He shuddered. “That’s fucking sacrilege. This literally hurts to listen to. Next, you’re going to tell me you never write, either.”
She couldn’t conceal her mounting delight. “God, no. I’d rather watch paint dry.”
He groaned. “You mean you’ve neveroncebeen so full of something, a feeling, or a need, that you felt like it would burn its way out of you if you didn’t get it down on paper?”
“Never. Have you?”
“Are you kidding? All the time.”
A stupid grin claimed her face as the pattern of him took shape in her mind. His penchant for words made so much sense, because hadn’t she already glimpsed poetry in the way he moved?
“What a fantastic fight.” Her breath came short and sharp. “Maybe my favorite I’ve ever had.”
Now that his eyes had latched onto hers, they refused to stray elsewhere. “I’ll admit, it didn’t suck.” He sounded half-winded, too.
He stared into her. She swore if she’d lit a match, the span between them would have caught fire.
“Whoareyou?” he finally said. “I never talk to anyone about this shit. Ever.”
“Just a cheerleader.” She smiled. Clearly, people didn’t usually come at his defenses with guns blazing. “Who likes math and safety and lives in a mansion.”
“I’m getting the sense there’s more to it than that,” he said.
“Maybe. Stick around, and you could find out.”
Nick held her eyes for longer than most people would have, but his gaze finally flickered away. He unfolded from the couch and slid his hands into his scuffed pockets. “Um. Anyway. Where’s the kitchen? I think I’ll take you up on that soda water.”
For a raw moment, she mourned the obvious retreat. But he’d essentially just agreed to undress in front of her, which probably counted for something. “Yeah. Sure. This way.”
In the kitchen, Nick shrugged off his bomber jacket and draped it over a chair. Aubrey delved into the fridge, shoving aside various Tupperware containers and seizing a can of fizzy water from the back.
When she emerged, Nick had already stripped off his sweatshirt.
She froze. He could have covered himself, but instead, he stood straight-backed, his hands at his sides.
God, his bones. They stood out in stark relief, his sternum like a ship’s keel, each rib etched in shadow by the overhead light. She wondered how he’d bested Gallant so effortlessly, yet the longer she looked, the more she read a hidden vitality in those acres of sinew and bone. He was all bladed edges and pitiless lines, as if some inner fire had reduced him to a finely honed weapon.
Her grip on the can tightened. “I... owe you an apology.”
“For?” he murmured.
“Thinking you didn’t speak.” Her voice echoed, husky in the stillness of the kitchen. “It was just that when you didn’t answer me in class, or the hallway, I thought maybe you couldn’t.”
His lips quirked. “Because someone like me would never ignore the gorgeous cheerleader for any other reason?”
“I...” Blood rocketed into her cheeks. Which surprised her. Gallant complimented her looks all the time, and it never flushed warmth through her like this. “...didn’t mean it like that.”
“Sure you did. Girls who look like you aren’t used to being ignored.”
The corners of her mouth ticked down. “That’s presumptuous.”
He huffed a chuckle. “Is it?”
“Yeah. I might not get ignored very often, but that doesn’t mean I’m not constantly misjudged.”
His lips thinned, but she sensed an invitation to continue.
She gestured at her uniform, on display now that she’d hung her parka in the front hall. “People see this and assume I only care about hooking up with guys or screaming my head off every time Henderson wins a football game. Every time I talk about math, they think I’m being delusional. Or trying to sound smarter than I am. But you of all people should see past that.”
