Page 7 of Depths of Desire (The Saints of Westmont U #4)

FIVE

LENNOX

I don’t think anyone had ever undressed me so thoroughly with little more than a glance.

It happened after I had brushed my teeth and walked into the semi-separate area we called the bedroom. Oliver was already under the heavy comforter, but his bare shoulders told me he had stripped down for bed.

I swallowed a knot in my throat as discreetly as I could before coming closer to the bed. And just then, as if he couldn’t wait another minute, Oliver let his gaze slide down my entire length. It was a wonder my clothes didn’t disintegrate under the intense heat of his eyes.

I cleared my throat and looked away, pretending like I hadn’t noticed and didn’t feel my pulse jump like I was still a high school sophomore with a stupid thing for the neighborhood swim star.

I turned my back to him and peeled off my shirt, taking my time about it, even though my skin prickled with the weight of his gaze. I could practically feel it trailing across my shoulders and down the middle of my back. Maybe I imagined it, maybe not. I didn’t really want to know.

I peeled off my socks and stood there in my sweatpants for a second too long.

A smarter man would’ve left them on. Or grabbed a hoodie.

Or said he’d sleep on the couch and faked a pulled hamstring.

But I was not a smarter man. I was a man who stepped out of his sweatpants and stood there in my briefs, exposed to the chill of the room and the heat rolling off the guy already curled up under the covers.

It hadn’t been so hard after the shower, but in the hours that followed, we had caught one another looking .

I wasn’t worried about Oliver. He wasn’t going to make a move. That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was me. My nerves. My body. My complete and total lack of chill.

I rounded the bed and peeled back the corner of the comforter like I was opening a sarcophagus. It wasn’t exactly graceful. I shuffled under the sheets with all the elegance of a folding chair, trying not to accidentally touch his leg with my knee or elbow him in the ribs. I managed it. Barely.

Once I was horizontal, I scooted until I was clinging to the edge of the mattress like it was a lifeline. Oliver didn’t say anything. He just stayed very still on his side of the bed, his back to me, the comforter pulled up to his shoulders like he needed the armor.

God, this was so dumb. We were adults. We were just sleeping.

But it didn’t feel like just anything.

My legs were too long. My arms didn’t know where to go. I felt exposed, somehow. Not because I was half-naked, but because the air between us was too full of everything we weren’t saying. It buzzed. Or maybe I did.

The cabin lights were still on. A soft yellow glow warmed the space and made Oliver’s hair look almost auburn where it caught the light. I stared at the ceiling, unsure whether I could turn them off without making it weird.

Because turning off the lights was final. That was intimacy. That was commitment. That was one tiny click away from sharing a bed with my teenage fantasy in a stormy cabin while pretending nothing at all was happening.

I reached out to the nightstand, froze, and pulled my hand back.

Nope. Not ready.

I did it again. This time, my fingers brushed the little knob. I turned it halfway. The light dimmed. Oliver didn’t move.

Maybe he was asleep.

Or maybe he was lying there, wondering what the hell was taking me so long.

I reached for the knob a third time, this time switching it off.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Immediately, everything felt closer. The bed, the walls, and Oliver.

My ears filled with the sound of my own heartbeat, steady and a little too loud.

Could he hear it? God, he would think I was a total freak.

“The loudest heart in the whole wide world,” he’d say.

Or he wouldn’t. He would just think it because the fucker never said anything.

I closed my eyes and tried to think of neutral things. Ice rinks. Team drills. The time my dad tried to deep-fry a turkey and nearly took out the garage.

But none of it worked. All I could think about was the warmth of the bed, the bare inches of space between us, and how completely screwed I was if I let myself forget, even for a second, that this was a one-night-only kind of situation.

Still, it was going to be a very long night.

A warm, quiet, definitely too-small-bed kind of long night.

And the worst part was that I didn’t want to sleep.

I wanted to turn around and look at him.

I wanted to see if he was awake, too.

And I really, really shouldn’t.

So I squeezed my eyes shut, and they felt grainy and full of sand. The current ran through me just as hard as it had before, buzzing and making every cell in my body feel like it was alight.

My biggest mistake had been not hooking up with anyone before this trip.

Firstly, I should have done it just to draw some strength and confidence for a week with family; secondly, I had known that Oliver would be with me all day.

I should have thought of this possibility.

Hell, I should have at least thought that his presence in the car could be too much to take if I was low-key horny on top of it.

I should have gone out last night. Should have taken care of this.

“Do you mind?” Oliver said quietly.

What? I frowned. “Mind? Of course not. I don’t mind this at all.”

I was about to force a laugh, but Oliver turned on his back with a sigh. “Your foot, Lennox.”

Odd how you could sometimes forget about a part of your own body.

Where indeed was the separation between the body and mind, anyway?

My foot was definitely independent now. It was hanging off the edge of the bed, shaking and wagging so hard that the entire mattress jiggled, and I hadn’t even noticed. “Oh. Sorry.”

The darkness had lasted long enough that my eyes had adjusted to it. A distant firelight added its glow. In this nightly haze, I could see his face almost clearly when I shot him a guilty look.

“Alright, I’m low-key nervous,” I said, unprompted.

Oliver gave me a long look. “Low-key nervous,” he repeated, his voice dry. “You?”

I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling, even though I couldn’t see a damn thing anymore.

“Look, I know we’re grown men. I know it’s just a bed.

I know that. But you were kind of my adolescent crisis, so maybe give me a second to adjust.” Did I say this fucking aloud?

I seriously couldn’t put up with myself anymore.

There was a pause. Then he said, “I wasn’t even out in high school.”

“Exactly,” I said. “That was part of the problem.”

I felt, rather than saw, his head turn toward me. “So…you had a crush?”

“No. I had the crush. It was traumatic. Capital T . You wore Speedos, for God’s sake. That should be illegal in suburban environments.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “I wasn’t even aware you existed.”

“That’s what made it worse,” I half whimpered. Then, hearing his words in my head all over again, I added, “Thanks for that, by the way.”

I felt the sheets shift as he moved. Then his voice, closer. “And now?”

I scoffed. “And now we’re snowed in together, and I’m one prolonged eyelash flutter away from combusting.”

Oliver laughed again, and this time, I could hear the smile in it. “You always this dramatic?”

“You’re lucky you’re not getting the full version. This is me holding back,” I said.

He hummed, a sound low in his throat. “You want a distraction?”

I’d been hoping for a quick way to put out the fire. “I thought that’s what this whole thing was.”

“I mean, like a game.”

I turned my head. His silhouette was sharper now in the firelight, propped on one elbow. Did he have to be that hot? “What kind of game?”

“I don’t know. Something dumb. Like Would You Rather. Or Truth or Dare, except with no dares and no touching.”

“No touching?”

“Not yet,” he said, quiet enough I almost thought I imagined it.

The words curled in my chest like heat. “Alright,” I said. “Truth or Dare without dares. Sounds like a dream. We doing each other’s braids after?”

He exhaled a small laugh and settled more comfortably beside me. I could feel his leg shift under the covers, brushing lightly against mine. I told myself it was an accident and ignored the part of me that hoped it wasn’t.

He went first. “Alright. Truth. Have you ever made out with a teammate?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “Too much gear, too much sweat, too much chance they’d tell everyone.”

Oliver made a soft sound of agreement. “Same.”

“Although,” I added, “there was this one guy who always wanted to wrestle after practice. Kept trying to pin me. Never quite worked.”

“Intriguing.”

I grinned. “He graduated. My virtue was spared.”

He let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“My turn,” I said, angling my head just enough to catch the outline of his profile in the dark. “Truth. Do you remember anything about me from high school?”

There was a pause. Longer than I expected. Then, “Your hair.”

That caught me off guard. “My hair?”

“You had really good hair. Still do.”

I blinked into the darkness. That was…unexpected. And weirdly flattering. “Thanks,” I said, suddenly aware of my entire scalp.

In the dim cabin light, I thought I saw him smile.

“My turn,” he said, shifting closer under the covers. His voice was quieter now, like the air itself had gotten softer. “Truth. Ever skinny-dipped?”

“Once,” I admitted. “Summer before senior year. There was a lake party, and a friend dared me. I panicked halfway in and ran straight back out. I think my dignity’s still floating out there.”

Oliver let out a low, pleased laugh. “That actually makes me feel better. I thought you were incapable of embarrassment.”

“Please. I’ve been embarrassed for most of my life. I just got good at hiding it.”

He didn’t respond right away. I felt the covers shift slightly, his leg brushing mine for a split second before he adjusted. Then came the next question.

“Truth. What’s your type?”