Page 69

“You know you can connect your phone to the speaker, right?”

Her eyes cut to mine in spite as I walk to the technology box in the back where the surround-sound speaker lives. Opening the metal box, I flick on the speaker and press the Bluetooth button, making it available for discovery.

“You should be able to connect right to the Bluetooth.”

“Don’t you think I tried that? I couldn’t figure out the name.”

“You didn’t think to ask?” My eyebrow raises.

Don’t get me wrong, I love when she’s too prideful to ask for my help, especially when we both know I’m going to give it anyway, but sometimes, it isn’t just defiance. I can’t put my finger on it, but it almost feels like behind all her bite, there’s a fear she doesn’t want anyone to see.

“I was fine,” she retorts.

“The name will always be emerald. Once the system is on, your phone should connect automatically.”

The jingle of the speaker connects just as I confirm, and the overwhelmingly loud thump of Haven’s new single roars through the small space.

“If I would’ve gotten a tour, I would’ve known that,” Fia mumbles under her breath. As she stops the music, she continues packing by shoving her phone roughly into her pocket.

“I would’ve been happy to give you a tour, but you got nervous when I caught you drooling over my ink.”

“I was not drooling,” she bickers, head snapping to look at me with narrowed eyes.

“Nothing wrong with a little drool.”

I can’t help but smirk. We’re both exhausted, and delirium is close to setting in, but the high of whatever connects us is the only thing keeping us awake.

“You’re disgusting. Can we go?” She flips her hair dramatically over her shoulder.

“Do you want to try one more time since the speaker is working?’”

The retired athlete in me hated leaving a practice on a bad note. When I played basketball in high school and college, I’d stay after until I hit twenty free throws in a row. It was never my strong suit, but I was determined. I know Fia has that same grit for dance; I see it in her eyes. There’s no way she’s happy leaving tonight after sitting around all evening.

“I’m tired.” Her fickle excuse barely even makes it out of her mouth.

Going against her, I fetch the singular chair from the back corner and drag it on two legs to the center of the room.

“Try one more time. Don’t leave on a bad note.”

My legs flare wide as I sit, opening myself up perfectly to Fia in the middle of the studio floor.

“I’ll just try again tomorrow,” she whispers, filled with defeat.

Her lack of inspiration runs deeper than a speaker-less practice. Alone, her defeat is easily detectable, but around me, her catalyst is captivating.

“Didn’t peg you for a quitter.”

I sit back like a king watching his queen.

A flash of something challenging takes over her face. Gotcha.

Her bag slips from her shoulder, making a soft plop on the floor. Fia doesn’t check for its safety as she stalks toward me. Her jaw is so tight, if I were a betting man, I’d say it hurts, but she remains voiceless until her toes touch mine.

“I am not a quitter,” she spits through her teeth.

If someone were to look closely at the hairs on my skin, they’d see them sticking straight up. Fia is mad and, fuck, I hope my sweats aren’t giving away just how much I’m loving her anger.

“Prove it.”