Quinn had flipped off Taylor and stormed out of there—only to go home to find out that Jake, her older brother, was home from college for a few days.
That wasn’t the problem. Quinn accepted his existence, just like she did the rest of her family.
But her mother had told Jake he could sleep in Quinn’s bed, and Quinn could make do on the floor.
And instead of refusing out of chivalry or kindness or whatever boys were supposed to do, Jake had smirked at her and said, “Yeah, isn’t that where dogs usually sleep?”
Quinn had lost it. Moreover, her mom had taken Jake’s side. Of course perfect, scholarship-winning, Duke-basketball-playing Jake couldn’t sleep on the couch.
Of course their argument had devolved into a screaming match.
Of course Quinn had walked out. Again.
And she was getting sick of crashing at Becca’s, watching her best friend’s perfect relationship with her mom and her perfect relationship with Chris Merrick.
Quinn switched legs and stretched farther. R&B music pulsed into her head through the earbuds connected to her iPod, completely at odds with the classical routine, but she thrived on the rage in the lyrics.
The music caught her, and she spun off the barre, flying across the floor in a complicated routine of leaps and turns. Each step let her spring higher, until it felt like the air became a part of the dance and carried her along.
Then the song ended, and she was staring at herself in the smudgy mirror, her chest rising and falling from the exertion.
God, her thighs looked massive.
She scowled and turned away so she wouldn’t have to look at herself.
Only to find Nick Merrick standing in the doorway.
Quinn stopped short and yanked the earbuds free, feeling heat crawl up her neck. She wasn’t shy about boys, but her rage-inspired dancing felt like it should be private.
No, indulging her own insecurities felt like it should be private.
“How long have you been there?” she demanded.
“A minute or so,” he said equably. “I wasn’t exactly timing myself.”
Nick was quite possibly the only guy she’d ever met who seemed completely unaffected by her attitude.
Years of putting up with his twin probably had something to do with it.
But it was enough to make her want to be nicer. She coiled up the headphones in her palm and turned for her bag. “Sorry. You took me by surprise.”
“You seemed into it. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He paused, then came closer. “I was wishing I could hear the music.”
Quinn straightened and found him right in front of her. She sucked in her stomach and shook her ponytail back over her shoulder.
Nick and his twin brother were two of the hottest guys in school, and at first she’d been sure Nick was only interested because she had a bit of a reputation for being easy—not that she did anything to erase that viewpoint. She liked boys, and she knew how to get their attention, heavy thighs and all.
But Nick had surprised her by being a gentleman. They’d kissed, a few times—and he had one hell of a mouth—but they hadn’t done much more than that. And even at his house, in his room, where there wasn’t anyone to stop him from doing anything, Nick proved to be a pretty good sounding board for her problems instead of trying to shut her up and get in her pants.
Then again, Nick’s twin brother made no secrets of how he felt about her. She hated Gabriel Merrick almost as much as she hated Jake. Maybe Nick wasn’t doing anything with her because he figured he could do better.
Even Gabriel had mocked her choice to be a cheerleader.
He’d said she belonged on the bottom of the pyramid with the sturdy girls.
“Hey. Hey.” Nick’s hands closed over hers, and she realized she was kneeling, fighting with the zipper on her bag, and she’d already started a tear in the nylon stitching.
His blue eyes were close, intent on her face. She had to be flushed; it felt like it was a thousand degrees in here.
“What happened?” he said carefully.
She squished her eyes shut and thought about her day. Jake. Her mom. Cheerleading.
She opened her eyes and caught her body in the edge of the mirror, the way the shorts were cutting into her stomach, creating a little roll there.
Crisco.
She wanted to punch the glass, to watch cracks form a disjointed spiderweb across her reflection. Her hand formed a fist.
But she didn’t swing it. Something worse happened.
She started crying.
CHAPTER 2
Nick knew what was expected when girls started crying: a hug, a minute or two of listening, a minute or two to offer some soothing words, and a wry smile followed by the suggestion that they find some chocolate. Or ice cream. Or both.
Much like the accounting, he could do it in his sleep.
But Quinn didn’t even let him get to the hug. She jerked her hands away from him and swiped the dampness from her eyes, then stood. “God. Next time I start to do that, smack me or something.”
“Sure. Sounds perfectly socially acceptable.” He paused. “You okay?”
She pulled her ponytail free and started to retie it. “I hate when they make me do that.”
“Who?”