Indie’s grin was positively feral. “Oh, so we’re playingthatgame. Got it. Because the chemistry? The footwork? You two looked like you were having a whole conversation out there.”
Nate didn’t miss a beat. “We were,” he said with a cocky smirk, voice low enough that Holly felt it in herteeth. “She just didn’t like my answers.”
Holly shot him a look. “Because your answers werewrong.”
Indie pressed a hand to her chest like this was an episode ofThe Bachelor. “Okay, I can’t tell if I should give you a trophy or a therapist.”
“We’ll take both,” Nate said with a cheeky wink.
Holly couldn’t resist the smile that cracked across her face, no matter how hard she tried. And that was the problem. Nate already watched her like she was a secret he’d only just partway solved. And the worst part? She kind of wanted him to hurry up and figure her out.Sort of.
The crowd screamed. Indie laughed. But Holly feltseenin a way that was way too close toknown. And that wasdangerous.
She tried to pivot and play it cool. Said something about trusting the work and letting the rest happen naturally. But there was absolutely no way in hell she could concentrate because that’s when his fingers brushed hers.
And she should’ve pulled away. Should’ve drawn a line, cracked a joke, walked offstage and into oncoming traffic. Should have yanked her hand back. Instead, she held her breath for a split second and prayed her feelings weren’t showing on her face.
When his voice reached her, it was a quiet prayer he didn’t mean for anyone else to hear. Except the whole country was listening, live-to-air.
“Holly’s the reason I made it through tonight. It’s all her. I’m just the lucky thug she takes along for the ride.”
She turned and looked right at him, her heart leaping into her chest for the second time that evening.He meant it. There was nothing performative in his eyes. Just Nate, raw and open anddaring her to admit she felt it too. Which she absolutely, positivelywould not be doing.
Indie, oblivious and chipper, jumped in to save her from the threat of her own feelings.
“Alright, folks!” she beamed, barely holding onto the mic as the audience roared. “Judges’ scores in just a moment, but first, let’s take another look atthatfinal move.”
The jumbotron flared to life behind them, throwing up a slow-motion replay that made Holly want to scream into the nearest throw pillow. There they were, bodies fused, noses nearly touching, feathers swaying, Nate’s hand splayed wide on her back like it belonged there. The eye contact. The smirk. The moment right before his mouth moved.
The almost kiss.
The audience breathed out a loud, contrivedawwwwwww.
Holly groaned. “God, please don’t zoom in on that part,” she grumbled, but there was a flush living its best life high on her cheekbones.
“Too late,” Indie cackled like the menace she was. “That one’s going viral before the credits roll.”
And Holly smiled through gritted teeth, because of course it was. And because,worst of all, she kind of wanted to watch it again. Alone. With a drink. Maybe a fan.
“Alright,” Indie announced, stepping center stage, “Let’s go to the judges! Muffy?”
“Oh my gooood.”Muffy leaned into her mic, looking flustered. “It was cheeky, it was chaotic, and it wasfilthy. Loved it.Costumes on point, song choice so ridiculous it’s right. And if chemistry were a category? You two just won the Academy Award. An 8 from me!”
“Praise indeed,” Indie grinned, looking at the somewhat unimpressed-looking guy at the end of the judging panel. “How’d you like them apples, Stan?”
Stan Mahoney adjusted some papers on the desk in front of him, all business. “There were timing issues. A few rough edges.” The audience started to boo, and he cracked a smile, lifting a hand to stave them off while he finished speaking. “But your recovery?Sharp.Your attitude? Criminal. And the storytelling? Off the charts. An 8 from me, too. Well done.”
“Great scores so far for Nate and Holly! Let’s go to our resident fashion-queen, Chantreuse.”
The incredibly fashion-forward Chantreuse sat there, fanning herself with her scorecard. “I don’t care if he forgot half the steps,” she said. “He followedher. And she controlled the floor like it owed her rent. I was entertained. I was scandalized. I’m calling my therapist. 9.”
The crowd screamed.
“Well, there you have it folks! Holly Martinez and Nate Eriksson proving for the second week in a row that they’re coming for the Season 12 crown with a judges’ score of 25 out of a possible 30!” Indie beamed into the camera. “Don’t forget to vote for them using the number on your screen. We’ll be right back after this, with former Miss USA Jorja Ray and her partner Lars Holm dancing the waltz!”
Miles higher than Holly had expected for a week two Quickstep with a hockey enforcer who danced like he was trying towin the key to her chastity belt instead of the grand prize. His hand brushed hers again, but she didn’t dare look at him. Didn’thaveto. The tension between them had its own gravity now.
Before she knew it Indie was ushering them off to the press line, still riding the high of those numbers.
