Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
U nbelievable.
What a difference forty-eight hours could make. Two days ago, he’d been sitting in the GM’s office, being talked up as the next captain. Today, he was standing in an airport, waiting for his flight to Toronto, trepidation eating him like he was a new kid on the first day of school. He hated feeling insecure. Hated it. And he had a funny feeling that this whole experience he’d just said yes to was going to be one massive ride on the insecurity train. Starting with meeting the perky person who was going to be his dance partner. Ugh.
He glanced around, but nobody fitted the image of the woman’s picture he’d been sent. Bailey Donovan was super pretty, but the ballerina costume made her look so fragile, like a breath of wind could blow her away. And here he was, built like a truck, he’d probably scare her into next year with a single exhale. Why had he said yes?
A silent groan escaped. Because the team wanted it. Because his agent had pushed him to do it, saying it’d be great for future endorsements. Mostly because his mom had been excited, sounding more excited about the thought of him dancing than being captain, actually. Which was disconcerting, but whatever. His dad had laughed, but said as long as he didn’t get cut from the show first that it couldn’t hurt. That hadn’t exactly filled him with confidence, so he hadn’t dared tell the online Bible study guys, only asking them to pray for him for wisdom for “a new opportunity” as he’d casually phrased it. Yeah, a new opportunity to be publicly humiliated. He just hoped this Bailey chick knew a thing or two about helping prime movers actually move.
The announcement for his flight was made, and he picked up his bag, moving to the business line, where he flashed his phone to have his ticket scanned. The airline steward’s smile widened, as if recognizing his name, and he half-smiled then walked down the airbridge. He didn’t mind fans, and as captain, he’d need to get used to being in the spotlight more. But still, this little break in Toronto, before returning to face the media and do team stuff, felt like his last chance to be anonymous before the proverbial hit the fan. He wouldn’t be anonymous after the TV promo aired this Friday.
He was greeted at the plane door, then guided to his seat, a comfy big-sized seat for a taller-than-average man, complete with view out the window. He stowed his stuff, then got his phone out, as the chat from two days ago filled the screen.
Mike Vaughan from Calgary had asked what people were doing for the national holiday, which had met with various responses ranging from picnics with friends and family, to big city fireworks, to a tropical sunset picture from the newly-married Franklin James. Yeah, he wasn’t going to think about Franklin and Hannah on their honeymoon. He sent a shrugging emoji, more because he needed to put something in the chat to show he wasn’t avoiding them, than because he didn’t know.
His nose wrinkled. Dancing on TV. What would the others say? What would sports reporter Hannah say? He hated to think what people would say behind his back, or on national TV, especially when they saw how bad he’d be. At least Hannah was nice, and unlikely to mock him. She was a real deal kind of woman he could trust, even if she wasn’t his type. Real deal women were scarce, although he’d met a few as more of the Bible study group’s single guys had fallen into relationships. Holly Karlsson was a no-bull woman. Neither was the girlfriend of the latest of the Bible study group’s single guys to fall, Ryan’s Goth-like girlfriend, Sylvie, whose relationship with their Edmonton friend had sparked concern earlier this year. But it was all good now, even if she was sometimes a little too direct and blunt for his liking.
He hadn’t had a girlfriend for years, not since he’d found Jesus and realized celibacy was supposed to be the name of the game until he was married, and as he had zero interest in marriage or a relationship until his hockey career was done, he was prepared to wait. Which was why there was zero chance of him failing to adhere to the “family-friendly” clause in his Dance Off contract about avoiding relationships until the end of filming with his—or any other—dance partner or contestants on the show. He rolled his eyes. As if.
Nope. As much as he found this Bailey person pretty, she looked way too delicate to suit him. Now if she’d been like the girl in the café yesterday, he might’ve been interested, with her girl-next-door looks and sunny smile everything he liked, even if she was clumsier than him. But she wasn’t, so he was safe. Except for wondering what Bailey would be like, and how on earth he’d manage to still be cool enough after this experience and not be teased mercilessly by the guys.
By now the seats behind him were filling, and he wondered if maybe Bailey was on a different flight. Dance Off ’s email last night had contained this ticket to Toronto, apparently for interviews and “promotion” which scared him silly. At least he’d not had anything else to organize. Which made him wonder again about this Bailey chick and how desperate she had to be to agree to do this last minute. Which only resulted in him realizing that much the same could be said about him. At least he could talk about this as being for charity. Bailey must be doing this for the dollars, or to boost her social media profile. He rolled his eyes.
“Excuse me.”
The feminine voice drew his gaze up, and his jaw sagged.
It was her. Coffee girl.
Her head tilted. “I think you’re in my seat.”
He blinked. “What? No. This is mine.”
Her eyebrows rose, as the people behind complained about being forced to wait.
He pulled out his phone, checked the seat allocation, and—man, she was right. “Sorry. I’ll move.”
The protests behind grew louder, as he stood and shifted to the aisle with a ducked head. Heaven forbid the locals got annoyed with their new hockey captain before it was even officially announced—there’d be plenty of time for that later. He brushed past her, and she slipped into the seat he’d just vacated. He plopped down next to her, head still averted to avoid recognition from their fellow passengers. He cleared his throat, glanced at his seatmate. “Um, hey.”
Seriously? That was the best he could do? But the realization that the pretty coffee woman from yesterday was sitting next to him, would be sitting beside him for the next two and a half hours, had filled his mouth and lungs with rocks. His brain, too, as he was lost for words, breath, and any coherent thoughts. How—? Who—? Why—? Lord?
He cleared his throat again—by now she probably thought he had a problem with phlegm—and tried to smile. He didn’t smile much—his teeth weren’t great, thanks to too many pucks and sticks over the years—and he knew he often got cast as the serious one in team pics. Sure, he could paste on a version of charm the GM seemed to appreciate, but it was something he’d had to work at, as it didn’t come naturally. “I’m Luc.”
She studied him, her cheeks pinking a little, before nodding. “I know.”
Huh. Had she recognized him yesterday? Plenty of other fans seemed to have, including the two women who’d been ordering and non-subtly checking him out. Which was exactly why he didn’t do relationships. Life was cruising along very well without complications like a woman. Even if this particular chick, the only one to pique his interest in recent years, was one he’d never thought he’d meet again. Until he returned for more coffee, maybe.
Conscious that they’d be seated next to each other for the next few hours, and that he needed to keep the conversation going, his thoughts tipped back to their exchange. “Well, uh, I hope you’ve heard good things.”
Her delicate eyebrows lifted, and he heard the arrogance in that statement. “Not that I only do good things. I mean…” Judging from that squinty gaze she was leveling him, he should probably stop talking. He exhaled heavily. “Do you have a name?” Yep. That wasn’t much better.
“Of course I do.” She turned to clip her belt on.
“And are you going to tell me?”
She peered back at him. “Don’t you recognize me?”
“Of course I do. You’re the girl who spilled coffee on me yesterday.”
She sighed, and something about the lines of her face drew a tug of memory, but what it was he didn’t know. “I’m Bailey.”
“Bailey?” Where had he heard that name recently?
As she continued to stare at him, like he was the world’s biggest idiot, the fogginess in his brain lifted. His heart hitched. No. No way. It couldn’t be. “Not—”
“Your dance partner? Yes.”
Whoa. “But…” His words failed. Was she kidding? She couldn’t even maneuver a coffee cup let alone teach him moves on the dance floor. This had to be a joke. “You’re a dancer?”
“Do you need references?”
As her head tilted, more memories clicked into place. Something about her throat suddenly looked like the picture he’d been sent, when she’d been stretched into a ballerina pose of beauty and elegance that seemed far too delicate for him. His gaze trickled down, and just as he’d suspected, she was about half the size of him. Not in height, but definitely in width. How could this tiny fairy-like creature teach him?
“Look, I don’t understand this at all. You’re too little.”
“Excuse me?”
“Like, I’d squash you.” Panic rose. “I can’t—I shouldn’t—”
“Whoa. Hold on, big guy. You don’t need to be scared.”
“Scared? I don’t do scared. Especially of little girls. No offense.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do people think they can say offensive things then tack on a ‘no offense’,” she said that phrase in a lower, sullen guy tone, “and act like they’re off the hook for being offensive? That is offensive. But do I point that out to you?”
His jaw sagged. Whoa. Don’t hold back, lady. “Except I think you just did.”
“Well, I guess that makes us even then.”
Her smile thumped him in the heart, just as it had yesterday. He’d never met anyone with her brand of daintiness and fire. She moved to adjust her seatbelt, then peeked across at him before the cabin crew announcement about emergencies stole her attention.
He watched her instead of the safety demonstration. With all the travel hockey demanded, it felt like he’d spent half his life in planes. Now she was up close, he could see the clear skin, the proud tilt of head, the honey gold hair swept high like yesterday, that only seemed to emphasize her cheekbones and delicate features.
She glanced back at him. “You should be paying attention.”
“I am.”
She huffed out a breath, but he thought he caught a tiny smile before she smothered it with a yawn.
The vibrations of the plane shuddered as it slowly rolled, then picked up speed then lifted from the runway. He noticed how she clasped the seat arm, her little hands looking fragile, like he could accidentally lean on her and her bones might snap. This wasn’t a good idea. It felt like all kinds of things could go wrong.
The plane leveled out, her hands released and she stretched out her fingers, before covering her mouth as she yawned again.
“Big night, huh?”
Her lashes lowered. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Try me.”
She pressed her lips together. Then sighed. “How long have you known about this for?”
“Since Monday. You?”
“Yesterday.”
“Wow.”
“Exactly. So I’m sorry I’m a bit snippy. I was blindsided yesterday at lunch, then basically had to read the contract and rearrange all my classes and get a teacher in to cover everything from today.”
“You’re still working?”
Her lips twisted. “Not everyone gets paid big bucks. Some of us have to earn a living and pay the bills.”
Bingo. He settled back in his seat. “So you’re doing this for money.”
“I love to dance, but I can’t afford to work for free.” She shrugged. “I get that five grand isn’t much for you, but it’ll help get the bank off my case, and means I’m not in debt as much, so this was the quickest way to repay it that I could see.”
“Five grand?” He frowned. He was being paid ten times as much. Adding his charity contribution, he was getting seventy-five, maybe even a hundred. How wrong was that?
She winced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that, should I? That was part of the non-disclosure agreement, wasn’t it?”
The non-disclosure about their involvement and payments. Due to the tight time frame Luc had been granted an exemption, although only his agent, parents, and senior club management knew. He shrugged. “I don’t know if it counts when you’re sharing with your dance partner.” It was a lie. It totally counted. But he wanted to know more about her reasons for doing this, and just what this meant to her. “So, um, you needed some cash in a hurry, huh?”
“You make it sound like a drug deal.”
“I didn’t mean that. I’m just trying to understand why you’re doing this.”
“Like I said, I run a dance studio, and I need to pay the bills. This came along out of the blue, thanks to Coco, a friend of mine. She’s one of the show’s regular dancers, and it seemed like an answer to prayer, and it will help lift my studio’s profile. Now we just need to get to round three so I can earn another five grand, then reach the finals so I can earn another ten, that’ll be enough to pay off my debts.”
Her debts? Was that bad business management or something else? His dad was a financial consultant in Quebec, and Luc had grown up hearing tales about the inexperience of people with starry-eyed dreams of running their own small business who’d gone bust. His dad’s cautionary stories had never held identifying details, but had been enough that Luc had learned to save and invest wisely, even as some of his teammates splurged in businesses he knew were doomed to fail.
She rubbed her eyes. “I had to call in a favor from a friend in Alberta to come help.”
“Alberta? That’s two provinces away.”
“No kidding.”
Clearly any attraction from yesterday was one-sided.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic.” Her smile held apology. “I had a friend who I used to work with, and thank God, she’s able to come help for a bit. I was up until late last night contacting parents about classes, and it’s been a little crazy.” She sighed. “To be honest, as exciting as this is, and as grateful as I am for the cash, this has really thrown me for a loop.”
“It was definitely unexpected,” he agreed. But that was the second time she’d mentioned God or prayer. She wasn’t a—? No. He must be dreaming.
“So, how about you?” She shifted to face him. “Why would a hockey guy like you do something like this?”
He shrugged. “Probably like you, I had to raise my profile.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone this, but my team basically told me that the only way I’m up for captaincy is if I do this. Apparently they want me to be more relatable, and help the fan base.” He snorted. “Whatever. At least the money goes to charity.”
She glanced at him, her brows pinching like she wasn’t sure five thousand going to charity was much to boast about. Not that he was boasting. Not that he’d tell her how much he was being paid, either.
She kept studying him, with an eyebrow aloft like she was taking his measure. Which made him nervous. “What?”
“Is that all?”
“About why I’m doing this? Like I said, I’m doing it for charity. My mom had breast cancer, so I’m all about trying to promote the profile of charities that raise money to support cancer sufferers.”
Her face softened. “How is she now?”
“She’s been in remission for four years.”
“I’m glad.” She touched his arm again, and again he felt that frisson of connection.
She seemed to feel it too because her hand jerked away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Touch me?” He snickered. “I kinda get the feeling that’s gonna have to happen if we’re supposed to be dancing together.”
Her nose crinkled.
Ouch. Good to know she didn’t find him attractive at all.
She glanced at her phone, tucked in the back pocket of the plane seat, then put it back, sighing. “Okay, if we’re going to shoot promo tomorrow and we’ve got another two hours or so until we land, then you better start telling me about your dancing experience.”
“That’s easy. I have none.”
She arched a brow.
“Seriously, I have none. I didn’t even dance at my friend’s wedding last weekend.”
She mock-gasped. “Shocking.”
“No, me dancing would’ve been shocking.” He shook his head. “This is gonna be so embarrassing, because I’m pretty sure everyone there heard me say I don’t dance, and then to do this and prove it will be awkward.”
“Come on. Aren’t you the tiniest bit excited about learning a new skill? You sound defeated before you’ve even set foot on the floor.”
Her challenge punched him in the chest. He didn’t do defeated. Well, not by choice, so he hated sounding that way. “I just don’t want to look like a fool.”
“Well, thanks a lot.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“For saying you have no faith in me.”
He stared at her. Then realized what his words implied. “Wait, I don’t mean you’re going to look dumb, it’s just that I don’t want to embarrass myself, or hurt you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me. And I happen to be an excellent teacher.”
“I’m sure you are. It’s just that I’m like a zero at dancing. Less than. Like a minus one hundred.”
“I repeat: I’m an excellent teacher, and I’ve taught a few men how to dance before.”
“None like me, though, I bet.” He held up his hands. “And no, I don’t mean that to sound arrogant. I just mean that I’ve been called a truck more than a few times in my life, and I don’t want to run you over.”
“I’m tougher than I look.”
“Sorry to say this, but you’re a ballet dancer, right?” He shook his head. “I’m not doing fancy ballet moves.”
“Neither am I. This is ballroom, Luc. Have you ever seen ballroom dancing?”
He shook his head. Heard her quiet “Oh dear”.
Yep. Exactly as he’d feared. He should’ve pushed the club to triple the charity donation for this to be worth his humiliation. “Look, I don’t want my hockey rep to suffer because I look like an idiot. I’ve built a career on being tough, so I want to look tough, not the wussy flappy shirt guy.”
She laughed, and he almost smiled as her amusement rippled through his chest. She had a pretty laugh, like bells or birds or something, even if it was at his expense.
At his expense . His stomach fell, and he shook his head at himself. See? He couldn’t afford to be too honest with her, as she’d just laugh at him.
“Anything else I need to be aware of?” she asked gently.
“I’m great on the ice, but sometimes I have two left feet, so you’ll probably need steel-capped boots.”
“Noted. Anything more?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know who makes the decisions about what we wear, but I really don’t want to lose my Samson strength by having my hair cut off.”
She studied him a long moment, eyeing his hair like she thought a haircut really wouldn’t be a loss. But it would be. He liked his flow, the lettuce, as some called great heads of hair. It was about the only nice quality he had, apart from his muscles, and there was no way in heaven or the other place he’d go shirtless on national TV.
“Are you a player?” she finally asked.
“What? No. Why would you say that?”
“Samson had a problem with women, and—”
“Hey, I don’t have a problem with women.”
She eyed him. “As in too many of them. Samson was a bit of a lusty burger who—”
“Wait—a what?”
“A lusty burger,” she repeated, “who had a series of women and then got played by Delilah because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
Wow. No tiptoeing around things with her. “I’m not like that at all.” Then it struck him. “You know about Samson?”
“I’m a Christian, okay?”
Oh. Okay.
Oh! Okay…
He snuck another look at her. She was staring at her pink nails, like she wasn’t sure what to do with him. Which made two of them. He wasn’t sure what to do with her. For despite that clause in the contract, and the knowledge that the only reason the two of them were even in this mess was because the previous celebrity and pro dancer had engaged in an affair, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe God Himself had brought them together for a different reason. That was, if she was single.
He eyed her hand. Nope. No ring. She hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend or anything. Would it—could it—be possible? Like, after the five weeks or whatever this took? Enough so she could earn her money and he could escape back into pre-season training. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. What the heck was he doing, thinking like this? He wasn’t looking for a woman to distract him. He needed to focus. Do this dumb dance thing, then get back to manly stuff like hockey, leading Winnipeg to the postseason, and one day, Lord Stanley’s Cup.
She glanced up at him, her blue eyes piercing, then her expression softened. “Hey, you don’t need to worry.”
“I’m not worried,” he lied. Now she’d talked up her teaching, he wasn’t so worried about his dancing—a man could only go up from having rock-bottom skills, right? But maybe he was just a smidge concerned about protecting his heart.
“You’ll be fine. I promise.”
He nodded. He sure hoped so. God, You better help me out here .