“Yeah.”

“Thanks for driving.”

Nick shrugged and found his mouth didn’t want to form words. He reached over and kicked up the heat a few more notches.

“Hey,” Adam said softly.

Nick almost didn’t want to glance over.

But Adam continued. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Earlier. You know.”

Nick wasn’t sure what the safe answer to that was. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling it stand up in tufts the way Gabriel’s had back in the kitchen.

What had Quinn said? Identical on the outside, polar opposites on the inside.

“It’s cool.” Even his voice sounded strangled.

But Adam took that at face value, turning his head to look out at the night. They drove in complete silence until Nick realized he was going to have to turn on the radio or talk.

Music didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Do you think she’s all right?” Nick said. “Did that guy seem—”

Adam didn’t look away from the window. His voice was resigned. “He said she’d been ranting about some guy named Nick all night, and then she drank half a bottle of tequila and passed out in the sand. He said my number was the first one in her contacts.”

Shit.

Adam glanced over. “You two have a fight?”

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.”

Another moment of silence, until Nick was sure Adam was going to press for more information.

But then he didn’t. “So—what do your brothers think?”

Nick snorted. “Mixed bag.” He glanced over when they came to a traffic light, and it was a mistake. Because the windows were dark and the cab was warming up, and he wanted to keep on looking.

He quickly jerked his eyes back to the road ahead and focused on talking. “My older brother says he’s all for it—but I don’t know if that’s true or not. He runs my parents’ landscaping company . . . well, you saw the side of the truck. We all help him, but even still, he barely has time to eat. Losing one of us . . .” Nick just shrugged and didn’t complete the thought.

“What about your other brothers?”

“What’s with the twenty questions?”

Adam looked out the window. “I thought we were having a conversation.”

Yeah—if a conversation was like stumbling along a dark hallway, wondering what your hands would find if you reached out.