mija i saw your dance you looked beautiful so proud of you i cried a little dont tell your tia she’ll say its menopause nate is very handsome and talented but why does he have the shoulders of a nightclub bouncer or a man who fights for sport is that fashion now does he lift weights for fun or is it just the stress either way he looked at you like you were dinner and dessert and also a religious experience im not saying anything just be safe and stretch after rehearsals love you so much call me when you get a minute x
Holly
Mamá, I love you but you NEED to learn how to split up your texts Call you tonight. Love you x
12
QUICKSTEP, SLOW BURN
Nate
"Lars? He can eat a puck. And choke on it."
The Quickstep was a cruel fucking joke.
Fast, light, bouncy. Pretty much everything he wasn’t. Nate Eriksson was built to body-check, not bunny-hop. Yet here he was, trying to flick his feet and keep tempo while pretending that every brush of Holly’s body didn’t short-circuit his brain. Her touch was lightning. Her glare? A fucking blade. And still, he craved both.
“Don’t look at your feet,” she said again, her voice clipped as she spun into position.
“I’m not,” he lied, jaw tight.
“You are. And you’re grabbing me like I’m a steering wheel. Loosen up.”
He exhaled hard, shaking out his shoulders. He was trying.Trying, goddammit.But this dance wasn’t like the rumba. It demanded rhythm, trust, and contact. It wanted connection,notheat. Not the dark, hungry need that pulsed through him every time she got close.
She reset their hold and started counting him in. “Five, six, seven, eight?—”
The music hit, brass and swing, full of cheek and bounce. She was sharp, flawless. He was a beat behind, but improving.Maybe.Her body brushed his, the fabric of her skirt a whisper against his thigh, her scent pulling his focus like a goddamn drug.
“Left foot, Nate!” she snapped.
He corrected. Barely.
“Jesus. Do you evenwantto get this right?”
“I want you to get off my dick for two seconds.”
The words hit the air like a puck to the teeth.
Regret punched him in the gut a half-second later, too late to snatch them back, too wired to apologize. He clenched his jaw, hard enough to crack molars, and stepped closer instead of backing off. He towered over her, his shoulders squared, chest rising. But beneath the flex, his pulse thudded traitorously.
She blinked, the hurt flashing quick behind the fire.Good.
Maybe.
God, he didn’t even know anymore.
Holly stopped dead in her tracks. The music kept going, but she didn’t. Her eyes narrowed, sharp enough to cut glass. For a heartbeat, he drank in the sting behind the steel, the split-second flicker of hurt. Then it was gone, swallowed by something hotter.Fury.
“Excuse me?” she said, quiet and lethal, like the calm right before a bar brawl.
He didn’t backpedal. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, breathing hard, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. “I said maybe get off my case and let melearnwithout biting my head off.”
She stared like she was calculating whether prison time would be worth it. Before she could decide, a voice slithered in from the far end of the room.
“Still struggling with the basics, Martinez?”
Nate’s stomach dropped, and he turned slowly to see Lars lounging in the doorway to their rehearsal studio. The polished, smug,Danishbastard who’d cornered him at orientation, offered a handshake like a power play, and looked him up and down with detached amusement.
