got to remind me of Scarlett.

How am I going to hide it from her when my shirt is off?

But even if she sees it, will she be able to connect the dots? It’s just a silly design based on a conversation we had together.

Only the two of us could ever guess its meaning; and with that conversation being just one of the many we had, a year and a half ago now, maybe she doesn’t remember enough of it to even guess the significance of the tattoo.

Or maybe she’ll understand immediately. What’s she going to think if she knows I got a memory of that summer inked on my fucking skin, the only thing I’ve ever gotten inked on my skin?

Will she freak out? Be weirded out by the way I kept holding a candle for her while she moved on, like I should’ve done?

A splash of water pulls me back to reality. There’s an area of foamy, turbulent water in the pool when I look at the source of the sound.

Scarlett’s already stripped down and jumped in while I was caught in the tangles of my mind worrying about the tattoo.

Probably for the best that I didn’t actually see her tug off her shirt and slide her pants down her legs, even if I feel a sharp jolt of disappointment at having missed it.

Scarlett pops up with a splash from under the surface of the water. Her dark hair is soaked and matted to her face and the sides of her neck. My eyes tick lower, to her full and perky tits lifted in her yellow bra.

My balls tighten, and I have to clench my throat to suppress a raw groan of desire.

“What are you doing still standing there?” she calls from the water. “Need floaties for your arms?”

After throwing that tease, she turns around and kicks her feet, swimming down the length of the pool. I take the opportunity of her eyes being off me to quickly pull my shirt and pants off. I’ll just try to keep my tattoo under the surface of the water and hope she doesn’t notice.

I dive headfirst into the pool. The temperature is perfect.

I already feel some of the painful tension in my shoulder loosening as I swing my arms in long strokes, propelling me through the water.

I take a deep breath and keep my head under the water as long as I can, stroking my way to the end of the pool. When my hand hits the tiled edge, I raise my wet head and open my eyes, pulling in a deep breath.

“What the f—” The fuck leaves my mouth muffled with a spray of bubbles, because I say it underwater. I shrug away from the force that just shoved my head down and pop back up, hearing nothing but peals of Scarlett’s laughter when my ears are back above the surface.

A devious grin slants my lips. “Oh, you asked for it.”

She lets out a sharp squeal before lurching away from me, kicking up a fountain of water as she swims away.

It’s futile. I push off the wall of the pool, and with one stroke I’m already caught up to her. She yelps when I curl my hand around her ankle. My smirk stays pasted to my face as she struggles against it, but she can’t move an inch as I float in the water, my grip keeping her in place.

Fuck, just holding her ankle feels so damn good, so soft and slicked from the pool water.

I give her a tug. Her body slides through the water back to me. I plant my palm on the top of her matted hair and dunk her underneath, just like she did to me.

The soles of her feet glide against the jagged muscles of my abs as she kicks me away. The sensation sends a bolt of arousal straight to my cock.

Scarlett slinks out of my grip and surges back up. With a quick kick of her legs underwater, she pushes herself up like a jump. For a split second I’m totally mesmerized as her torso comes into view, and my brain scatters at the sight of her ribcage, the dip of her waist, and a glimpse of underboob that almost gives me a heart attack.

The total collapse of my defenses lets her close the distance between us and plant both of her hands onto the top of head.

Now that I see it coming, I could easily tense my muscles and resist, but I’m more than happy to let her push my head underneath, and drag her down with me.

The water rushes in above us to fill the space our bodies just occupied as we plunge deeper, tangled together. In the uncoordinated jumble of our limbs, her leg hooks around my waist, and I can’t resist shaping its curve with the palm of my hand.

One of her hands plants on the plane of my chest while another traces the deep-cut lines of my abs. Is it just an innocent, incidental touch while we’re horsing around, or is she taking advantage of the plausible deniability to take liberties with my body like I’m doing with hers?

Her palm slides off my chest, to the side. It slides under my arm and grazes over the spot on my body where the memory of her is inked into my skin. The outlines of the tattoo burn against my flesh, the fingers of the girl who inspired it dancing over them without her knowing.

My hand traces the shape of her hip one more time before continuing down the length of her leg, landing on her knee where I tighten my grip.

Fuck. The thought of curling my grip tightly around her two knees and pressing them apart, spreading her legs open for me, rattles through my brain. Electricity crackles in my blood, and it feels like the water between our bodies—where there’s any space left—could start boiling.

I wish for a set of fucking gills so we could be like this forever. Underwater, our inhibitions melted away, our hands exploring each other’s bodies, reveling in the moment that feels like enough of a step outside of reality to do what we’d never dare to do otherwise.

Instead, we both have to come up for air.

But I have one more excuse to touch Scarlett.

I loop my arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me so I can swim us both to the edge of the pool by kicking my legs.

We were under there for a long time, and Scarlett’s no athlete, after all. She might be tired. Exhausted. I need to make sure she gets to the edge of the pool, and the only way to do that is by holding her smooth, soft, warm body tight against mine while I glide us through the water.

Yeah, that’s what I tell myself.

She props her arm on the tiled edge of the pool to catch her breath. When I unloop my arm and float a couple inches away from her to create distance I can’t justify foregoing anymore, it feels like the temperature of the water plunges. For a couple seconds, without her touch, it feels like the heat that was just racing through my blood is replaced with ice water.

Scarlett’s cheeks are rosy with laughter and exertion. Stray strands of her hair cling to her face, and the sight of her wet black hair, creamy skin, and pink blush sends such a rush of blood below my beltline that I’d probably fall over if I were standing on solid ground.

Scarlett’s heavy breathing reminds me way too much of how she sounded in my bed a couple weeks ago, how she sounded with her lips pressed to my ear while I rutted into her a year and a half ago.

Our gazes lock, and it’s like there’s a taut thread connecting our pupils, thrumming with tension in the air between us …

Until her eyes tick down and to the right. Her right. My left.

I have my arm propped against the side of the pool like she does, and thanks to the rush of endorphins and the disintegration of my inhibitions I just experienced underwater with her, I didn’t even think about keeping my tattoo hidden.

“Is that …?” Scarlett asks, her eyes latched to it.

“A tattoo? Yeah. My only one.” I try to play it off as cool. Nonchalant. Maybe she doesn’t even notice the association. Even though I can tell from the huskiness in my voice that nonchalant is the last thing I sound like right now.

Time stretches out as her gaze stays fixed on the tattoo on my ribs. She blinks. Then her eyes lift, locking with mine again.

“It’s the design I told you you should get.”

My heart leaps against my ribcage. An intense feeling I can’t describe rushes through my body, lifting goosebumps on my skin despite the humidity of the room.

It’s the exact tattoo Scarlett jokingly said I should get in bed that day: a penguin holding a pool cue. Such a silly design, right? But my breath still catches from the memories it calls up every time I look at it.

“You … remember?” I ask.

Something sharpens in her gaze. “Of course I remember.”

Her answer is so direct, so unvarnished. Each word chimes in my ears.

A tinge of self-consciousness plucks inside me. It’s not a feeling I’m used to. But now Scarlett knows that the summer we spent together was so important to me that I inked the memory of it into my skin.

“It’s just …” I let out a breath that was trapped in my throat. “That summer meant a lot to me.”

Something flashes in Scarlett’s eyes, a complex blend of emotions that I can’t parse. “It meant a lot to you?”

In her voice there’s surprise, incredulity, and … strangely, hurt. There’s clear hurt in the way she mirrored my words back to me.

“Well, yeah,” I answer. My eyes search her face. Her expression is like a complex sentence written in several different languages, emotion after emotion passing through her chestnut eyes.

“It did ?” That last word comes out of her mouth like the point of a spear, coated in outrage. “Then … why?”

My brow pinches. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer, only continuing to drill into me with her gaze.

“Why what?” I repeat, inching closer to her.

Scarlett’s brow lowers over her eyes, her expression sharpening. “Then why didn’t you show up that day?”

Surprise clatters through me, the kind of surprise that makes you numb.

“Why didn’t I show up?”

“I waited for hours,” she says, old pains painting her words, “and you never showed up. Then, when I went to your place, I saw you …”

“Whoa, hold on,” I stop her. I realize my breaths have grown shallow and fast, my heart going crazy in my chest. “But you sent that message.”

Something flashes on Scarlett’s face. Before she even says anything, I have a sensation that feels like the dome of the sky caving in and falling on my head.

Then come the words that make me feel not only like the sky’s falling, but that the ground is flipping upside down.

“What message?”

Emotion ricochets through my body. “The text. You sent me the text. First you said you wanted to meet at a different place. In the Loop. Then you said we shouldn’t meet at all. That …”

My sputtering speech falters, because Scarlett’s slowly shaking her head, eyes wide.

“Lane. I didn’t have my phone that day. I lost it. I couldn’t have sent you anything.”

“But I … it’s on my phone …”

“Show me.”

My brain is in such a fucking state as we get out of the pool that my dick doesn’t even react to Scarlett being dripping wet and in her underwear right next to me. I take my phone out of my jacket that’s lying on the bench and find our old text thread. I could never bring myself to delete it.

I show her our last exchange of messages …

Or what I thought was our last exchange of messages.

Fuck, what the hell happened that day?

Scarlett’s jaw drops as she reads them.

“Lane … I never sent this.”

“Then … how?”

A blaze of realization flares in Scarlett’s eyes. “Caleb.”

Her ex.

“How?” I’m like a broken record, but this time the question pulls more harshly from my throat, and I can feel darker emotions start to rise over my shock.

Scarlett shakes her head in disbelief, glancing away, looking like she’s putting pieces of a puzzle together in her head.

“He was there. I remember thinking I caught a glimpse of him at a distance a couple times, but I dismissed it, I thought it couldn’t be possible.” Her eyes snap back to mine, and it feels like a key sliding into a lock. “But it must have been him. He must have been watching me, watching us, for who knows how long. He must have snuck into Demi’s house and stolen my phone and sent that message. It’s crazy, but there’s no other explanation. I knew he was desperate to get me back, but I never thought …”

The last year and a half were a lie. How things ended in Chicago was a lie.

She didn’t want to break up.

Scarlett told me stories about her piece of shit ex while we were together that summer. I already wanted to strangle him, but now, knowing what he’s stolen from us, I want to twist his head off his shoulders.

And I might just do that. Eventually. But even though anger washes over me, it dissolves quicker than I would have thought possible.

Because this changes everything, and suddenly, all I can think about is the new reality that’s in front of me. In front of us.

So I step forward, eating up the distance between me and Scarlett. There’s been way too much of it for the last year and a half. From now on, I want as little fucking distance between us as possible.

I cup her face in my hands, and I do the thing I’ve been dying to do for nineteen long months: I kiss her.