Chapter 17
Kaisa
Iscurry away from the tunnel, a couple of security guards behind me like I’m a threat to national security.
I heard what Ledger said when I was waiting for him outside the locker room, so the only thing that’s threatening are the tears trying to leak out of my eyes.
His words reverberate through my brain. We’re dance partners. That’s it…I’m not letting anything get in the way of football season.
It wasn’t just his disaffected words; it was his callous tone. I need to get away from here, fast, before he suspects that I was affected by his words.
I swipe a hand under my eye to whisk away a pesky tear before taking the steps, two at a time, to go back up to where I’d been sitting before. He doesn’t need to know I was down there near the locker room—good thing I have long legs.
But I haven’t even reached my former spot by the railing when I hear his shout.
“Hey! You ready?”
He’s showered and his scent—man soap with a tang of natural musk and the clean, fresh zing of citrusy cologne—wafts to me as he nears. I spin around, pasting my best performance smile on my face.
“So ready!” I press my lips together, praying that my expression doesn’t give away the fact that his words stung.
They shouldn’t have. Football is his livelihood and his life. Of course the dance isn’t a big deal to him.
It’s just that…the other night in his room when we were dancing, things felt different between us. And then out in the snow, I thought for sure we were on the same page.
Because I like him. I really do.
In fact, considering a future without him in it just plain hurts.
And I feel like he likes me, too. But just now? With his friend? There was something in his tone that…hurt.
Ledger eyes me carefully before taking the handle of my large suitcase in one hand and then slings my travel backpack over his shoulder.
“Whoa. Are you planning on staying a week?”
My cheeks flush hot.
“Dance shoes and equipment aren’t light,” I insist, all while knowing my dancewear and things aren’t exactly taking up very much space.
It’s all the other stuff I threw in there last minute—all my hair and skincare products and tools.
I didn’t have time to be a cautious packer, so I’m full-bore pack rat right now.
“So where’s this studio we’re commandeering?” he asks.
My smile is brief. “Only a few blocks away. They were generous to agree to let us use it.”
“You’re the famous Kaisa Halberg, of course they agreed.”
“And you’re the famous Ledger Bishop. Although, I didn’t mention your name.”
“I appreciate that. Our performance isn’t ready for prying eyes yet.”
I make my eyes go wide. “Nope.”
There. Let’s focus on improving the dance. It’s only been a day and a half since we’ve rehearsed, but I’m worried he’s already forgotten things.
I school my breathing, willing myself to catch my breath. Why am I even out of breath in the first place?
Probably at the dash of disappointment inside of me. This performance isn’t a big deal to him. And it’s everything to me.
“Again!” I snap as I reach for my phone so I can restart the music.
Ledger’s head is not in this.
Still, he seems contrite. He knows he’s not up to par.
As we step to one another to get into our starting position, he offers a fumbling apology. “I’ll get it, don’t worry. My mind is on football and it’s hard for me to switch.”
Then, his contriteness seems to bolster, like he’s trying to convince himself that he can pull it together. “Come on, Bishop! Step on the two count!” he chastises himself.
I don’t say anything, just give him my steely gaze as we dance. “Four, one and turn…” I continue my verbal coaching.
Something seems to work. He’s in a better frame of mind and halfway through the dance, he’s even got a little smile on his face.
“There you go,” I encourage. “This is the new part,” I almost sing along to the music. Our hips are almost glued together as our feet slink along the floor in unison. It’s sensual…totally hot. And I’m not used to dancing with guys that I’m attracted to anymore.
I’ve turned my heart off for a long time—Kale Hobbs was an exception to my normal rule of putting off relationships until I’m more settled into my career. It’s odd—and incredibly vulnerable—to be dancing with someone I haven’t purposely turned my heart into stone for.
Still, should I get right on that? Do I need to try to turn my heart to stone? I heard what he said. He doesn’t care about this. At least not nearly as much as I do.
As we rehearse, he sort of gets back into the groove of things. “Hey, good bounce there,” he tells me.
I feel my brows shoot up my face. “You’re complimenting me now?”
“Well, what can I say?” He pauses speaking through a trickier move, one he does pretty well on. “You look good doing that step.”
I laugh. “Well, thanks.”
We finish the run through and I’m pleased he nails the lift. I turn off the music to go over one of the more difficult moves. “It’s a good sign that you can see me while we’re dancing,” I add as I demonstrate.
“Why? Have I been acting like I’m blind?”
My heart skips a beat. Why is that such a loaded question right now?
He doesn’t know what all this means to me…what he means to me. I haven’t shown him, have I?
I should probably be an adult and have a conversation with him about it. About how I think he’s kind and smart and funny. Strong. Driven. Talented.
About how I’m falling for him.
But right now isn’t the time. He’s already having a hard time focusing on the dance because I ripped him from his football mentality. It’s not fair of me to say something right now, is it?
Besides, I’m starting to wonder if I imagined that he has feelings for me. Maybe I misread everything the other night in the snow?
I swallow down the sadness. “Now that muscle memory is taking over for you, you can notice us as a partnership.” I pause. “Like I said, a good sign.” I try to smile, but I know it’s not genuine.
He seems to notice since he eyes me warily. “Is something wrong? You’ve been acting differently ever since we got here.”
“I—I think I’m exhausted from my last-minute flight. Or from having to leave the other dance pros in charge while I’m gone.” Or maybe because I like you and don’t know what to do with it.
“I bet.” He nods in agreement, but then his gaze bores into me. “Where are you staying tonight?”
“I have a room at the Marriot downtown.”
“Good. That’s a nice place.”
My smile is tight lipped, and he lets out a swift breath. “I guess I’m just wondering if something happened that’s made you a little down today?” he asks.
“I…uh.” I swallow hard and turn away from him. But it’s a studio with floor to ceiling mirrors on all four sides, so I can’t hide from him for long.
I turn the music off and walk over to the wall. I lean back against the mirror and slide down until I’m seated cross legged.
I can’t help myself from blurting it out. “I overheard what you said in the locker room.”
His face colors and he walks over to me.
“And I get it. You’re a football player, so of course our performance isn’t your top priority.” I shrug. “I guess it’s disappointing how little of a priority it is to you.”
His tongue clicks in surprise. “It’s not of little importance to me.”
“Then why did you say that?”
“It’s Taysom Reed. He was saying stuff about you.”
“About me?” How did I not hear that part?
“Yeah, about how beautiful you are.” He stares me down. “He’s right, you know. It’s been hard for me to keep my wits about me because you’re so beautiful.”
I shake my head, not at all sure how to respond. A “thank you” refuses to pass my lips.
“What was it that I said to him…that the dance wasn’t a big deal?” Ledger asks. “I guess it’s hard for me to admit that I care about the outcome. It’s hard for me to admit that I care about you.”
My heart lurches—a flit of hope. Maybe he wants to talk about our feelings for one another.
“Why is it hard to admit that you care about the dance?” I can’t bring myself to address the other thing—that he cares about me, too.
He pauses, his gaze on the dance shoes I brought for him. “Because it was a punishment, a way for Coach to get me out of town for a week and to try to make up for me putting my foot in my mouth. I’m not supposed to care about it.”
“But Coach wants you to.”
“Yeah, but it was a means to an end. Kaisa, I know how important this performance is to you. And once I started getting to know you, I wanted to do well for you. I didn’t want to make things harder on you by messing up.”
“Well, now I’m here, so let’s get this down.” I start to get up off the floor, my heart going crazy inside of me.
The last time a partner and I tried discussing our relationship, I got voted off the show. It was a disaster.
“I can only stay a few more minutes,” Ledger says. “It is important to me, but I’m sorry, Kaisa, repairing my public image is important, too. I need to prepare for my interview on Good Morning, San Antonio tomorrow.”
“I get it. Let’s go a few more times.” I’m standing now, hot and agitated.
“I’m sorry,” he insists. “I can’t just drop everything to rehearse. That doesn’t mean it isn’t important to me, it just means you caught me off guard by being here and I have to figure out how to make it all work.”
“I get it,” I repeat and turn on the music before he can say anything else.
Nothing’s resolved. And I do understand. I threw a wrench in his plans by coming here. This whole performance is a wrench in his plans.
But his wrench is my opportunity to keep my job on Lights, Camera, Dance! There’s a lot at stake for me, too.
Only a few seconds into the run through and he steps on my foot again. I swallow back a wince. He’s a big football player and I’m…not.
Ledger lets out a sharp breath. “I need a break,” he mutters, letting go of me and taking a step back, his breathing heavy and his hands at his hips.
“No, we finish the dance. We don’t quit in the middle of it.” I continue doing the moves, but my gaze is on him.
He just stares at me, his expression hardening. “I need a break,” he repeats.
I do the spin move by myself, throwing my back to the side as I flourish with one arm. It’s supposed to be a dip with his assistance, but as he isn’t there to help me, I have to improvise.
“Nice.” He reaches for his water bottle. “You don’t need me at all. You should just do a solo.”
My mouth goes dry as I finish the dance, his glare fueling me. When it’s over, I give him a withering look. “Don’t walk away in the middle of the performance.”
He makes a show of looking around the studio. “Huh, I could have sworn this was a practice session, not a performance.”
“It’s an unwritten rule, Ledger.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You can’t just quit while it’s still going.”
He wipes his face with a towel. “I don’t know any of the rules, written or unwritten.”
“Well, I’ll fill you in, then. Walking away in the middle of the dance, whether we’re on stage or not, is a no-no. It’s rude for one thing, but it can cause injury.”
“Injury?” His look is dubious.
“Yes. You walk away from me without warning? I could trip on you or slip because I assume you’re going to be there.”
“You’re too smart to do that.”
I sigh and shake my head. “Just don’t quit, okay?”
And maybe, my brain sours. Maybe don’t quit on the idea of us.
He grumbles something under his breath. We begin again and I encourage him to lower his shoulders and ease into his footing.
He stumbles onto my foot and I let out a yelp.
“Sorry. And sorry that I’m not getting it,” he says, his voice tense.
“Oh, you’ll get it. Right in the chin when I slug you for stepping on my toes again!”
He keeps dancing but shakes his head, his jaw hardening, not meeting my eyes, even in the parts where he’s specifically supposed to.
His expression is blank. What if he’s like this during the performance? We need our chemistry to be off the charts for us to win—for us to avoid repeating the damages of years past.
As soon as we do our final dip and flourish, he backs away from me like I’m scalding hot.
“I’m sorry,” he says, still not meeting my gaze. “For not doing well. My mind’s still at football practice, I guess.”
I feel his agony and frustration. His shame that he’s not getting it. My body heats and I fan out the hem of my loose t-shirt to let some breeze in with one hand as I massage my forehead with the other.
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that, Ledger. I apologize.”
His lips pull up around a grunt. “And I’m sorry I keep stepping on your toes.”
He spends some time taking off his shoes and getting his sneakers on. I would press him on staying, but I can tell when someone is done for the day—and Ledger is certainly done.
There’s a chill between us. I miss when we could have fun with each other.
I miss hoping there’s a possibility for something more between us.
Because now I’m worried that there’s not.