Rival: A Feuds Novella (The Feuds Series)

A Feuds Novella

Avery Hastings

St. Martin’s Griffin

New York

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About the Author

Copyright Page

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Davis pointed and flexed her toes impatiently, then bent to stretch her left calf muscle, pulling the sole of her foot upward with her palms. She didn’t want to feel nervous—she shouldn’t have—but she did. Why did good news always have to come with such a big batch of nerves?

On top of that, Vera was late. Though of course, Vera was always late to things— last year, she’d shown up two hours late to her own birthday party—and it’s not that Davis minded waiting. The Apex still felt like a dream to her. Its spa and training facilities were top-ranked in all of New Atlantic for providing the best, most exclusive service to athletes—serious and recreational both. It was almost impossible to become a member, and the cost was unfathomable. When Davis had broached membership to her own father last year, he’d outright laughed. She was only there now on Vera’s guest ticket.

Davis and Vera had made a plan to meet in the training room just adjacent to the spa. While Davis had spent her whole life in training rooms, none of them had ever been as enormous as the private dance room she was currently standing in. There could have been fifty other dancers practicing with her and she wouldn’t have noticed them. But Davis could only put in so many stretches after an entire day spent preparing for next week’s performance, and besides, she was anxious. Distracted. About that very performance.

She sank into a split, then reached back and grabbed her right ankle with her opposite arm, wishing Vera would show up already but knowing she should be grateful to be here at all. Vera was the whole reason Davis was able to put in extra hours of ballet rehearsal in the first place. Vera’s family had always been members. Vera’s dad played water polo; her mom played tennis; and though her parents had genetically modified Vera to be more musical than athletic, she had no qualms enjoying the complimentary spa facilities that came with membership. They had one seasonal guest pass to share each year. And this year, rather than giving it to one of Vera’s dad’s colleagues at the firm, Vera had convinced them to give it to Davis.

Davis finished her workout and stood, letting the euphoria of working out—plus receiving that morning’s news—wash over her. It was her little sister, Sofia, who had first found the envelope stamped with the Olympiads crest and Davis’s name slipped under her apartment door. Curious (no one used paper anymore, except for
really
important occasions), her sister had picked it up from its spot on the carpet and walked it into Davis’s room, then leaned so close she was practically in Davis’s lap as Davis eagerly tore into it, pushing aside Fia’s wayward curls so she could get a better look. The sight of Davis’s name so close to the Olympiads’ ornate symbol made her vitals go crazy—even now, as she just thought about it, a small spike in her heartbeat registered in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She almost had to pinch herself.

She, Davis Morrow, was going to be featured in the pre-Olympiads showcase. A spot in the showcase practically guaranteed an Olympiads nomination, if you looked at the track record, which Davis had been doing
since
she was Fia’s age. Seven of the past nine Olympiads champions had performed in the showcase. Davis shuddered with excitement. It made all the hours and all the grueling workouts totally worth it.

Just then, Vera’s voice piped in through Davis’s DirecTalk. “Hey, girl, see ya soon! Go hang in the spa and I’ll find you.”

Davis pulled off her leg warmers and grabbed her workout bag, then eyed her sweaty tank. She pulled that off, too, content to walk around in just her favorite blue sports bra and spandex leggings. The spa was just down the hallway, and soon she’d be ensconced in one of their signature fluffy robes. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she left the room, and swung the door open, walking smack into something.

Or someone.

She stumbled, but two strong hands gripped her shoulders and stopped her from falling. “I’m so sorry,” she said, a little out of breath. She looked up and met a pair of blazing eyes, hazel bordering on golden, like a cat’s. Then her own eyes wandered downward.

He was shirtless and wearing only a towel secured by what looked like a very loose knot. Davis felt her face heat up and she quickly darted her eyes back to his face, which she realized she recognized.

“Seth!” Davis exclaimed, immediately regretting it.

“I’m sorry … do we know each other?” He cocked an eyebrow, a playful grin spreading across his face.

Davis took a deep breath, hoping her embarrassment was imperceptible. Not only was he insanely gorgeous, with sandy brown hair just slicked back from a shower and eyes that practically glowed against his olive skin—he was also one of the best dancers in the Olympiads. He’d nearly won the year before, and now he was working as a top-level trainer.

“Well, it’s just … everyone knows
you,
” she said, flushing for a second time. “I mean, from the Olympiads last year. You had that amazing routine to the waltz from Tchaikovsky’s
Sleeping Beauty.
I remember that
battement en rond;
it was so beautiful, so surprising.” Davis stopped, realizing she was rambling.

“I’m impressed,” he told her, looking amused. Davis couldn’t help but notice him tugging at the knot around his waist. “You remember it so vividly.”

Davis nodded, trying to appear confident. Inside, she was quaking. She tried to remember Vera’s mantra: never let them know you’re faking. “That’s because no one’s ever pulled it off like you did,” Davis said, her eyes lingering a little too long on his mouth, which was curved into a slight smile. “Everyone remembers it,” she continued. “It was kind of big news for a while. So can we just chalk this up …”—she paused, indicating her near fall—“to another complicated dance move.”

He laughed, tilting his head back. “Sure,” he said. “Yes. You’re a dancer, too, aren’t you?”

“Normally a much more graceful one,” she said, feeling her confidence returning with the ease of his banter. “But yes. I’m training for this year’s Olympiads.”

“Really?” His eyebrows lifted in interest, and Davis opened her mouth to respond.

“Here I am!” chirped a bubbly voice. Davis turned to see Vera’s lithe form rounding the corner, her trademark red nails striking a startling contrast against her pale skin and blond hair. “Sorry I’m late—oh.” She stopped in her tracks, staring at Seth’s naked torso.

Seth smiled in return.

“Well, gotta get going,” said Davis, steering her friend in the opposite direction before she could say anything potentially awkward. “Nice to meet you, Seth.”

“See you around, Davis,” he said, giving them a casual wave.
He knew her name
. Davis was thankful Seth couldn’t see her face anymore—she was sure it was as red as Vera’s nails.

“Holy hell,” Vera said. “Who was
that
? He was, like, totally confident about being half-naked. As he should have been.”

“Shhhh.” Davis gripped her friend’s elbow hard.

“Whatever, he can’t hear us. He’s
hot,
girl. You should bump into him more often.”

“How did you know I bumped into him? Were you spying on me?”

Vera smiled impishly, her blue eyes alight with mischief. “Are you telling me that you stopped a hot, half-naked stranger to flirt?”

Davis shook her head, laughing as she steered Vera into the spa reception area. You’re so full of it. My god,” she told Vera, distracted by the scent of lavender in the air. Davis could feel the heated stone floor through her thin ballet shoes; it instantly calmed her. The room was lined with plush white chairs and a row of changing rooms concealed by gray linen curtains. Davis peeked behind one to find its mirrored cubbies stocked with thick cotton slippers and robes. “Besides, he’s a trainer. You know it’s completely off-limits for trainers and competitors to hook up. And I’m really, really, really, really—”

“I get it. You’re really hoping to make it past the Pre-quals.”

“Did you get the invitation?” Davis avoided her friend’s eyes and held her breath. She hadn’t been sure how to bring it up, but the chances of Vera
not
getting the showcase invite were slim. She was the most talented cellist in Columbus.

“Of course.” Vera waved her hand in the air carelessly. “And you did, too?”

“Yesterday,” Davis said, still relishing the thought of the invitation tucked away in her bag.

“That’s great!” Vera jumped up and down, kissing Davis on the cheek. “I’m so happy for you! Let’s celebrate. None of our usual manicure bullshit. Let’s go for the hydromassages. On me.”

“Vera, those things are way expensive for non-members.” It wasn’t that Davis’s family didn’t have money—like most Priors, they did, and plenty of it. But she knew how hard her dad worked, and she always felt wrong spending too much of his money, somehow.

“On my family’s account, I mean,” Vera said. “Trust me, they won’t mind. My parents will be happy for you!”

“Okay,” Davis agreed, hugging her friend. “Sounds amazing.”

And it
was
amazing. Five minutes later, they were facedown on adjoining massage beds in their bikinis, letting warm currents of high-pressure water course against their aching muscles. Well, at least Davis’s muscles were aching—and all over, since she’d been spending an average of six hours per day in training. Vera’s body got sore, too, Davis knew, from holding the heavy cello while she practiced for just as many hours.