Читать книгу Secret - Brigid Kemmerer - Страница 11

CHAPTER 3

Nick studied the sign over the door to the dance studio. The last time he’d seen Adam and Quinn dance, they’d been using the back room of the relatively deserted local YMCA. Now it was a real dance studio, with real dancers, and a parking lot full of real cars.

Meaning real people. Real people who might know him.

His head had been full of all the family secrets he’d revealed to Quinn, but in an instant, he forgot about Tyler and anything remotely Elemental.

“I don’t think I can do this,” said Nick.

“Whatever.” Quinn didn’t indulge him for one second. She was out of the truck and through the door to the studio before he got the key out of the ignition.

He sat in the silent vehicle, listening to the engine ticking.

Deliberating.

If a girl was waiting in there, he wouldn’t hesitate. He could flirt with girls without thinking about it, and they’d be lining up to follow him home. He’d learned the opposite sex with the same efficiency he learned physics or trigonometry: a system of functions and formulas leading to a calculated result.

He had no idea what the result of this evening would be. Worse, he didn’t know what he wanted the result to be.

Quinn stuck her head back out the door. Her expression spoke volumes.

Well. Really, just one sentence.

WTF are you doing?

Nick slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and dropped out of the truck.

“I wish I could get this on video,” Quinn said when he stepped into the tiny lobby.

“What?” he asked.

“Nick Merrick, insecure. No wonder you’re such a player.”

“What does that mean?” he demanded.

“With girls, there are no stakes.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on. Adam’s still teaching. You can catch the end of his lesson.”

“Wait—teaching?”

“He works here. How do you think we get to use this swank studio?”

“But—”

She shushed him with a glare, dragging him down a narrow hallway that opened into a huge studio. Parents were crowded onto a few wooden risers along the back wall. Nick’s gaze fell on everything except the people in the center of the room.

Mirrors lined the longest wall, stretching from floor to ceiling to make the room look twice as large as it was already. The opposite wall was all windows blocked by sheer screens, letting the last of the daylight in. A grand piano sat in the corner, next to a massive stereo.

A dozen kids stood spaced across the hardwood floor, mostly dressed in loose pants or stretchy shorts. Nine girls, three boys. None was older than twelve or thirteen.

Adam stood in front of the mirror, facing the group.

Now that Nick’s eyes had found him, they didn’t want to look away.

He’d worried that his imagination had built Adam into someone who didn’t exist, a memory of perfection that the real deal couldn’t match. But Adam’s flawless skin still carried that warm caramel hue. His hair was still pitch dark. His eyes were still brown and sparkling, his cheekbones still high. The same sinewy muscles traced the lengths of his arms. He moved with the same rhythm, as if a song played in his head.

He didn’t notice Nick.

Well, he was occupied. Teaching. Even now, he was talking about lines and balance and something about a firebird leap combination.

But the room wasn’t that big. His eyes had flicked in their direction when Quinn climbed onto the back row of the risers—but his gaze passed over Nick without recognition.

And now Nick was sitting here staring at him.

God, this was awkward.

In a flash, he understood the smiley in that text message. Maybe Adam was okay with Nick coming along because he didn’t care anymore. And honestly, Nick couldn’t blame him. Adam was out. He was comfortable in his skin. He had an apartment and a job and a life.

He wasn’t hiding from his family and ignoring a stack of college correspondence because he didn’t want to deal with reality.

At least this was easier. Bringing the physics textbook had been a good call. Nick slid his notebook out of the bag.

He wasn’t fooling himself.

His chest felt tight. Breath fought its way into his lungs. Adam might not have been watching him, but Nick felt like the center of attention anyway, like everyone in this room could feel his agitation, his insecurity, his disappointment.

He kept his head down over his notebook, but the rich timbre of Adam’s voice kept poking at the edges of his awareness. Adam was a good teacher. Friendly. Engaging, making the kids laugh as he counted off a routine and pointed out their errors.

His bare feet crossed the studio to stop in front of the stereo, drawing Nick’s eyes. He hit a button, and music swelled through the room. Country, to Nick’s surprise, lively guitar chords backed by a strong bass line and a driving beat.

Then Adam returned to his spot in front of the mirror and counted off the same beat, leading his students into a routine.

Nick’s breath caught. Music always rode the air until he felt each beat through his whole body. But the air here was full of energy that sparked and rejoiced with the melody. Nick could practically thread his fingers through the notes. He fed a bit of power to the air, getting it back in spades. The students leapt higher, their movements matching the beat perfectly, invisible streamers of sound-fed power weaving among them.

And Adam—he was magnificent. He moved like the music lived inside him, as if Nick’s power choreographed each motion.

When the last chord hit and they went still, the air in the room waited, too, charged with potential.

Then the parents clapped.

Nick felt Quinn breathing beside him. “You did something,” she whispered. “Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to.” And that was true. But facing Tyler in the driveway, telling Quinn his secret, the wonder and fear and uncertainty of coming here—all his emotions had rallied.

Adam was looking now. His chest rose and fell quickly.

All this power, and Nick had no idea what Adam was thinking.

Then Adam broke the eye contact and called his class to order, dismissing them for the night.

Nick let go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He’d left a sweaty handprint along the spine of his physics book.

“Try not to do that while I’m dancing, okay?” said Quinn. Before he could answer, she was climbing down from the risers, stripping out of her sweatshirt, pushing through the crowd of parents fighting for the exit.

Adam had disappeared into the hallway, too.

Damn.

Nick flung the textbook open on the bench and told himself to get excited about mass and acceleration and inclined planes. The room emptied, and when Quinn flicked on the stereo to start warming up, Nick tried to convince himself he would’ve been better off staying in the car.

His brain wasn’t convinced. He didn’t move.

The air told him when Adam walked into the room. Nick ignored the swirl in the currents, the minute temperature change as his element reacted to his tension.

Study.

He tried. He read the same equation sixteen times. It could have been written in crayon by a dyslexic toddler for all the sense it made.

Adam walked over to the risers.

Nick’s eyes froze on his textbook. Now he couldn’t remember what subject he was studying.

Adam put his hand on one of the wooden benches and leapt to the upper level.

Nick had forgotten how he moved, like a jungle cat crossed with an acrobat. Powerful yet agile. Instead of sitting beside him, Adam sat cross-legged on the riser in front of him.

It left Nick looking down at him. The position was casual and nonthreatening.

And kind of hot.

Nick told his eyes to stay on his frigging notebook, but they found Adam’s feet, following the line of his calves to his knees and thighs and—

Up. Up. Look up, before you get yourself in trouble.

Nick looked at his face. The darkness of Adam’s eyes, the barely-there start of shadow across his jaw. The crooked scar that dragged his lip away from perfection.

Nick flashed on what it had felt like to kiss him. He jerked his gaze back to his book. “Hey.”

Hey. Wow. Suave. Maybe Quinn should be videotaping this.

“What are you studying?” said Adam, his voice gently teasing, almost provocative. It made him sound like he wasn’t talking about studying at all.

If it had been a girl, Nick could have flirted back. You, he would have said.

Say it. Say it, say it, say it.

“Physics,” he said instead.

Ugh. Suddenly he felt like such a dork. Next he’d say he needed to get home to his bug collection.

He cleared his throat. “I enjoyed your class.”

“Thanks. They’re good kids.” Adam paused. “Did you come to watch Quinn?”

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 incarnations 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, shuffling forward when the person in front of him moved ahead to order.

Danger? he thought, seeking answers from the air.

But the air only carried the scents of ground coffee. Nick took a second look, trying to be discreet about it.

Silver was in prison. The middle school Elementals had been convinced to lie low. Calla was missing, but this didn’t feel like a Fire Elemental.

Then the sensation was gone, so subtly that Nick wondered if he’d really felt it at all.

The barista gave him a bright smile when they made it to the counter. “One of the Merrick twins,” she said. “Which one are you?”

Nick blinked, surprised, then realized he knew her from school. Cute, with almond-shaped eyes, carefully highlighted hair, and clothes just tight enough to get a second glance from most guys. Courtney or Carrie or something.

Nick felt himself sliding into the familiar, doing what was expected. He had to, or people might talk. He returned her flirtatious smile and gave her their typical twin line. “Does it matter?”

She gave him a mock pout and probably thought she looked sexy. It did absolutely nothing for him. “What’s going in your cup?” she said.

He met her eyes and gave it right back. “Surprise me.”

“Something hot and sweet coming right up.”

“Make the same for me, sugar,” said Adam.

While she smiled and grabbed a second cup, Adam leaned close enough to whisper to Nick. “I can play this game, too.”

He was teasing, but Nick felt the undercurrent of . . . something else. Admonishment? Sadness? Disappointment? All three? Before he could puzzle it out, Adam drew back and pulled out his wallet.

“I’ve got it,” said Nick.

“No way. You’re doing me a favor. I got it.”

“A favor?”

“Giving me a ride home.”

Oh.

Nick felt like he was stumbling through his evening, and every step was wrong. When Courtney-Carrie-Whatever handed them their cups, he could barely get it together to thank her.

She’d written her number on the cardboard sleeve. Along with her name—Courtnie—with a big heart over the I.

“Ready to go?” said Adam.

“Yeah. I—” Nick hesitated, not even sure what he was going to say. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Their breaths fogged when they stepped outside. After the warmth and bustle of the Starbucks, the sudden silence closed in around Nick.

“I’m not chasing you off,” said Adam. “I just knew we couldn’t talk in there.”

“Okay.” Nick thought he should apologize, but he couldn’t quite nail down why. The truck rumbled to life, and he reached out to twirl the dials to get the heat going again. Cinnamon and vanilla wafted from the paper cups to filter through the cab, warm scents that pulled some of the tension from his shoulders.

“So what’s it feel like?” said Adam.

“What’s what feel like?”

“The back wall of that closet you’ve buried yourself inside.”

His voice wasn’t unkind, but Nick heard an echo of what he’d felt inside the coffee shop. Not quite judgment. But almost.

Nick wrapped his hands around his cup and inhaled the steam. “It sucks.” He paused. “Sorry—in there—”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to apologize.” A hesitation. “Your family still doesn’t know?”

Nick shook his head.

“But you came to the studio.”

“Yeah.”

Adam took a drink of his coffee and stared out the windshield, a musing smile on his face. “When I saw you walk in with Quinn, I almost forgot what I was teaching.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

As soon as he said the words, Nick wished he could kick himself. He sounded sulky, for god’s sake. Sulky.

Adam didn’t let it go, either. His smile widened. “Don’t you worry. I noticed.”

Nick busied himself with backing out of the parking space, grateful for the darkness, because he was sure heat sat on his cheeks again. But then he got to the edge of the lot and sat there, wondering where to go.

If Adam invited him back to his apartment, he had no idea what he’d say. An invitation equaled an opportunity to say no. A choice. Making one decision led to more complicated ones. Worse, he felt Adam watching him, probably deliberating over the same thing.

But Adam didn’t offer an invitation. “My place,” he said firmly. “Drive.”