“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.