Fake It 'Til You Break It

I stare at him a minute and the gorgeous green of his eyes I used to daydream about only weeks ago. Suddenly they look more like seaweed than shiny emeralds.

I gently pull my hand from his.

His eyes harden the slightest bit.

“Sorry, I can’t, but I’ll text Katy and ask her to find you.”

I leave him standing in the hall with a staggered expression.

I walk around the corner, skidding to a stop when Nico is leaning there, his hands in his pockets, head tilted down, glare focused on the linoleum beneath his feet.

Slowly, and only with his eyes, he glances up, gauging me.

My stomach warms, and I feel the tension surrounding him, but the longer he stares, the more his features smooth. Still, he doesn’t give me much.

Sliding his shoulder against the wall, he moves closer until I’m only a foot’s space away. His hand slips into my hair, his focus now on my lips.

I keep my arms locked at my sides, my toes curling in my flats, fingers digging into my skirt as he leans in.

Waiting.

But he doesn’t kiss me.

As soon as the disappointment stirs in my gut, the warmth of his lips press down against the throbbing pulse of my neck, creating a deeper kind of heat, and my eyes close.

He has to feel it, right?

The way it kicked up the second his hands landed on me, only to grow faster and faster with every breath I took.

My control begins to break, and I’m about to yank him to me, when his mouth finally lands on mine.

I open for him and he shifts closer, his hand digging into my hair with a gentle tug.

My arms wrap around his neck, tugging him in and his chest vibrates against mine causing my nipples to harden behind my bra.

“Damn, D,” he rasps, his mouth pressing back to mine a second later.

He shifts, nudging my back into the small cut out of the wall when the squeak of footsteps across freshly polished floors passes.

Nico’s mouth falls from mine in the same second, his breathing out of control.

He eyes me a moment, then cuts a quick stare over his shoulder, at the back of Alex’s retreating body.

The reason for the show.

The warmth of Nico’s body disappears, but he grips my hand and pulls me back to class, leaving a small piece of me in that empty hallway without even realizing it.

I don’t talk much the rest of the period, a question spinning in my mind the entire time.

What happens when this show’s over?Miranda takes a drink from her water bottle, setting it on the floor before she claps to get our attention. “Okay, that was halfway decent, but I do need to make some changes. A few of the pairings just... aren’t working,” she announces, her eyes instantly meeting mine. “Demi, partner with Mr. Rodriguez.”

I look to Trent who is focused on Nico.

“Gina, you’re dismissed,” she tells the JV girl she had dancing with Trent. “I’ll let you know what I need from you later.”

Nico’s chest presses against my back in defiance, and I glance at him over my shoulder.

But wait...

I look to Miranda. “I’ll be teaching Nico and Trent then?”

“I’ll make sure Nico is taken care of.” I don’t like the way she smiles as she says it. “And I’ll assign him a new partner after I make a decision.”

“I can teach him what he needs to know.”

Several heads swivel our direction at my instant and accidentally argumentative tone.

Miranda’s eyes narrow. “Fall in line, Demi. Ten seconds to start.”

I pick up my towel and water, ready to walk off, but Nico jerks me back with a scowl.

“What are you doing?” he snaps.

“What she told me to.”

He glares, his eyes focused over my shoulder and narrowing. “Tell her no,” he says almost too low to be heard.

“She’s the coach in this room, Nico. Would you tell yours no on the field?”

“Now, Mr. Sykes,” Miranda says with a hint of a threat.

His jaw tics, a harsh breath escaping through his nose.

He’s pissed, and he doesn’t bother hiding it as he glances at me, only to jerk right past me. Slowly, he makes his way toward her.

Trent ends up at my side, so I set my items back down and we work in the spot I started.

He scratches the back of his neck, glancing around. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” I tell him, spinning around and getting into position, my back to his front.

“We’ll run through it once more as a group,” Miranda shouts. “Then work independently with your partner to make sure they’re doing as expected, perfect what you can, ladies. We only get them for twenty minutes at a time.”

Just as she says, we go one more round, cutting after the sliding walk – we don’t show them a single step from our actual routine that will follow.