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“It’s been a dream of mine.” He glanced over and offered a wicked smile. “All right, brutal honesty: I brought my laptop. I have a paper due in history.”
The dance studio parking lot didn’t sport many cars; no surprise on a Saturday afternoon. This was Quinn’s favorite time to dance: when the sunlight would be warm through the windows, and energy from the morning classes would still cling to the air in the room, and she’d move as if a thousand dancers accompa-nied her.
Her home life seemed miles away. Right where she wanted it.
At the door she stopped and faced Tyler. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Thanks for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome.”
She pressed her lips together for a second. “No,” she said.
“All of it. Thanks for all of it.”
He winced and looked away. “Not all of it.” He paused and let his eyes find hers. “I’m sorry for some of it. For a lot of it.”
The sunlight glinted off his hair. Tall and blond and strong—
he looked like the proverbial white knight. All he needed was a suit of armor.
She kept her voice low, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
“You’re special, too, Tyler. And brave. And definitely not worthless.”
His eyes widened fractionally, enough that Quinn knew she’d affected him.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll keep all that a secret.”
He rolled his eyes and reached for the door handle.
Then they were through the door and face to face with Nick Merrick.
Quinn sat on the polished wood floor, stretching beside the mirror, watching Adam to follow his warm-up. They didn’t have the studio to themselves yet, so they’d have to wait to use the main area of floor. She didn’t mind the extra time—two days off had left her muscles tight. She folded low, reaching for her ankle, catching sight of Nick and Tyler in the mirror. They sat across the room on the wood risers, a good six feet apart, not speaking.
Waves of hatred radiated from them both.
When they’d first walked in, Nick had told Tyler to leave.
Tyler had told Nick to go to hell.
Adam had told them both to grow up or get out. He’d done it in the same voice she’d heard him use on the six-year-olds when they got rowdy in the beginner class. Half teasing, half serious.
Nick had backed off and found a spot on the risers. He hadn’t looked happy about it then, and he looked downright furious now.
But to her surprise, Tyler had apologized to Adam, shaking his hand before finding his own place to sit and watch.
Adam switched legs and Quinn snapped back to the task at hand. She moved to mirror his motion.
“How long do you think we have before they kill each other?” Adam said under his breath.
His voice was easy, casual. She was glad—a small part of her had worried that he’d hold her recent no-shows against her.
“Nick hates him,” Quinn said. She hadn’t realized Nick would be here at all or she would’ve told Tyler to go elsewhere.
She felt like she was straddling this ravine between taking joy in Nick’s discomfort and hating that she’d caused it.
“I can see that.” Adam paused. “He was really worried that you were dating him.”
“We’re not—” She faltered. Were she and Tyler dating? Were they friends? “I don’t know what we’re doing.”
