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There was absolutely no way Nick could break it down, right here and now. So he just shrugged noncommittally.
Adam bristled. “Look, if you have a problem with me—”
“I don’t.” They came to a stop light, and Nick looked at him. The street lights shined through the windshield and caught the caramel highlights in Adam’s skin, painting embers in his hair.
Nick rubbed his eyes and looked back at the road. “I don’t have a problem with you at all.” He paused. “Quinn and I—we had a misunderstanding. I was trying to help her, but she slammed the door in my face.”
“How long have you been seeing each other?”
“Couple weeks.”
“I’d ask if it was serious, but I think I already know.”
Nick frowned. “What does that mean?”
“If a girl’s slamming a door on you two weeks in, it doesn’t exactly bode well for the rest of the relationship.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Nick sighed. Unfortunately, Quinn and drama seemed to go hand in hand.
The cab was starting to warm up. He reached for the controls to dial back the air—at exactly the same time Adam stretched out an arm to do the same thing. Their fingers brushed.
Nick jumped like he’d been stung.
Then he half-wished he’d left his hand there, just to experience the feeling for one millisecond longer. The touch had been light, brief, but long enough that Nick could imagine the softness of Adam’s skin, the gentle strength of his fingers.
He had to lock his hands on the steering wheel.
Adam managed to turn the heat down, but he was studying Nick now.
Talk. Say something. Anything.
“How did you and Quinn meet?” Nick said quickly.
“We met when we were kids. In dance class.”
“You’re really talented.”
The words were out before he could stop them. Nick winced. What was he, some teen groupie?
“Thank you.” Nick could swear Adam was hiding a smile now. “My parents tried to put me in martial arts, but I hated it. Apparently, I was a hyperactive pain in the ass, so dance seemed like the next best thing.”
“Quinn said you’re trying to get a scholarship. You think you have a shot?”
Adam shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. If I miss this time, I’ll try again. A little failure never hurt anybody. I know what I want to do with my life.”
Nick thought of that envelope smashed between textbooks on his desk. The one he was too afraid to open.
“What about you?” said Adam.
“I’m a senior. I’m throwing some college apps out there, seeing what happens.”
“What do your parents think?”
Nick was used to the question, but it still hit him like a punch, every time. He hated having to rehash it for strangers—but at least they were driving and he could keep his eyes on the road. “My parents died when I was twelve,” he said. “I live with my three brothers.”
Adam was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
