Chapter 2
Ledger
Ishould just leave. But I’m standing at the door to the ballroom at the Mynt Peak resort, eyes locked with a princess, and I’m rooted to the floor.
She’s gorgeous. Not because of the spray tan and long, bleach blonde locks in a ponytail high on her head. Not because of her pout or her slammin’ body in a tighter-than-tight silver leotard thing.
It’s that her eyes are the most brilliant blue, her nose is cute as a button, her chin even has a tiny dimple. She exudes…something. Something I want to enjoy more of. Something I want to get to know.
At least I’ll get to see her at the Charity Ball on the last night I’m here in Colorado. My agent says I’m supposed to go to the ball—not get any ideas about flying out early to my parents’ home in Indiana. And since the dancing queen told me about her performance, I’m not going to miss it.
And right now, the way she’s challenging me with her eyes makes me want to stay longer, just to see what she’s going to do next.
I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even be here right now at all. I’m supposed to be in San Antonio with the rest of my team, practicing for our game coming up after Christmas.
But due to some poor choices on my part, I’m here as punishment. A direct order from Coach Whittaker.
Her eyes narrow into daggers and she glances again at the door, like what’s your problem? Leave already.
It has the effect she’s intending—I go to leave. But maybe because of frustration that I’m here or because she’s so dangerously beautiful, I poke the bear one last time.
“Oh, I’ll come to see you dance. If you can stop looking at yourself in the mirror long enough to perform.” I grin. I’m kidding…mostly.
Her mouth drops open, making a click of disbelief. I chuckle and give a little wave, hoping she knows I didn’t mean to insult her.
But as I replay the words in my head, I realize they could be interpreted as…mean.
I don’t want to be mean. I—oh man—I hope she knew I wasn’t being serious.
Will I never learn my lesson? This is twice in one week now that I’ve put my foot in my mouth.
I sigh and step through the door, letting it close softly behind me. I have to shake my shoulders and roll my neck a couple of times to brush it off.
Should I apologize? Or would that make it worse?
I scratch the back of my neck and plow ahead in search of the “on brand,” elusive gym.
She really is dangerously beautiful. And if I focus on the dangerous part, I can clear my head.
“What?” I ask my agent, Todd, on the phone back in my room an hour later. I’m sure I didn’t hear him right.
“You’ve been assigned to the ballroom dance performance on Saturday night,” he repeats. “You know, the exhibition thing from Lights, Camera, Dance!”
I’ve heard of the show, of course, but I’ve never watched it. Network television is for people who have an indulgence of time on their hands and a wish for mediocre entertainment. As the starting tight end for the San Antonio Wolves, I don’t have either of those things.
I do know one thing about the show, though. “I’m flattered, but I’m not an actor, Todd.” That’s the whole premise. They pair professional ballroom dancers with professional actors and craziness ensues.
And now I’ve told you everything I know about the show.
“This isn’t the actual show, Ledger.” Todd’s exasperated with me, which is nothing new.
“And there aren’t any famous actors in Winterbrook right now.
Just a ton of athletes needing to be assigned helping roles in Mynt to Make a Difference.
And you, my friend, have been assigned to the Peppermynt Twist Showdown. ”
I only found out about this charity event a few days ago. It’s been a rough week. In the press conference after our last game, I might have said some things that…weren’t great.
I’m not making excuses for myself, but we’d just lost a tight game. The Cowboys, our biggest rivals, beat us by seven because, in the final minute of the game, I made a costly mistake.
I’d had some good blocks in the plays before, opened some lanes for our running back, protected the quarterback.
Yeah, we were down by a touchdown, but we were driving in Cowboy territory and still had plenty of time left to score.
But when I ran a route and our quarterback threw me a short, easy pass on fourth down, I couldn’t complete the pass.
I had it in my hands, like a nice loaf of bread against my abdomen, and then…
I bobbled it. The ball jumped and jittered in my hands for what felt like an eternity.
I was a juggler in the circus. My hands just couldn’t secure it because they were suddenly made of jelly.
I had to spin and wobble—a ridiculous dance to try to secure the stupid ball.
In the end, I dropped it. Just bloop—on the ground. Like I was an amateur.
My dropped pass cost us the game. We turned it over on downs. The Cowboys got the ball back and then sat on it until the time ran out.
I didn’t take the loss very well. I mean, come on. It was the Cowboys. So, yeah, I said something I shouldn’t have during the press conference. It wasn’t like I was profane or anything like that—my mom would have killed me if I’d sworn on national television.
But I said something rude and it made me look like an arrogant prima dona who doesn’t care about kids at Christmas time. Coach benched me so fast my head spun. Within the week, I ended up here at the Mynt to Make a Difference charity event to atone for my sins.
And now Todd thinks I’ll be dancing?
I don’t dance. Never have. Never will.
“That would be a hard no,” I finally respond.
“No.”
“Exactly,” I confirm. “No.”
“No, as in you can’t say no.”
My phone still to my ear, I pace in my hotel room, glancing out the window as tiny snowflakes float peacefully in the afternoon air. At least it’s beautiful here.
I breathe out a long breath. “Who decided this?”
There’s a long pause. Then, “Well, some might say you did when you said the thing about the kids’ photo op.”
I sigh. Scrub my face. Sigh again.
“I know. It wasn’t cool,” I say.
Todd whistles. “I still can’t believe how fast that story spread.”
Regret dries my throat. “Neither can I.”
“Look,” Todd says. “At least you’re well on your way to making amends. A week in Colorado, giving back? Those words will be forgotten soon enough.”
“I hope so.”
Todd’s more than just my agent. He’s also my friend. One of the first people I talked to after I inserted my foot in my mouth in front of the entire nation. I also talked to my parents. If they can’t be at the games, I always call them.
But when I got ahold of them, they’d already been getting phone calls from the press about my faux pas. They refused to comment, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t express their disappointment in me when I called.
This whole thing has just been…bad.
“I get that this is my fault, but whose idea was the ballroom thing? For real?”
“Coach and his friend, Barry Mynt.”
“The Mynt Athletic Wear guy? The guy who owns this resort?”
“He also owns half of Winterbrook and the surrounding area. This whole charity event is his brainchild. And he and Coach want you to dance.”
The gorgeous and annoying blonde from earlier has been on repeat in my mind, and I get a little twitch in my brain as I realize that since she’s going to be performing at the charity ball, I’ll probably be seeing more of her.
“So…” Todd hesitates. “Have you ever danced before?”
I groan. “Not really. Assign me to something else. I’ll help with the food drive or the clothing drive. Or make me dress up like one of Santa’s elves and pose for pictures with the kids. That makes a lot more sense.”
“Too soon, Ledger, too soon. Nobody is going to want you in a photo with their kid right now.”
“All I said was that I didn’t have time for…” I swallow hard. “…Silly photo ops.”
“I believe the direct quote was, ‘I need to focus on football. I don’t have time to put on a stupid Santa hat and pose for photos with a bunch of kids right now.’”
Shame washes over me. Yep. That’s the direct quote. It’s pretty much seared in my brain forever.
I try to laugh it off. “I admit that what I said off-the-cuff wasn’t very nice. And I’m sorry I did that. But why was the reporter asking about the team’s Christmas thing for the kids? We’d just lost a big game and she was asking about that?”
“It was an ill-timed question,” Todd agrees.
“And yes, everyone’s blown it out of proportion, but the fact remains that Coach Whittaker needs you to dance to improve your public image.
So this is happening, okay? Besides, even if you make a mess of it, it might be endearing, you know? It might help them forgive you faster.”
I sigh and knead my forehead. “Who else is assigned to this?”
“Well, let’s see.” He names off a WMBA player, a couple of tennis stars, a recently drafted major league player from the Cincinnati Reds, an Olympic swimmer, and two professional golfers. They’re all agented by Todd’s colleagues.
“And me. It will be humiliating.”
“Again. It’s one performance. Get over it.”
“But the video—” I don’t have to explain this to Todd. He knows exactly what I mean. Both my comment to the reporter and the bobbled, fumbled pass have gone viral. The video from the field has even made the rounds on all the late-night shows.
The whole fiasco has made me look like an uncoordinated, selfish grinch.
It hurt, to be honest. That’s not who I am most of the time.
I think back to my encounter with the blonde dancer in the ballroom. I put my foot in my mouth then, too. Maybe I’m more of a jerk than I’d like to admit. Maybe I haven’t learned my lesson yet.
“The team is bringing in one of the trainers to keep a close watch on you so you don’t pull a muscle or anything. This is going to be good for you.”
I swallow down my nerves. “Good for me? Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Say stuff like that. This is going to be a disaster. Why does Coach want this so bad?”
“Come on, Ledger. To humble you, of course.”
“Did he say that?”
“He didn’t have to. Look, call him up if you want. But nothing is changing. You gotta do this.”
I don’t have to call him. He wants his players to stay teachable and curious. Humble. And my retort at that press conference was none of those things.
This is more than just a PR move. This is about teaching me to control my words.
And I respect Coach so much that I know he’s right, yet frustration swirls in my chest. With this dance performance, there will be a third video of me being an idiot.
“You’ll have two rehearsals a day,” Todd says. “This is your top priority this week. You can’t suck, okay? You have to try.”
“I will,” I concede, massaging my temple. “Who’s going to be watching this anyway?”
“A few hundred people bought tickets to the Charity Ball.” He hesitates. “And it’ll be televised and people can call in to donate to Mynt to Make a Difference.”
I swallow hard. Yep, this could go viral like the other videos. I did this to myself. One second of not thinking before speaking and here I am.
“The evening will be great.” Todd sounds way too excited. “Food and a dance. For the performance portion, each couple gets sixty seconds to come out onto the floor and do a dance. And then there’s a little portion at the end where you’ll do a group thing. It’s short and sweet.”
I can only groan.
“You’re just lucky this happened right before bye week,” Todd adds. “You don’t have a game until after Christmas, so it’s perfect timing.”
“So what am I supposed to do to get this started?” I’m resigned to my fate. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.
“I’m texting you the schedule now. Rehearsals start tonight, and then two-a-days from there. It’s gonna be fun!”
Nope. This isn’t going to be fun at all. And it’s only a few hours until the madness begins.