Rival: A Feuds Novella (The Feuds Series) (2 page)

“Could this feel any better?” Vera asked.

“Nope. Heaven.”

“So back to the boy,” Vera prodded. “You’re not a competitor
yet,
you know.”

Vera was right, but the thought of doing anything even remotely close to violating a rule made Davis’s stomach clench into a knot. “But I don’t want to jeopardize my chances,” she said slowly, watching beams of soft light pulse in the glass floor in perfect rhythm with the waves of the hydromassage. “Remember that time Auralie’s sister was disqualified just because someone saw her trainer leaving her building in the morning? One of the judges lived there, too, or something, and spotted them. I can’t take any risks.” She hesitated before continuing. “Plus, it’s not like we know if he even likes me. Or thinks I’m pretty. So this whole conversation is basically pointless.” Davis didn’t mind how badly Vera always seemed to want to set her up with the right guy, but sometimes she went a little too far.

Vera rose a little in her bed, knocking against the upper-body jet streams. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I can’t believe you just said that. You’ve
got
to know how ridiculous that sounds. Number one, who wouldn’t like you? Number two, obviously you’re pretty and lovable. All Priors are pretty—”

“Not all Priors are lovable,” Davis pointed out. “It’s not like there are personality enhancements.”

“You wouldn’t need a personality enhancement even if they did exist,” Vera told her. “Since when did you unleash the inner Imp? Talk about insecure.”

Davis rolled her eyes. Vera was ridiculous.

“Anyway,” Vera went on, “the heat was practically radiating off the two of you in giant waves. I could basically see it. Even
I
was getting worked up.”

Davis laughed, raising her head, too. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m a little dramatic from time to time,” Vera agreed, shaking out her blond curls. “But when I know, I know. You guys had chemistry. Plus, you have so much in common! He’s a dancer. And he’s older, which is hot.”

Davis rolled her eyes. “Yeah, so much in common.” Still, she couldn’t help wondering if Vera was right. It
would
be nice to date a dancer, to be with someone who understood what it was like to really care about the way the body moves to form art.

“Just give it a chance,” Vera said.

“Okay, okay. Can we talk about something else?”

“Def. Have you heard who else has been invited to perform in the showcase? I’m sure everyone was talking about it in the training room, am I right? God, you should have heard the musicians this morning. Everyone’s so smug.”

Davis reached up to adjust the jet that was centered on her shoulders.

“Gabrielle Rydell,” she said. She couldn’t help tensing, despite the relaxation therapy.

Vera was quiet, which was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence for her. But “Gabrielle Rydell” was all Davis had to say. Vera knew what a threat Gaby was; she was Davis’s main competition. Her only competition. Davis could picture Gaby as she was the last time she’d seen her dance, in an inter-territory dance-off: performing perfect adagios in front of an adoring audience. She’d received a standing ovation and had been hand delivered a bouquet of roses personally from the judges. She’d even—and this was the worst part—been compared to Davis’s mom, the greatest ballerina of her time. It had been a punch in the gut to Davis.

“I’ve seen the way she plays the showcase organizers,” Davis told Vera, trying to keep a tremble out of her voice. “They’re at the Apex all the time. I’ve seen her here a few times, but I’ve never seen her practice. I’m … I can’t say I’m not worried. She’s so well connected.”

“And she’ll do anything to get ahead,” Vera finished. “You’ve told me that before.”

“It’s just so hard,” Davis said, voicing thoughts she’d never tell anyone but Vera. “It’s not just about talent anymore. Everyone knows there are so many ways to get ahead, and people like Gaby stop at nothing. Plus, her team is totally cutthroat.”

“That’s where she probably gets it,” Vera said dryly. “That and her stage mom. Have you seen that woman? Good god.”

Davis laughed. It was true; she’d seen Gaby’s mom only once, nodding along with the music and directing her daughter from the floor at the inter-territory dance-off, and Davis had almost felt bad for Gaby. Until she saw Gaby tear into the next dancer on her way off the stage, making the clearly terrified girl cry throughout her entire performance.

And besides, at least Gaby’s mom was alive.

At that thought, the jets stopped. Davis eased herself from the hydrobed and grabbed a towel. She was toweling off when she realized that Vera had been silent for a while.

“Ver—” Davis turned, only to be squirted directly in the face with a stream of the Apex’s signature almond-scented massage oil. She squealed and jumped up, wiping the mess from her face with the towel. Davis had to admit that it smelled, and tasted, delicious.

“What the hell! We’re going to get in trouble!”

Then Vera sprayed her with another stream, then another, giggling the whole time. “Coward,” Vera teased. “You need to lighten up a little. Let your hair down. And douse it in lavender!” Vera tousled her own curls for effect. “Who cares about this ‘Gaby,’ ” she said, using air quotes, “anyway? If the audience can’t appreciate your talent, then they suck. Maybe Gaby will do anything to win, but you practice, and you’re good. Like, legit good. Like better than every other ballerina out there. So just stop worrying, and chill out, and let yourself take a break once in a while, ’kay? Unless …,” she trailed off, smirking.

“What?”

“Unless you want to use your own tactics …” Vera wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Unless there’s a
forbidden
trainer you could cozy up to, just in case, make sure you’re extra prepared.”

Davis reached for the nearest bottle she could find, which happened to be an enormous tube of shampoo from the shower stall next to her. She squirted Vera all over her hair, arms, and towel until Vera’s swimsuit and towel both were a bright green and she was laughing hysterically and begging Davis to stop. But Davis was merciless.

“You want to play this game? You got it,” she tried to tell her friend even as she doubled over laughing herself. She kept squirting Vera, whose back now looked like it was covered in algae strung together with bikini straps. Then Vera whipped around, her arms laden with colorful bath sponges, which she began pelting at Davis.

Davis jumped, dropping the bottle of shampoo, and ran around the room, laughing as she tried to dodge the sponges. Her abs hurt more than they did after a long day of dancing; it was the most fun she’d had in ages, probably since the last time Vera tricked her into doing something to lighten up. But when she heard the distinct sound of a door slam, she froze.

“Oh. My. God.” Davis grabbed Vera’s arm.

“Shit.” Vera gripped Davis’s hand as footsteps made their way up the hall in their direction. Davis clapped a hand over her mouth in an effort to stifle her laughter and let Vera pull her into the adjoining steam room and away from the mess. They leaned into each other for support as they toweled off the goopy shampoo and massage oil, choking on their giggles. Davis felt truly happy—and grateful—in a way that had eluded her for a long time. She wrapped her friend into a long, slippery hug.

They both covered their mouths for the dozenth time when they heard an attendant step into the main room and utter a horrified cry, something along the lines of, “Oh, lordy!”

“She’s going to find us!” Davis’s voice was a hushed whisper, drowned out in part by the hissing steam surrounding them in the tiny room. The steam seemed like it was coming from everywhere at once: the vents across the ceiling, floor, and walls. Davis felt faint, so she sat down on the edge of the long wooden bench that lined the room. She could hardly sort out her thoughts, she was so weak, she realized—a result of days of dancing, the impromptu spa fight, and the resulting adrenaline rush.

“The Apex is literally never going to invite me back,” she said.

“Relax,” Vera said, giggling, her face flushed red. “It’s all going to work out. Just enjoy. They’re not going to do anything … it’s not like being a member’s daughter doesn’t have its perks.”

“Perks like … not getting caught for destroying the spa and using at least a week’s worth of massage oil?” Suddenly it was all striking Davis as hilarious all over again. She giggled, high from the steam and the absurdity of their situation.

“Check it out,” Vera said, scooting closer to a glass panel that provided a number of lit options in all colors of the rainbow. “ ‘Purple for Paradise.’ Ohhh. No, wait. ‘Blue for Bliss’! Or. Ah! Help me decide. There’s ‘Green for Gorgeous,’ too.” Her hand hovered over the bars before she finally reached over and gave the purple choice a confident pull. Almost immediately a stream of subtle, sweet, tropical-smelling steam filled the room. Somehow it cleared Davis’s head, leaving her less woozy than before. She patted down her body, allowing the massage oil to absorb into her skin as the steam wafted over her. “It’s a cooling scent,” Vera explained. “So our skin absorbs optimal steam levels, but we don’t overheat.”

Davis lay back, enjoying the scented steam. If only her father weren’t a politician—and scrutinized by the media for his spending habits, among literally every other part of their lives—she’d push harder for stuff like this. And … if only her dad weren’t so busy figuring out the conflicts between Imps and Priors, maybe he’d be a little more attuned to her life in general.

“You know what would
really
be paradise?” Vera broke in. Davis was silent. It sounded rhetorical. Vera would talk for hours if given the chance. “If, say, that automated hydrotherapy voice would turn into a sexy hydrotherapy man and join us in here.”

“Scandalous,” Davis commented. “Shall I tell Oscar you thought of that?” Vera had been with her boyfriend, Oscar, for years, practically since puberty.

“Oh, Oscar.” Vera rolled her eyes. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I don’t think Oscar needs any help with the ego,” Davis mentioned. “Might not hurt to take him down a few pegs.”

“His ego is off the charts,” Vera agreed. “I should probably stop telling him how big his—”

“Ver! Stop.” Davis swatted her with the end of her towel.

“What?! I meant his biceps. You’ve got one dirty mind, my friend. And you say you don’t want a boyfriend….” Vera winked, and Davis burst into a fit of giggles. Historically, Vera was pretty much the queen of TMI. Oscar’s biceps were usually the last topic of discussion. Davis knew more about that boy’s anatomy than she cared to.

She was still giddy, all of it going to her head—the steam, the moment—when she heard Vera catch her breath, then felt her carefully manicured nails dig into her forearm.

“What?” Davis asked. “Did you remember something about Oscar’s biceps?”

But then Davis followed Vera’s intent gaze, which was directed just outside the steam room. Davis squinted, tensing. The windows were all fogged up from the steam; she assumed it was the attendant, coming to bust them. Then a fist knocked on the window. Startled, Davis moved back and wrapped the towel tightly around her. To her shock, Vera wiped some of the steam away from the window, exposing their faces.

“What are you doing?” Davis snapped. “You’re going to get us caught!”

Then she peered closer and realized that it wasn’t an attendant at all.

It was Seth. Towel Seth. Tall, muscled, sexy Seth. A wave of light-headedness overcame her. Seth pushed his face closer to the glass door and Vera eagerly wiped away enough fog to frame his perfect abs. Davis finally looked up to see Seth waggling his eyebrows at them.

“Let him in!” Vera whispered to Davis.

“I … I don’t think I can,” Davis said. It was true. Her feet were so heavy and her head so light that she couldn’t tell anymore whether it was the boy at the door or the amount of time spent in the heat. Or both. Vera laughed again and rose to her feet, opening the door for Seth and letting in a gust of fresh air. Davis drank it in, trying to compose herself.

“Are you girls going to sleep here tonight? Looks like you’ve really settled in,” Seth asked, cocking his head. Davis shook her head, mute.

“Lost track of time,” Vera told him. “Speaking of which, I’ve got a cello lesson in a bit. I mean, right now.”

Davis winced. Subtlety was not one of Vera’s best qualities.

“I thought someone in here needed medical attention,” Seth said, his voice casual. “I’m no expert—just a trainer—but I know a thing or two about curing giggle fits.”

“Oh god, were we that loud?” Davis let it slip out before she could think.

“Just a little.” Seth measured an inch of space between his fingers.

“I’m Vera,” Vera said, extending her hand. “Going now!”

“Seth,” Seth told her. “Right. Cello?”

“That’s the one. Good memory. Anyway, gotta scoot.”

“I should go, too.” Davis quickly stood.

“Why?” Vera said, giving her a look. “I have your schedule synced up with my tablet—not as creepy as it sounds, we’re besties-since-birth,” she said as an aside to Seth. “You have literally nothing else going on today. Nothing. That skin needs a good steam, girl. So do those muscles. Stick around. She works tirelessly,” Vera informed Seth. “Never met a dancer like this one.” She gave Davis a little shove, practically pushing off her towel to reveal her skimpy silver bikini beneath it. Davis, glaring at Vera, stumbled backward and readjusted. “I’ll give you a call later on,” Vera chirped, hitting the red color on the digital mood strip on her way out.

Seth slipped in and closed the door just as the smell of rose petals filled the air. Davis cringed, the butterflies in her stomach nearly causing her to pass out. Vera must have hit “Red for Romance.”
Ugh. Could she have been any more obvious?

“You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” Seth wanted to know. “I like sticking around late here. It’s hard, you know? To find privacy, I mean. This is sort of my space. The rest of it … I don’t know. The Apex is great, but it’s not as ‘exclusive’ as you might think.”