“He’s good. Great. The dance. It’s great.” God, what was wrong with him? He rubbed at the back of his neck and pretended to stare at the floor. “It’s fine.”
“He’s super talented. He’s been trying to get in that school for two years, but he needs a scholarship.”
Nick heard longing in her voice and turned to look at her. “Do you wish you could go there?”
She kept her eyes on Adam and shrugged one shoulder. “I could never get in.”
“Have you tried?”
Quinn cut angry eyes his way. “I’d need a scholarship, too, Nick, and they’re not exactly writing checks to everyone who walks through the door.”
He’d grown up countering his brothers’ anger—and Quinn had nothing on that. He didn’t look away. “Have you tried?”
She sat there glaring at him, and Nick just looked back.
The music cut off suddenly, and they both jerked to attention.
Adam was fiddling with the music player. “It’s driving me crazy,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s missing something, but I can’t figure out what.”
“A partner,” said Nick without thinking.
Adam’s hands went still on the iPod, and he looked over.
Nick shrugged a little, wondering at what point his brain had decided to disengage from his mouth. “Sorry. Just thinking out loud.”
Adam smiled again, that slow smile that pulled a little crooked because of the scar. His dark eyes shined in the overhead lights, and his voice was just a touch suggestive. “You volunteering?”
The breath rushed out of Nick’s chest.
Shit. Now he was blushing.
If Gabriel were here, there would be no end to the mockery.
Well, that shut it down, whatever it was. Flustered, Nick shoved Quinn in the shoulder. “No,” he growled. “Quinn is.”
“What?” said Quinn, sounding like she wondered when Nick had lost his mind. “I’m not good enough to dance with him.”
“Sure you are,” said Adam. He walked across the studio and stuck out a hand to Quinn.
But his eyes were on Nick. Nick wasn’t even looking at him, but he could feel it.
He just wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it.
Nick nodded at the floor, then looked at Quinn. “Stop doubting yourself. Give it a try.”
She let Adam pull her to her feet, and Nick was glad they were moving away. Adam’s presence left him doubly off balance somehow, like trying to walk a narrow beam during an earthquake.
Adam and Quinn were talking now, going through the choreography or the music or whatever. Nick had no idea. His brain could barely process the conversation.
No, his thoughts kept replaying the moment two minutes ago.
You volunteering?
He wasn’t offended. He wasn’t shocked. He was—
Nick shut that thought down before it could finish. His life was already complicated enough. He and his brothers were marked for death. They were ostracized by the Elemental community. Nick knew exactly what was expected of him: good grades, hard work, and the occasional girlfriend. He knew how to handle all three, could do it blindfolded.
But that stray thought had weaseled its way into the back of his head, lodging there so firmly that he couldn’t ignore it.
For the tiniest fraction of a second, when Adam had looked down at him, asking about volunteering, Nick had wondered what would have happened if he’d said yes.
Quinn threw her body into the music, trying to match Adam’s complicated choreography. He was a couple years older, but she’d known him since she was a kid, when their parents dumped them in the same ballet and tap combo class. She’d recognized his talent even then, the boy in scuffed dance shoes and frayed sweatpants who moved like a slave to the rhythm. They lived at opposite ends of the same neighborhood, so they’d gone to different elementary and middle schools—but when she was a freshman in high school, they’d caught up to each other. He’d been a junior, lean and agile and always smiling. With his dark eyes and dark hair—not to mention his talent—she’d crushed on him for weeks, following him around like a puppy dog.
He’d been totally sweet about it—until the day she cranked up her nerve and declared her feelings for him.
He’d kissed her on the forehead and told her he wasn’t into girls. Then, presumably to soften the blow, he’d confessed that he was personally crushing on the football team’s starting center.
Unfortunately, the wrong guys had overheard him. Quinn never knew who did it, but someone had punched Adam in the back of his head when he was standing at his locker. Perfectly timed, Adam’s head had snapped forward, right into the metal plate that stuck out to hold a combination lock.
She’d heard that it had taken fourteen stitches to close the gash on his lip.
She hadn’t heard it from Adam—he never came back to school. She’d tried to reach out on Facebook, but his Wall was full of epithets.