Wicked Grind (Stark World 1)

"Um, sure," Wyatt frowned, worried by his father's tone and uncharacteristic sentimentality. "I love you, too."

"And God knows your grandmother thinks you hung the moon."

"Sure, Dad," Wyatt said. The fact was, Anika Segel was a force of nature, and although Wyatt was firmly convinced that she was one of the most incredible women to ever walk the earth, he had no freaking idea what she really thought about him. Or anybody, for that matter, other than his mother and sister. With those two, she'd hole up for hours talking career and how to position themselves, and on and on and on.

There were times when Wyatt felt invisible.

So while his dad's words were nice to hear, Wyatt wasn't at all sure he believed them.

His dad clapped him on the shoulder. "Just forget about Grace, son. She'll move on. Another girl will come along soon enough."

He thought of Kelsey and cringed as he felt his cheeks heat. Was he actually blushing? How lame was that?

His dad chuckled. "So she's come along, already? All right, then. Tell me about her."

"I dunno. She's pretty. She's different." He lifted a shoulder. "And she's not interested in me at all."

"You sure about that?"

Wyatt shrugged again.

"But you like her?"

"Yeah. I like her a lot."

"So tell her."

"I tried."

His dad nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough. But maybe you need to try harder. Deep down, nobody's that different."

"She is," Wyatt said firmly. Because Kelsey was different, with her shy and quiet ways counterpointed by a light that burned inside of her. He'd only seen flickers, so far. But what he wanted was for it to shine on him. He wanted to bask in her glow.

His father's mouth curved down thoughtfully. "Maybe she is. But don't be blinded by a pretty girl," he said. "Or a sweet one, or a charming one. Sure, there are girls out there who aren't as obvious as Grace, but in the end, everybody's drawn to fame. Everybody. Even the people who say they don't want it themselves, they're still drawn to the light. We're a culture of moths, Wyatt, and you'll be a happier man if you remember that."

Disturbing words, but he pushed most of them aside, focusing only on the try harder part of the equation. Because something told him that Kelsey was worth the effort. He just hadn't found the way in yet. She was a sweet girl, and instead of trying to really get to know her, he'd given up and gone out with Grace instead.

God, he was an idiot.

He spent the next few days avoiding Grace and trying to get close to Kelsey, something he never quite managed to do. They shared a few words, and every time, he'd see a spark of interest in her eyes. She liked him--he was certain of it. But she stayed behind her wall.

That reality frustrated the crap out of Wyatt. He wanted to get to know the real Kelsey, because he was sure there was another girl living behind that wall of sweet shyness. But the most he ever saw was that tiny glimmer of light, and he had no idea how to break through the wall to let the fullness of her shine through.

Try harder, his dad had said, but isn't that what he'd been doing? How long should he keep trying? Wasn't it crazy to keep on and on, expecting her to suddenly smile brightly and slide into his arms? Wasn't that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and over and expecting a different result every time?

It was. Which meant Wyatt was certifiable. Because he just kept at it, trying to think of different ways to catch her attention even while avoiding Grace, who was determined to go out with him again even though he'd politely told her that he didn't think it was going to work out between them.

Grace, however, wasn't the kind to take no for an answer, and maybe that was a good thing. After all, Grace was the reason he was finally able to find a way over Kelsey's wall.

He'd been pacing outside the rec center, planning to grab Kelsey when she came out. But then he heard Grace approaching with a group of her friends, and since he really wasn't in the mood to see her again, he ducked inside, then pressed himself against the wall as he breathed hard, hoping that the girls weren't planning to come into the center.

He peered through the windows, waiting until they'd safely passed. When he saw them disappear around the copse of trees near the picnic area, he exhaled and started for the door. He was about to go back outside when the music that had been playing in the background suddenly grew louder. He paused, confused, then realized that someone must have opened a door to one of the studios.

For just a few moments, pop music flooded the hall, the sound steamy and seductive and a little bit familiar. He moved that direction, curious to see why a provocative current chart-topper was front-and-center in a dance class filled with little kids.

Except there were no little kids. That much was clear as he got closer. The music was coming from the largest studio, the one at the end of the hall. The door was open, and Mrs. Hinson was leaning casually against the door frame. A fifty-something former Broadway chorus dancer, Sarah Hinson had moved to Santa Barbara to open her own studio, and had ended up contracting with the club to teach all the dance classes from toddler all the way up to ballroom dancing for seniors.

He paused in front of the door to the men's room, the slight offset from the wall helping him to stay out of sight should she look his way.