Chapter 12
QUICKSTEP, SLOW BURN
Nate
"Lars? He can eat a puck. And choke on it."
The Quickstep was a cruel fucking joke.
Fast, light, bouncy. Pretty much everything he wasn’t.
Nate Eriksson was built to body-check, not bunny-hop.
Yet here he was, trying to flick his feet and keep tempo while pretending that every brush of Holly’s body didn’t short-circuit his brain.
Her touch was lightning. Her glare? A fucking blade. And still, he craved both.
“Don’t look at your feet,” she said again, her voice clipped as she spun into position.
“I’m not,” he lied, jaw tight.
“You are. And you’re grabbing me like I’m a steering wheel. Loosen up.”
He exhaled hard, shaking out his shoulders. He was trying. Trying, goddammit. But this dance wasn’t like the rumba. It demanded rhythm, trust, and contact. It wanted connection, not heat. Not the dark, hungry need that pulsed through him every time she got close.
She reset their hold and started counting him in. “Five, six, seven, eight—”
The music hit, brass and swing, full of cheek and bounce. She was sharp, flawless. He was a beat behind, but improving. Maybe. Her body brushed his, the fabric of her skirt a whisper against his thigh, her scent pulling his focus like a goddamn drug.
“Left foot, Nate!” she snapped.
He corrected. Barely.
“Jesus. Do you even want to get this right?”
“I want you to get off my dick for two seconds.”
The words hit the air like a puck to the teeth.
Regret punched him in the gut a half-second later, too late to snatch them back, too wired to apologize.
He clenched his jaw, hard enough to crack molars, and stepped closer instead of backing off.
He towered over her, his shoulders squared, chest rising.
But beneath the flex, his pulse thudded traitorously.
She blinked, the hurt flashing quick behind the fire. Good.
Maybe.
God, he didn’t even know anymore.
Holly stopped dead in her tracks. The music kept going, but she didn’t. Her eyes narrowed, sharp enough to cut glass. For a heartbeat, he drank in the sting behind the steel, the split-second flicker of hurt. Then it was gone, swallowed by something hotter. Fury.
“Excuse me?” she said, quiet and lethal, like the calm right before a bar brawl.
He didn’t backpedal. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, breathing hard, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. “I said maybe get off my case and let me learn without biting my head off.”
She stared like she was calculating whether prison time would be worth it. Before she could decide, a voice slithered in from the far end of the room.
“Still struggling with the basics, Martinez?”
Nate’s stomach dropped, and he turned slowly to see Lars lounging in the doorway to their rehearsal studio. The polished, smug, Danish bastard who’d cornered him at orientation, offered a handshake like a power play, and looked him up and down with detached amusement.
You’re working with Holly? Brave.
The implication hadn’t been subtle then. It wasn’t subtle now.
Nate took in the tailored shirt, the watch that probably cost more than his first car, the practiced smile dripping privilege and condescension. Holly had stiffened even more beside him, and when Lars clocked it his grin widened like a predator closing in on the kill.
“Always liked this routine,” Lars smirked, his gaze pinned on Holly. “Takes real… coordination.”
Nate didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his fists curled at his sides, slow and deliberate, knuckles whitening like he was squeezing a confession out of his own restraint.
Familiar heat climbed his spine. Fight-or-flight, blood calling for blood.
For a second, he could feel the weight of his suspension like a collar around his throat.
One wrong move, one impulse, and he’d prove everyone right about him.
Still, he stepped half an inch closer to Holly without thinking, a quiet, territorial shift. Not touching or claiming. Just… available. His eyes stayed on Lars’s face, flat and cold, daring him to take another step.
“You here to spectate or gloat?” Holly asked, her voice flat.
Lars shrugged, playing casual. “Just passing through. Thought I’d see how the competition was shaping up.”
The tension coming off Holly was a live wire. She wouldn't look at either of them. “We’re good,” she said. “Better than last time.”
Lars chuckled. “That wouldn’t take much.”
Fuck this.
Nate shifted barely a step, but it put him between Holly and Lars like a line drawn on the floor under the studio lights. His expression didn’t change. If anything, it sharpened. Say it again, his body language begged. Try me.
“You know,” Lars said, looking him square in the eye, “she doesn’t warm up easily. Took me weeks to get past those walls.”
“Maybe you weren’t worth melting for,” Nate said, his voice low and flat.
That wiped the smirk clean off Lars’s face.
Before anything else could spark, Holly shoved herself between them like a damn wrecking ball in yoga pants. “We’re rehearsing, Lars. You can leave now.”
Lars held Nate’s gaze just long enough to make it a challenge, a smirk behind the eye contact, then flashed a smile that didn’t touch a single inch of sincerity.
“Break a leg,” he said to Nate, his tone coated in faux charm and European superiority. “Or, you know… both.”
The door clicked shut behind Lars, smugness trailing like smoke curling into the silence he left in his wake.
Nate didn’t trust himself to speak. If he opened his mouth now, he’d absolutely say something dumb.
Something he couldn’t take back. The only thing keeping him grounded was the tight lock of his jaw and the dull ache in his clenched fists, so he leaned into it for a moment.
Holly grabbed her towel from where she’d draped it over the barre and wiped her face as if nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just gone statue-still at the sight of that prick. Her movements were brisk. Controlled.
Too controlled.
“My ex,” she said, offhand, like she was commenting on the weather. “Kinda.”
Nate’s throat tightened on the word like it had teeth. Kinda. What the fuck did that mean? Some messy, unresolved, almost-thing? A hookup that turned into heartbreak, a heartbreak that turned into a headfuck?
Questions crowded his mouth, sharp and frantic, each one begging to be asked and each one held back by sheer force of will.
And God, he wanted to smash something. Preferably Lars’s perfect, smug, punchable face.
But he didn’t ask. He just exhaled slow and sharp through his nose, like he could bleed the fury out through his teeth before it escaped him.
“Let’s take it from the top.”
He spoke quietly, but his voice was solid enough to anchor them both. Holly paused mid-motion, turning to look at him. Not just a glance but a full-body assessment, as though she was searching his face for cracks in the mask he always wore.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t smirk to defuse the moment. His gaze held hers steadily, his jaw tight, his voice quieter this time but no less firm.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s give ‘em something to stare at, Martinez.”
And when he reached for her hand, there was no performance in the gesture. No finesse. No seduction. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.
It was grounded, possessive in a way that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with intent. It was a grip that said: I see what just happened. I’m not walking away. And I won’t let him shake you.
Strictly Scandal Online:
Are Nate & Holly This Season’s Slow Burn?
From simmering tension to surprise sync. What started as a wildcard pairing might just be the show’s most intoxicating duo. And if you thought their Rumba was hot, sources say the upcoming Quickstep rehearsals are where things really start to… READ MORE→
Sigrid
BIG brO
omg i saw the leaked clip
are you DATING her??
did you FIGHT someone for her
did you cry Nate?
***
NATHANAEL.
i have SO MANY QUESTIONS
also your hair looked good
ily bye
Nate
You scare the hell out of me. I love you, too.
@GoalieGirl420 on X:
y’all can thirst over Nate Eriksson all you want but don’t forget this man checked a kid into early retirement like six months ago lol #shortmemorymuch #hammerheaded