"Did you see?" A blur of pink flies towards us as Maddie breaks away from her group at the barre.

"That last jump! Did you see it?" Eyes wild, she jumps on her toes, vaguely demonstrating the move.

"You were amazing! That was a beautiful grand jeté and your positions are looking so graceful!" Rory hugs the ball of tightly woven energy while I pat the top of her head, wistfully remembering the days when we actually had to bend over to do this. Maddie's up to my chest now and it feels like she sprouted overnight. "I'm a little jealous actually, I love ballet but it was never my strong suit."

"Ah, you're Rory, right?" the dance instructor calls out as he makes his way over to us, wading through the throng of children and adults that crowd the mirror-lined studio. Maybe a handful of years older than us, his sandy blonde hair and round eyes give him a youthful appearance.

Maddie makes use of his interruption and jets off again somewhere, leaving the three of us.

He thrusts a hand out in Rory's direction with a wide grin. "I'm Cam. It's nice to finally meet you, Maddie talks about you a lot, she couldn't resist telling us a million times about how you were picking her up today. We've actually competed a few times before—you're with Heat Wave, right? Impressive."

She grips his hand and only gets a chance to nod in acknowledgment before he turns to me with raised brows. "And you must be the brother."

I feel like I should be offended at being known only as 'the brother', but I don't feel anything except a little embarrassed when his eyes rake over me. "She failed to mention you were a handsome devil. Do you dance? Horizontally, perhaps?"

It definitely takes me a second to recover and I can't help the amused smile that crosses my face. "Uh, no. Sorry, not really my thing."

I don't miss the double meaning, and apparently, neither does Rory. She smirks wickedly next to us as he mutters a little "Shame," with a shrug.

"You compete? What team are you with?" She asks.

"Rhythm Reborn. I'm into more classic stuff and my sister, Taryn, over there," he throws a thumb over his shoulder, "does more modern dance. We're co-captains so we like to incorporate both into our routines like you guys do. Our crew's on the newer side so ya'll have served as some inspiration for us actually, but I'll admit I've never had a chance to talk to any of you since it seems like you keep more to yourselves."

"Yeah, well our captain's kind of a di—" She catches herself with an assessing look around the room before restating, "He's not the best person in general and is really strict about us not conversing with other groups. 'This is a dance competition, not a party,'" She punctuates with air quotes. "'Don't give away our tactics.' All that jazz... If you ask me, competitions should be fun, I miss talking with everyone, sharing tips, and congratulating them when they've earned it. He makes it feel like we're going into battle or something."

"I guess every team treats it differently, and hey, it seems to work for you since Heat Wave has like, what, six or seven golds? With you being a semi-local team, it's given us some motivation—maybe we'll beat you one of these times."

As they chat, I glance to the opposite side of the room where he had indicated. It's not hard to pick out his sister, minding her business in the corner with a tablet—it's like they share the same face. The same animated eyes and hair just a few shades lighter than his, although hers is cropped short in what I've recently learned is called a pixie cut. With her slightly more heart-shaped face and dark lipstick, she does indeed remind me of a fierce pixie. She's also easy to spot because she's not included in the mirage of pink, white, and black ballet clothes, instead wearing looser activewear, which would track if she sticks to more modern stuff.

Despite the differing style, they do look awfully alike. "Are you guys...?" I trail off, but Cam catches my glances between the two of them.

"Twins? Yeah."

Maddie bursts back in between us, out of breath all over again. She's thrown her street clothes back on over her leotard and has her backpack slung over her shoulder, all set. "C'mon!"

Cam gives us all a wave. "Bye Maddie, see you next week. Rory, feel free to stop by anytime! You too, Maddie's Brother, you know where to find me if you ever feel like dancing!"

He does one of those fancy spins I catch Rory doing on occasion and wades back through the churning mass towards Taryn, who finally looks up at us and gives a polite smile.

"I like them," Rory simply states.

"I figured."

She turns to Maddie, "Ice cream?"

"Of course. Stupid question."

I roll my eyes as I trail after the two of them. "There's no such thing," I comment.

In unison they respond, "Yes, there is."

And that right there is the moment I realize I'm in for a very, very long night.

Aptly named, The Boardwalk is a popular spot in town. Nestled along one of the larger lakes here, it stretches half a mile down the shore, lined with colorful shops and the occasional pier jutting into the water. During the summer this place is swarming with locals and tourists, couples and families. But this time of the year, midweek, it's perfectly mellow.

The autumn weather is just beginning to set in and nights like tonight, with a clear cloudless sky, are starting to cool down. Enough so that a light jacket is a smart move—which Maddie and I remembered, but Rory did not. So at some point, after the sun had started its descent and we acquired our ice cream, the sweatshirt I had been wearing became hers instead. Because, "what's hers is hers and what's mine is also hers," or so she claims.

I had thought about complaining, if only because I have a right to, not because I actually care; I tend to run warm and I'm wearing long sleeves anyway. But after our phone call the other night, and how I practically admitted that I enjoy her wearing my clothes, I'd rather not give her ammo to bring it up and use it against me.

Plus, it's not like we've actually brought up anything about that call. And that's ok, actually. Normally I'd be a fan of talking it out if things seemed weird between us, but it surprisingly doesn't. I think we both understand it was just hypothetical; we enjoyed it while it happened, did and said whatever we needed to get off, and that's that. Did I love every minute of it? Hell yeah. Did it feel way more real than either of us probably want to admit right now?... Also, yeah. But the next day we were back to usual, and if it weren't for the several times I've caught her staring at me over the past few days, it almost seems like it never happened. Which I'm happy about. Mostly.

Ok, more realistically what I am happy about is that our friendship is solid enough that introducing something new isn't shaking it. At least this helps alleviate any worries I'd had about those "what-if" scenarios living rent-free in my mind. And hers too, apparently.

A wave of nostalgia washes over me as a distinct, musty breeze blows in off the water. And if that wasn't enough, seafood restaurants abound here, advertising the freshwater catch of the day as we leisurely stroll along the worn planks.

Luckily for my nose, my palate is currently occupied by my overpowering mint chocolate chip, so I give my ice cream another giant lick to help ward off the other less-pleasant scents.

I nudge my elbow into Rory's side next to me. "Remember coming here as kids?"

She turns from looking at the water to me and holds up her cookies and cream cone. "Of course. We used to get these exact flavors and challenge each other to see who could eat it quicker. And then we'd run up and down and all over the docks and scare the hell out of our parents."

"You always won," I bitterly admit, with a nod at her already half-eaten ice cream. "I'll never understand how you can do that. You literally bite it. The poor thing gets devoured by a madwoman."

"Exactly what part of that are you most jealous of? Winning, or the ice cream?" She grins sadistically before taking a dramatic chomp on the side of her ice cream mound.

"Pure chaos." I shake my head in awe.

The trash can nearby makes a thud as Maddie tosses her bowl into it. She catches back up to us in a flash and holds her hands up where I can see them. "Ok! I'm all done with my ice cream and I even wiped my face and hands! Now, will you pretty please give me a piggyback ride?"

"You ate that faster than Rory!"

"Yeah, well chocolate brownie is my favorite and you promised you'd give me one after I finished, soooo..."

"Alright, alright."

She jumps up on a nearby bench right along the railing and I nearly have a heart attack when she almost loses her balance.

If that weren't enough, I practically choke when Rory comments, "I guess we know how our parents felt."

I hand my cone over for her to hold and let Maddie jump on, readjusting her arm when she attempts to strangle me.

As we meander, the three of us point out various things along the water and in the windows. A pirate-themed store with a "Get Your Booty Here" sign has us in stitches, some weird insects that walk on the water make us scratch our heads, and a fisherman that shows Maddie his bait worms makes her finally squirm off my back and run away squealing.

We catch up to her at the next pier, where she stopped to watch some ducks and the people tossing seeds out for them to eat.

I give my cone to Rory once again so I can fish out a few quarters from deep in my pockets—something Rory is jealous of since I guess women's jeans have tiny pockets. She claims it's why she needs a purse. It also gives her an excuse to make me hold a ton of her shit all the time. Chapstick, extra hair tie, credit card, her phone—it's all shoved in my side and back pockets since she didn't want to bring a bag. I am her bag.

I hand the coins off to Maddie, pointing her in the direction of the food dispenser. Just as I turn to take my cone back, I witness Rory taking a bite right off the top.

"Thief!" I drop my jaw at the audacity of this bitch, snatching it away before she steals more. "I knew it! While I was holding Maddie, every time you held it up for me to lick, it seemed like it was shrinking! You still have your own!"

"I just wanted a little taste. And I only have maybe a few bites left of mine... You have nearly your whole cone still," she pouts at me, all innocent-like.

She backs up a few steps to lean against the railing behind her, propping her foot up on the lower bar. She looks, for all the world, at ease. But I recognize the smugness within her green eyes and the sneaky smirk hidden behind the last of her cone as she takes a tiny, savoring bite.

She looks past me then, intently ignoring me, and I decide to give her a few moments of false safety. In the meantime, I glance over to the cafe next door that she'd been admiring.

It's a cute little place, with pastel-colored tables and chairs right atop the boardwalk, overlooking the water. A crisscrossed series of string lights extend just past their patio and overtop of our heads, exuding a warm glow that, paired with the setting sun, light up Rory's auburn hair to look like liquid fire.

I catch her absently watching me again, the way I've noticed a few times in the past several days. She appears in thought as she blankly looks me over and, if it weren't for her current cone nibbling, I'd bet she would be biting her lip instead. I'd also bet it has a little something to do with that phone call, but I don't quite have the guts to ask.

Instead, I decide enough time has passed that she's probably let her guard down, so I stir her from those tempting thoughts by saying, "Since you stole mine, I want a taste of your ice cream."

"Umm, no." She doesn't even hesitate to shoot me down.

"I wasn't asking, Rose."

Her eyebrows raise at that. Quite possibly at my tone, which might've been a bit darker than I had intended, now that the other night's memories have crept into my conscience.

I take a step forward, and she goes to move back as well but is stopped by the rail she's already pressed against. "It's only fair."

"Nuh-uh. This is my last bite!"

Another step forward and we're face to face. I crane my neck down to look at her as she fiercely raises her chin to glare at me. All the while, she arches her shoulders as far away from me as she can, the hand holding the very bottom triangle of her cone stretched away to the side.

As if my arms aren't longer than hers.

"Yeah-huh. This is called payback."

Without breaking eye contact, I reach over and easily grasp her wrist. As soon as she feels me tug on it she does her best to resist, trying hard to reach over with her free arm.

It really does her no good. I pin her in place with my body so all she can do is squirm against me.

"Hey! Quinn! So not fair!" She cries, but it falls on deaf ears as I finally turn my head to bite the prize right out of her fingertips.

She gasps as her eyes widen, watching the tip of her cone disappear into my mouth, the last few precious drops of ice cream spilling onto the corner of my lips in the fumble.

All of a sudden she stops resisting. She goes completely still against me and, for a split second, I think she's given up.

That thought vanishes as soon as she lunges.

Her tongue strikes out, sliding a flat lick over half of my parted lips and right atop those prized drops before I've even had a chance to wipe them up myself.

Then she pulls back just as quick, bravely meeting my eyes. "Ha! I still got the last taste."

She licks her own lips, just as mine part even further in disbelief. She's riding her triumphant high and doesn't even bother trying to escape from me. So full of herself and satisfied with getting that taste, I'm not sure she fully realizes what she just did.

My vision flicks back up to hers, just long enough to catch the narrowing of her lids. Down to her lips again, where her tongue peeks out once more before her teeth are scraping lightly against her bottom lip.

"You're minty this time," she muses quietly. "Coffee and bacon. Mint cookies and cream. You're teaching me all kinds of good combinations."

I take it back—she damn well knows what she did. But does she know I'm about two seconds away from reclaiming my crown by tasting her instead? A few shrinking inches away from licking her sweet lips and slipping my ton—

"Stop flirting and let's go, children. Mom'll be mad at you if I'm not home by eight-thirty, remember?" Maddie walks straight past us and keeps on going without a second glance.

I'm frozen in my spot until Rory releases the grip she had on the front of my shirt—which I hadn't even noticed. As soon as she does, the tension melts and we're peeling away to speed walk up to Maddie.

I down the rest of my forgotten and half-melted cone on the way, and once in earshot I'm quick to amend, "By the way, we were not flirt—"

"Your brother stole the last bit of my ice cream."

I shoot Rory a what-the-hell-you-little-snitch look, but she covers it up in innocence.

Maddie whacks the side of my arm.

"Hey!" I cry.

Rory is quick to offer a solution, which I imagine she had planned out all along: "I think you owe me a piggyback ride, wouldn't you agree, Maddie?"

"Oh yes, I think he should carry you all the way back to the car."

I look back and forth between the two conspirators and quickly realize I'm going to lose this battle. As soon as I bend over, Rory hops right on up, nearly toppling me over in the process.

I think about complaining, once again, purely because I feel like I should. But I don't, because once again, I don't really mind. Having her pressed up against me and wrapping my hands around her soft thighs isn't exactly the worst situation.

"A piggyback ride? Really? Did someone get a little jealous earlier?" I tease.

"Yes. Or, maybe I just wanted to ride you, ok? Now giddy up."