No, I came to watch you.

But he couldn’t say it.

“Come on,” Quinn called from the floor. “You guys can make out later. Let’s get this done.”

Nick slammed his textbook closed. “Damn, Quinn.”

Adam uncurled from the bench. He was smiling. “I forgot you were such an easy blush.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Adam started to move away, but then he paused and leaned back to whisper. “It’ll make for interesting conversation later.”

Nick studied the whole time Adam and Quinn rehearsed.

No. That wasn’t true.

He pretended to stare at his textbook the whole time. In reality, he never turned a page, he never took a note, and he didn’t take his eyes off Adam.

This was ridiculous. Any minute now, he’d be doodling hearts down the margin of his notebook.

An easy blush. He wasn’t usually. But he could feel his cheeks warming just thinking of Adam’s last comment.

He wasn’t the only one blushing, either. Some younger girls were clustered and giggling in the doorway, whispering about Adam.

Nick couldn’t blame them. Adam and Quinn made an eye-catching pair as they spun across the floor. His dark hair and olive skin seemed to shadow her blue-eyed-blond-peaches-and-cream complexion. Nick wondered if Adam played to that, if he’d choreographed the dance to highlight their differences.

The routine was powerful, putting Quinn in the air as often as she was on the ground. She’d told Nick she was trying to live on lettuce and saltines to spare Adam’s biceps.

From where Nick was sitting, said biceps did not need sparing.

He forced his attention on Quinn. He’d seen the first incarna-tions of this dance a few weeks ago, when Quinn and Adam had scraped it together in the back room of the Y. Quinn had been awkward, trying to keep up with Adam’s polished movements.

But she’d been working hard—now her motions looked like a perfect extension of his.

The air liked their partnership. He could feel their energy in the atmosphere like an electric current through water.

It was good to see Quinn focused on something positive.

By the time they killed the lights in the studio and Adam was locking up, it was after ten. Nick told himself he could force physics lessons into his brain when he got home. It wasn’t that late yet.

Then Adam said, “Want to grab a cup of coffee?”

He should refuse. It was late enough, and he had Mike’s truck.

Then again, Michael would never give him a hard time about staying out. He probably wasn’t even concerned. Nick never did anything wrong.

But coffee would be public. Would Quinn come? Did he want her to?

“Don’t worry about it,” said Adam, his voice easy. “I didn’t mean to throw you into an existential crisis. It’s all right.”

“No! I want to. It’s—yeah. Coffee. Yes.”

“Maybe decaf,” said Quinn. Nick shot her a look.

She yawned. “What? Drop me at home first. I need to crash.”

So he’d be alone with Adam.

Normally it took fifteen minutes to get Quinn across town.

Tonight it seemed to take three-point-two seconds. Nick was very aware of his fake-girlfriend sitting between him and Adam, providing a buffer of estrogen and snark and pretend heterosexuality.

When he couldn’t seem to generate any better than one-word answers, she turned her attention to Adam, prattling about the routine and Adam’s audition and their practice schedule for the rest of the week.

In her parking lot, Nick hoped she’d want a walk up to her apartment, if only to give him another minute for his nerves to settle.

But she didn’t ask and didn’t linger, and before he knew it, she was gone, climbing the stairs and disappearing through her door. The air in the cab was chilled from Nick’s anxiety, but not enough to make his breath fog—yet. He kicked the heat up a notch and backed out of the parking place. Once they were moving again, Nick focused on the road more closely than he had in driver’s ed. They drove in silence for a minute.

That left too much time for thinking, and really, he wanted to turn his brain off.

He cleared his throat. “Starbucks?”

“Your call.”

Adam’s voice was so calm, so sure. Nick glanced over at the next stoplight. While he felt like the slightest noise would send him shooting out of his skin, Adam looked relaxed, loosely coiled in the passenger seat. Streetlights reflected off his hair and eyes, sparking with gold.

“Relax,” he said softly.

Nick let out a breath. “Sorry.”

Adam’s smile turned a little wicked. “We’re having coffee there, not getting naked.”

Nick nearly jumped the curb pulling into the parking lot.

Adam laughed.

Even this late at night, the Starbucks was packed, and they moved to the back of the line. Nick worried that Adam would hang close or drop quasi-sexual banter, but he kept his distance, and his conversation barely strayed from the mundane. Questions about school, about Quinn, about the weather they were having.

Worse, now that Adam was doing what Nick thought he wanted—what he thought he needed, this safe distance—Nick found himself missing the charged teasing, the blushing, the warmth of Adam’s breath on his neck when he whispered things about later.

The air in the restaurant changed, enough that Nick froze. It didn’t feel threatening, just watchful. He looked around, shuf-fling forward when the person in front of him moved ahead to order.