Page 6 of Depths of Desire (The Saints of Westmont U #4)

“Breakfast’s included, by the way,” he said as if he hadn’t left the room for twenty minutes. As if he wasn’t wearing a tiny pair of briefs with seams sliding dangerously high up his round cheeks.

My mouth was too dry to speak, my tongue stuck to the roof, and I looked up, tracing the curve of his lower back and following his spine to his pronounced shoulder blades. Could he feel the heat and weight of my intense gaze? If he could, he would have been nailed against the wall by now.

As if I had said those words, Lennox looked at me over his fine, curved shoulder. “There’s a restaurant if you’re hungry.”

“I’m not.”

His gaze lingered on me a moment longer, and then he shrugged, teasing with those shoulders as he flexed them.

My discomfort simmered deep within me, and I shot to my feet before Lennox could ask another question or look at me again. I didn’t think I could keep my cool if he looked at me now. His pouncing around in briefs had left me well and truly flushed.

I found my duffel and pulled out clean clothes, then went into the bathroom.

The shower didn’t feel as good as it should have, but at least I was alone.

I took my time standing there, letting the hot water slide down my body, and stepped out only when it made no sense to stay inside.

If I hesitated, Lennox was likely to break the door and try chatting.

He’d go mad in the silence of the cottage.

I stepped out of the bathroom, freshly dressed and still a little damp. The air in the cabin felt warmer now, thick with the scent of the fire and faint traces of Lennox’s cologne, something woody and light that clung to the room even more than it did to him.

He had put his clothes on.

That was probably a good thing.

I told myself it was good. Both safer and saner. My heart could stop trying to claw its way out of my ribs.

Still, some traitorous part of me felt disappointed.

He sat on the couch now, one leg curled under him, wearing sweatpants and a fitted T-shirt that did nothing to hide the way he was built. He looked comfortable, at ease, like he had already settled into the idea of being snowed in for the night.

I tried to match that energy. I dropped into the armchair across from him, leaving space between us like a line I didn’t dare cross. The fire crackled softly. Outside, the wind picked up again. I watched the windows fog at the corners and kept my hands pressed flat on my thighs, grounding myself.

We sat in silence.

Not the kind I liked. Not the calm, measured quiet of a pool before a race. This was the kind that filled every gap with tension.

Lennox shifted a little. His gaze flicked to me, then away.

“You alright?” he asked finally.

I nodded, but it was probably too quick.

He didn’t push right away. He just watched the fire for a moment, mouth twitching like he was considering what to say. He wasn’t bothered by this. If anything, he looked like he was having fun. Then he tilted his head slightly and gave me a look that was too careful to be casual.

“So,” he said, “are the rumors true?”

My eyes locked onto his. I didn’t flinch, but something in my chest drew tight.

I leaned back a little, letting the heat of the fire touch my legs. “Which rumors?”

“You know,” he said and then added quickly, “I’m not judging or anything. I just…I’ve heard things. About you.”

“People hear all sorts of things,” I said. “Doesn’t mean they matter.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I didn’t mean it like?—”

“I know what you meant.”

Another pause.

I could feel him waiting for something more, something real. I stared at the fire instead.

I wasn’t angry. Just tired. Tired of people turning my life into questions for their curiosity. Into headlines. Into whispers.

“It’s not relevant,” I said finally.

Lennox frowned. “How is it not relevant?”

I looked over at him. Not sharply, but steadily.

“Because none of it has anything to do with what I’m trying to do. The tabloids only care about a story. About headlines that make people click and argue in comment sections. They don’t care if it’s true. They don’t care if it costs you your focus or your career.”

He looked at me, eyebrows drawn.

I kept my voice even.

“I’m not here to satisfy anyone’s curiosity. And I’m not here to be a headline.”

We sat with that for a minute. The fire cracked louder for a second before settling again.

Outside, snow slid off the roof in a soft rush.

Lennox looked at his hands, folded in his lap, probably regretting asking me anything at all.

I had that effect on people. They always ended up sorry for trying.

Then I added, quieter, “But yeah. It’s true.”

Lennox didn’t say anything right away.

I didn’t look at him.

It didn’t matter what he thought. Not really. I wasn’t here to be accepted or approved. I wasn’t here for whatever reaction he was trying not to have.

I had already gone through the christening by fire with my parents. I’d seen what cold disdain and tightened jaws looked like. I knew what it was like to be looked at and ignored at the very same moment.

“If you’re worried about sleeping in the same bed…” I started, agitation itching my just a little too uncomfortably.

Lennox threw his head back and laughed so loudly the walls rang. “Christ, no,” he said. “I’m not worried about sharing the bed with someone.”

I nodded, but even I could tell it looked stiff.

“Don’t you want to know about me?” Lennox asked, the same old cheerful guy that he had been a few minutes ago.

“I don’t think…it matters,” I said.

“Sure it does,” Lennox said. “It always matters if someone can understand what you’re going through.”

Lennox played on a team of dedicated guys.

Three of those guys were dating other guys.

Besides, however good he was at his brutish sport, I didn’t imagine it was so tough to go through.

The kind of fiery, testosterone-driven, and nearly violent action they performed on ice required only half as much struggle as achieving perfection in grace.

Then again, the only gay guys I knew were passing hookups, and I barely recalled their names, just like they barely remembered me.

“So, you are?” I asked, hating myself for letting a note of excitement touch my voice.

Lennox lifted his eyebrows as he nodded. “Not that tabloids write about it.”

My muscles tightened. “They will. Get big enough and they absolutely will.”

“Must have sucked,” Lennox said. It was a simplistic statement, not worth being called an assumption when it clearly stated the obvious, yet I felt the tug of warmth drag me closer to Lennox.

Not literally. I didn’t lean forward. I only felt like my heartbeat was a little louder, and my soul thrust an inch closer to his.

I nodded. “I knew it was happening. The fucker who wrote it had the nerve to email me questions. ‘Oliver Hayworth declined to immediately comment on this story.’” I barked a bitter laugh.

“I got a day’s head start, just enough to simmer and think if I should beat the headlines or not.

In the end, I called my family and told them.

Didn’t want them finding out like that.”

Lennox leaned in, eyes widening. “And?”

“And what?”

“How did that go?” Lennox asked, clearly resisting the urge to add a “Duh” at the end.

I shrugged with one shoulder. It wasn’t worth the effort of lifting both.

“You’re visiting them now,” Lennox said.

I was visiting Lena. Mom and Dad? I wasn’t sure so much. But I didn’t tell Lennox anything else about it. I just nodded and threaded my fingers together on my stomach. “You’re not out.”

Lennox cast his gaze to the window. It was getting dark outside.

We should have gotten to our homes by now had the storm not caught us on the road.

The snowflakes came in heaps, melting on the windows with the radiating heat of the cabin.

Streetlamps glowed warmly, brightening the snowflakes.

“No. Not really,” Lennox said. “I’m not sure yet. ”

“You’re not sure you’re gay?” I asked, failing to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

Lennox shot me a confused, distracted look. “What? No. I’m as gay as they come. Never questioned it. I just don’t know how that fits in with my life.”

My silence was an agreement. I had no idea how the two worked together.

I didn’t think it mattered, but maybe I was the crazy one.

The story that broke just before the Olympic Games had split the internet.

On one hand, my rare and irregular social media updates got an overwhelming amount of support, the tabloid in question was slammed for their unethical coverage, and the guy who wrote the story lost all credibility.

On the other hand, my messages were flooded with an even mix of hate and dick pics.

Besides, no amount of hate the tabloid got affected anything.

They feasted on bad press because it got their name into the collective consciousness.

And my parents pretended none of it had ever happened.

Lennox had that look again. The one where he wondered if he should say what was on his mind. “I remember you from high school.”

“Small town,” I said. Everyone remembered everyone else. Lennox and I had never shared classes or crossed paths that much.

“You were such an amazing swimmer,” Lennox said. “No wonder you went all the way to Paris.”

And returned with silver, not gold , I thought.

Lennox’s compliment hung between us longer than it should have.

I didn’t know what to say. Thank you sounded too small. Too polite. He wasn’t just making conversation. I could feel it. There was weight behind it, like he meant more than the words he’d chosen.

I nodded slowly, trying not to fidget, though my legs were already buzzing with energy I couldn’t explain away. “I worked hard.”

“You still do,” he said.

He wasn’t looking at me now. His eyes were on the fire again. The flames played shadows across his face, softening it, making him look even nicer somehow. Kinder.

I studied him while he wasn’t watching. His posture had relaxed again. One arm rested along the back of the couch. His legs were long as they stretched out toward the fire. He had this openness to him, like someone who didn’t know how to hide and wouldn’t even try.

I hated that about him.

Not really. I envied it. And that felt worse.

He glanced at me and caught me looking. Not for the first time. I turned away too slowly. He didn’t smile, but I saw something flicker across his face. Understanding, maybe. Or curiosity.

My throat felt tight.

I wasn’t sure how to sit anymore. Every position felt like too much. I shifted slightly, then stopped myself before I could make it obvious. He didn’t say anything. He just watched me from the corner of his eye like he was waiting to see if I’d squirm.

I didn’t. Not visibly, at least.

The room had gotten hotter. That was what I told myself.

It had nothing to do with the way he looked.

Nothing to do with the fact that I could still see the shape of his legs in those sweatpants.

Or the faint outline of muscle beneath that T-shirt.

Or the way his hair had dried into soft waves, falling over his forehead like it belonged there.

I crossed my arms tighter across my chest and focused on the fire.

“You ever miss it?” he asked after a while.

“Miss what?”

“Normal life. School. Just…not being in the spotlight.”

I shook my head. “I never had a normal life.”

He didn’t push me to explain. He just nodded like he understood, even if he didn’t.

We sat in silence again. The heat in the room had seeped into the space between us. I could feel him. Not physically, but almost. His presence had weight to it. The air between us was getting hotter by the minute.

My gaze flicked toward the bed in the back of the room.

I told myself it didn’t mean anything.

One night. Just one. I could handle it.

Except I kept picturing it. The covers pushed back, the sound of breathing, and the heat of another body just inches away.

My fingers curled slightly where they rested on my forearm.

He moved again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His shirt stretched across his shoulders when he did that. The fabric pulled just enough to show the way his back moved underneath.

I swallowed hard.

This was stupid. I was stupid for letting my mind go there, but I couldn’t stop it. It had already started. That slow, creeping want. Not loud. Not urgent. Just a low thrum beneath my skin. A tension I couldn’t name.

I didn’t want this.

Except…I did.

I didn’t want to want it.

But I did.

Lennox turned to look at me. He didn’t smile this time. His eyes were serious. Calm. Like he could feel it too. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with it either.

I stood too fast. “I’m going to grab a glass of water.”

I went to the kitchenette and busied myself with the tap, pretending I couldn’t feel his eyes on my back. The water was cold and sharp. I drank slowly, one sip at a time, until I could breathe again.

When I turned around, he was still watching me.

The look in his eyes wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t flirty.

It was quiet and patient, and it made my chest tighten.

I sat back down, a little farther from the fire this time, and kept my eyes on the flames.

The silence returned.

I didn’t know what would happen when we turned out the lights. I didn’t know if we’d speak again. If we’d touch. If we’d just lie there, pretending the air wasn’t suffocating us like a held breath.

But I knew one thing for sure. I didn’t want to sleep. Not yet. Not while he was this close. Not while my thoughts were like this. Not while my hands ached to know what his skin felt like.

I had to let this wash over me before I could even think of lying down next to him.

And as I bit my lower lip in anticipation, I understood that this electrifying feeling simply wasn’t going away. I’d have to shut my eyes and pretend he wasn’t there.