His brother grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and dropped into a chair. “Thanks for taking care of that.”

Nick always did, but he shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“You think you could help me with a job tomorrow, since school is out?”

Nick had been planning to spend the day doing more college applications, tweaking entrance essays, and taking a few more SAT practice tests.

But Michael looked exhausted, and Nick could put that stuff off for a few hours. “Sure,” he said. Then he paused, thinking of Quinn. “You think you could let me borrow the truck for an hour?”

Michael had to be tired, because he took another drink of water, then tossed the keys on the table.

Nick’s eyebrows went up.

Michael shrugged, then shoved out of the chair, heading for the doorway. “I know you won’t do anything irresponsible.”

Nick never did.

And sometimes he wondered if that was part of the problem.

Quinn Briscoe stretched her left leg against the barre in the empty room, then folded her upper body as low as she could. She didn’t do ballet, not really, but she’d taken enough classes as a kid that she always started and finished with a classical warm-up—just because that was the most thorough routine she knew, and it hadn’t let her down yet.

Her thighs were screaming, and she told them to go to hell. Really, she wished she’d worn sweatpants instead of these stretchy booty shorts. Then she wouldn’t have to look at how massive her legs were.

Besides, it was probably cold outside.

The shorts hadn’t been her choice. They were part of the cheerleading uniform at Old Mill, and she’d had her first practice this afternoon. Apparently athletes didn’t get the week off from school, just a modified schedule.

For five minutes, Quinn had allowed herself to be excited about the cheer squad. It wasn’t her type of thing, not really, but she’d been kicked off the dance team for being mouthy—and too fat, she was sure, given the teacher’s comments about body type—and cheerleading seemed like the next best thing.

Then Taylor Morrisey, squad captain, started calling her “Crisco,” a mockery of her last name.

The other girls had started doing the same.

Quinn had flipped off Taylor and stormed out of there—only to go home to find out that Jake, her older brother, was home from college for a few days.

That wasn’t the problem. Quinn accepted his existence, just like she did the rest of her family.

But her mother had told Jake he could sleep in Quinn’s bed, and Quinn could make do on the floor.

And instead of refusing out of chivalry or kindness or whatever boys were supposed to do, Jake had smirked at her and said, “Yeah, isn’t that where dogs usually sleep?”

Quinn had lost it. Moreover, her mom had taken Jake’s side. Of course perfect, scholarship-winning, Duke-basketball-playing Jake couldn’t sleep on the couch.

Of course their argument had devolved into a screaming match.

Of course Quinn had walked out. Again.

And she was getting sick of crashing at Becca’s, watching her best friend’s perfect relationship with her mom and her perfect relationship with Chris Merrick.

Quinn switched legs and stretched farther. R&B music pulsed into her head through the earbuds connected to her iPod, completely at odds with the classical routine, but she thrived on the rage in the lyrics.

The music caught her, and she spun off the barre, flying across the floor in a complicated routine of leaps and turns. Each step let her spring higher, until it felt like the air became a part of the dance and carried her along.

Then the song ended, and she was staring at herself in the smudgy mirror, her chest rising and falling from the exertion.

God, her thighs looked massive.

She scowled and turned away so she wouldn’t have to look at herself.

Only to find Nick Merrick standing in the doorway.

Quinn stopped short and yanked the earbuds free, feeling heat crawl up her neck. She wasn’t shy about boys, but her rage-inspired dancing felt like it should be private.

No, indulging her own insecurities felt like it should be private.

“How long have you been there?” she demanded.

“A minute or so,” he said equably. “I wasn’t exactly timing myself.”

Nick was quite possibly the only guy she’d ever met who seemed completely unaffected by her attitude.

Years of putting up with his twin probably had something to do with it.

But it was enough to make her want to be nicer. She coiled up the headphones in her palm and turned for her bag. “Sorry. You took me by surprise.”

“You seemed into it. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He paused, then came closer. “I was wishing I could hear the music.”

Quinn straightened and found him right in front of her. She sucked in her stomach and shook her ponytail back over her shoulder.

Nick and his twin brother were two of the hottest guys in school, and at first she’d been sure Nick was only interested because she had a bit of a reputation for being easy—not that she did anything to erase that viewpoint. She liked boys, and she knew how to get their attention, heavy thighs and all.

But Nick had surprised her by being a gentleman. They’d kissed, a few times—and he had one hell of a mouth—but they hadn’t done much more than that. And even at his house, in his room, where there wasn’t anyone to stop him from doing anything, Nick proved to be a pretty good sounding board for her problems instead of trying to shut her up and get in her pants.

Then again, Nick’s twin brother made no secrets of how he felt about her. She hated Gabriel Merrick almost as much as she hated Jake. Maybe Nick wasn’t doing anything with her because he figured he could do better.

Even Gabriel had mocked her choice to be a cheerleader.

He’d said she belonged on the bottom of the pyramid with the sturdy girls.

“Hey. Hey.” Nick’s hands closed over hers, and she realized she was kneeling, fighting with the zipper on her bag, and she’d already started a tear in the nylon stitching.

His blue eyes were close, intent on her face. She had to be flushed; it felt like it was a thousand degrees in here.

“What happened?” he said carefully.

She squished her eyes shut and thought about her day. Jake. Her mom. Cheerleading.

She opened her eyes and caught her body in the edge of the mirror, the way the shorts were cutting into her stomach, creating a little roll there.

Crisco.

She wanted to punch the glass, to watch cracks form a disjointed spiderweb across her reflection. Her hand formed a fist.

But she didn’t swing it. Something worse happened.

She started crying.

CHAPTER 2

Nick knew what was expected when girls started crying: a hug, a minute or two of listening, a minute or two to offer some soothing words, and a wry smile followed by the suggestion that they find some chocolate. Or ice cream. Or both.

Much like the accounting, he could do it in his sleep.

But Quinn didn’t even let him get to the hug. She jerked her hands away from him and swiped the dampness from her eyes, then stood. “God. Next time I start to do that, smack me or something.”

“Sure. Sounds perfectly socially acceptable.” He paused. “You okay?”

She pulled her ponytail free and started to retie it. “I hate when they make me do that.”

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

“I was shooting for a more specific list of people.”

She turned away from him. “I don’t think the cheerleading thing is going to work out.”

“Did something happen?”

“Your brother was right.”

Sometimes she jumped between topics until Nick couldn’t keep track of what she was talking about. It probably made most people nuts, but it was one of the things he liked best about her—nothing was expected. “Which brother?”

She gave him a look. “Gabriel. I am too fat to be a cheerleader.”

Sometimes his twin could be a real ass. “Quinn—you’re not fat.”

“You’re right. I’m sure they were calling me Crisco because I make great cookies.”

Damn. He let out a breath. “But you’re not—”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“You want to talk about what happened with your mom?”

“Hell, no.” She jammed the iPod into the side pocket of her bag.

When she straightened, he caught her waist and tossed her into the air. She gasped, but he caught her and held her up, his hands braced on her rib cage. “I couldn’t do this with a fat girl.”

And okay, he probably could. Landscaping wasn’t light work, and he was used to slinging bags of pea gravel and limestone. Quinn was no feather, but his biceps weren’t screaming at him, either.

Quinn glared down at him. “Put me down before you lose your hands in the rolls.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re not fat. You’re solid.” She was, too. Her calves sported clear definition, and he could feel the strength in her abdominal muscles.

“That’s what every girl wants to hear, Nick. That she’s solid.” She wiggled. “Put me down.”

He lifted her higher, until his arms were straight. “I will when you quit with the pity party.”

“Or when I knee you in the face.”

A knock sounded at the door frame. “You guys mind if I work in here?”

Nick glanced over. A young man stood there, in knee-length cutoff sweatpants and a red T-shirt. He looked vaguely familiar, like maybe Nick had seen him around school or something. Brown eyes, dark, unkempt hair that was just this side of too long on top, caramel skin. An easy smile with a shadow of unease behind it. Then again, maybe that was just the scar on his upper lip, the drawn skin making the smile a little crooked and dark at the same time.

“Come on in,” said Quinn. “We were just goofing off.”

Oh. Right. Quinn.

Nick set her down.

Quinn obviously knew the guy, because she gave him a one-armed hug. “I haven’t seen you around here lately.”

He shrugged. “Work, school, dance. The holy trinity. You know.” Then his eyes flicked to Nick. “New partner?”

“Not the way you mean,” Quinn said. “He’s not a dancer. Adam, this is Nick.”

Adam. The name fit him like a chord strummed on a guitar.

Nick couldn’t stop staring at him.

But Adam didn’t seem to notice. He just ducked his head through the shoulder strap and dropped his bag by the mirror. It should have been a throwaway motion, but instead there was a lyrical quality to his movement, like music flowed in his head. “I thought you might have been working on lifts,” he said.

“Nah,” said Nick. “Just a reality check.”

Quinn elbowed him in the ribs. “What are you working on?”

Adam pulled an iPod and a little player with speakers out of his bag. “An audition piece. There’s an opening at the dance school downtown.”

Quinn clapped. “Can we watch?”

Adam glanced at Nick. “I don’t want to bore your friend.”

“I wouldn’t be bored,” Nick said quickly. Then he checked himself. What was with the sudden enthusiasm? He shrugged. “I watch Quinn all the time.”

A slow smile found Adam’s mouth. “Sure, then. Find a place to sit.”

Nick sat against the wall at the back of the studio, and Quinn sat beside him, a good six inches of space between them. She pulled her sweatshirt into her lap and ripped the cap off a bottle of water. Nick had initially expected her to be one of those clingy girls who wanted to drape on his shoulder—but she never did.

Another reason he liked her.

Adam hit a button on the iPod, and music swelled through the small studio. Nick knew the song, one of those new lyrical R&B collaborations. The rhythm pulsed through his body and caught his heartbeat, the way music always did. It probably had something to do with the way sound waves traveled through the air—it always felt like he could hear with his whole body.