Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
B ailey was wrong. Luc was not fine. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it sure wasn’t this. The guy hadn’t been kidding. He was as stiff as a board, the sample dance moves they were supposed to do for the Dance Off in-studio film crew and photographers revealing the man likely hadn’t wiggled his hips for maybe two decades.
The assistant producer groaned. “Come on. Luc, can you try one more time?”
Bailey stifled a giggle at the expression on the bear man’s face, exactly like Mikey, the four-year-old she’d been teaching hip-hop, when he couldn’t remember a step.
She stepped forward, grabbed Luc’s hand. He twitched, like her touch was hot. “How about we do this together?” she suggested.
“It’s supposed to be just him,” the producer complained.
“And once he’s relaxed a little more, then he’ll be able to do it, okay?”
She lifted Luc’s hand—his paw, really, because the man was like a bear—and swiveled her hips as she held up his arm and danced and spun beneath it.
He stared at her, just like he had since she’d sashayed from the changerooms in her little silver fringed outfit. She was pretty sure his gulp would’ve been heard on the cameras. “Is that what you’re wearing?” he’d murmured.
“Yep.” She’d smiled, loving the way the lights hit the silver and made the tassels glimmer and sparkle. She sure wasn’t wearing traditional ballet leotards anymore. This outfit wasn’t as formfitting as a leotard, but wasn’t tame by any means. Good thing her dad wasn’t here. He’d be having kittens.
“Come on.” She spun into his chest, his silver jacket and black T-shirt-covered, very broad chest, and whispered, “You need to look alive now, and not like a stunned fish.”
He blinked, the overhead studio lights glaring into him, then seemed to shake himself as he nodded, and visibly relaxed and gritted out a smile. “Better?”
“Nope.” Clearly she had her work cut out with this one. She tugged his head down. “You should look like you’re having fun. What do you do to have fun?”
“Put pucks in the net?”
She sighed.
“How about you pick her up?” the producer called.
Luc’s eyes widened, his expression so deer-in-headlights she fought another urge to giggle. “Come on. It’s not hard. You’re supposed to be strong, right?”
“I am, but I, uh, just don’t know how to, um, pick you up in a way that’s not inappropriate.”
“He’s not asking you to do weights with me. Just put your arm around me and lift me up against your side.”
His hand tentatively moved to her back, and she grabbed it and placed it on her hip. “You’re gonna have to get used to touching me, remember?” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Now catch me.”
She jumped up, her hand slipping around his neck, then his hand slid from her hip down to behind her knees as she smiled at the cameras.
The flashes of cameras popped, as the wind machine blew back her hair, and she smiled at the video camera.
“Come on, Luc. Look like you’re having fun!”
She leaned her head closer to his, grinning wider, one hand outstretched, as the camera guy called, “Put your arm out, like you’re super strong.”
“I am super strong,” Luc mumbled.
She laughed, and he instantly relaxed, the tension in his body easing.
Good to know. He needed to laugh, to find ways to make this fun if he was going to relax and find ways to engage with others in a real way.
“Okay, let’s try that again.”
Luc gently lowered her to the floor, and she placed a hand on her dress to make sure it didn’t ride up. “You’re so light,” he murmured, as she held up her hands in a double high five which he gently slapped, like he was scared to hurt her. And maybe he could, with that big solid build. There was a reason she had thought to not do the swivel and hip check. He’d probably bounce her into the next room.
“I told you not to worry.” She squeezed his bicep, conscious the cameras were still rolling. Even this part had to look fun and not awkward, like they were comfortable with each other, and not like they’d met only two days ago and had arrived in TO yesterday.
Members of the production team had met them at the airport, before their luggage—her number of bags had raised Luc’s eyebrows—had been deposited at the hotel and they’d been whisked off to a fancy restaurant for a “Welcome to Dance Off Canada ” cocktail party.
She’d met Coco and her celebrity, actor Jason Streetley, and a bunch of others, who instantly welcomed her, and did their best to welcome Luc too. She’d noticed the way he’d switched from frozen fish and instantly morphed into someone affable and nice, shaking hands, doing backslap hugs, acting like he was thrilled to be here.
“Oh my gosh, girl,” Coco had fanned herself. “He’s built.”
Yes, he was. It had been evident he was the most built man of the group, even while wearing the most subdued outfit of jeans and a tee and plaid shirt.
Coco had squeezed her. “This will be so fun dancing with you again.”
“Thanks so much for mentioning me to Joanne.” Her bank balance was especially grateful. “I still can’t get over the whirlwind this has been.”
“Hey, they needed someone fast, preferably based near Winnipeg, and when the next troupe member announced she was pregnant, and the others lacked, ah, personality, I suggested to Joanne she call you.” Another hug. “I’m so glad you said yes.”
Bailey had nodded, relaxing a little more. She would be too, eventually.
She’d been glad when the money had shown up in her account. Glad that Luc had made an effort last night, even if he was still looking stiff today. He’d relax more, and they’d look as easy as the other couples who had already been rehearsing together for the past week. It would simply take some time.
“And one more,” a photographer called.
“Ready?” She glanced up at Luc.
His chin dipped, and she smiled, and caught the faintest smile in his expression as she jumped, her arm around his neck.
This time his hand was slightly higher, nearly mid hamstring, and she pointed one leg across his body and curled the other behind her, like a heel flick, lifting her chin and tossing her hair as the wind machine blew strands across her face.
“That’s perfect! That’s a cut.”
“Whew.” Luc gently lowered her, one hand on her knee as she landed back on the ground. “How do you manage to balance on those?” he said, pointing to her heels.
“Probably the same way you manage to balance on skates.”
His lips pulled to one side.
“Okay, Luc, let’s get some shots of you on your own now.”
Luc shot her a look, and she gave him a double thumbs-up to encourage him. There were still cameras here, and who knew what they’d be filming?
She pointed to him, then pointed to her smile, and did a shimmy.
He half-laughed, his stiff posture relaxing, as he pointed back at her, his feet moving in an awkward shuffle. She laughed some more, and beckoned him to come closer.
“That’s it,” the producer called. “Like you’re having fun.”
Luc shook his head, then spun in a circle, elbows lifted, his silver jacket flying out, his black T-shirt lifting higher to reveal a glimpse of abs. She blinked.
Apparently she wasn’t the only one who noticed, either.
“Well, hello! Hey, now try the strut without the shirt.”
Luc glanced at the producer and shrugged from his jacket, then commenced the walk, holding the jacket over his shoulder, like he was auditioning for a runway.
“No, take your shirt off, and put the jacket on.”
“Uh.” He glanced at her, that panicked look from earlier back.
She shrugged. What was his problem? Surely hockey players were used to dressing rooms and moments of shirtlessness. Ballet dressing rooms meant all kinds of things could be—had been—witnessed, but bodies were bodies. She had a feeling having watched similar shows that he’d probably be expected to do a shirtless number—which would likely require a spray tan. Not that she’d freak him out by saying that just yet.
Already the list of things she was expected to know was lengthy, with everything from the premiere’s first dance and song to the costumes and styling options emailed to her by the producers. Then there was all the stuff they were supposed to post on social media—after the announcement this Friday—which would no doubt bring a hefty upswing in the dance studio’s social media numbers. Who knew—maybe she’d finally hit enough subscribers on her YouTube channel to start earning! She’d been buzzing with new information, immensely grateful to Coco for answering all her messages and texts. How glad she was that Poppy had been happy to take the studio’s classes, leaving Bailey free to concentrate on this. She was so conscious they were already behind the other couples, judging from what she’d seen the others do in their to-camera pieces today.
“Luc?” the producer called. “Can you take off your shirt please?”
Luc straightened his shoulders, shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t think you guys are ready for that yet.”
There came a round of laughter, the moment of tension eased as the producer called her back in and they did more poses for still photographs, like what might be seen in magazines and news articles online.
“Now, Bailey, move beside him, and Luc, you grab her leg,” the producer called.
Bailey leaned close, her right knee up and Luc tentatively grabbed her knee, his other hand behind her waist, as she wrapped her hand around his neck, her other hand on his chest as she smiled.
She could feel his heart thudding faster, and the thought he might still be nervous enlarged her smile. How funny to think something like this freaked him out, and she felt more comfortable.
“And one last one. I want to see you up on his hip, okay?”
“Man,” Luc muttered.
She stifled a chuckle. If he thought this was bad, wait until he’d be expected to do some pull-throughs and split-overs like she was already planning for their first dance.
“How do we do this?” Luc asked, facing her.
“Okay, you need to brace with your right leg, while I put my knee up here,” she demonstrated, “then I’m going to hoist myself up and you won’t drop me. Got it?”
“I don’t know that I do, but I’ll try not to drop you.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
He half-smiled again, then followed her instructions as she placed a hand around his neck, her right hand in his left, as she jumped up and tucked herself into his side, all while smiling at the camera.
Sure enough he caught her, his hand on the bare skin at her waist.
“Tuck those legs together, Bailey,” the producer called.
Right. Because nobody wanted to flash anyone. Dad was already heading for a heart attack judging from some of the costumes she’d seen. She pushed her knees together, bracing with her core as Luc held her for one beat, two beats, three.
Then, “That’s good. Okay, I think we’ve got enough.”
“Thank goodness,” Luc murmured.
“Now, Bailey, we need you to join the other pros for rehearsals for the opening number, and Luc, you’re going to makeup for your interview.”
He blew out a breath. “Man. Somebody should’ve told me about the makeup.”
“Look, you haven’t died yet,” she murmured. “You’re still a real man.”
“You’ve noticed, huh?”
“Go.” She pushed him away, her heart fluttering. Which was dumb. She’d never liked people making comments like that, but with Luc, she wasn’t sure if it was his natural cocky swagger, or whether it was a way to assert himself after something that clearly had been a little intimidating and uncomfortable.
“See you soon?” he called, as she pivoted away.
She peeked over her shoulder. He really looked a little anxious. “We’ve got lots to work on, so yes. Now don’t make them run late for your interview, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled. Maybe if he treated her like that she’d have a hope of getting out of this alive.
* * *
If the guys could see him now…
He’d thought joining his first pro training camp was hard. This topped that times ten. Wearing makeup, being dressed by a man, having to touch, to hold a woman he barely knew, which was made even worse by the fact he found her attractive. He should’ve said no. He should’ve pushed to see what the consequences would be for his captaincy if he’d declined this opportunity. Already he could feel this was a runaway train that he was holding onto for dear life, knowing the bridge was out and he was destined to crash.
His phone flashed, and he glanced at it. Ryan. Hey dude, where are you?
He exhaled, and shoved it away. He couldn’t answer. Not with anything that wouldn’t be a lie. And already this place felt filled with so much fakery he’d need an ice bath to slew off the untruths.
Last night’s meet and greet with the other cast members and judges had been cringe city. He recognized some people, even as he was recognized by more than a few. They’d told him that they hadn’t had a hockey player on the show for a while, not since a retired Hall of Famer from three seasons ago. It was enough to make him wonder why his club and agent thought this such a great idea, but there it was. He’d committed now, had signed his autograph on a contract that he couldn’t break. He’d just have to hope he did badly enough to get eliminated in the first couple of rounds. At least this didn’t go for three months as some other shows like this did.
“Luc Blanchard?” An assistant appeared at the door. “They’re waiting for you.”
“Am I pretty enough?” he asked the makeup artist.
“You’ll do.”
“It’s okay. I know you did the best you could.” He pointed to his face. “It’s hard when you’ve not got much to work with.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’re a handsome guy.”
Yeah, if a woman was blind, maybe. But self-deprecation wasn’t a quality admired around here. Some of the peeps from last night seemed to live in self-adulation land, and he’d never been too good with that. Sure, he could talk up a big game, and knew how to inspire others to win, but this was a whole other level. He’d not realized the level of competitiveness that existed in the TV ballroom scene. And he didn’t think Bailey had realized that either.
“This way, Luc.”
He followed down a rabbit warren of halls, then out where the bright lights hit his face. He’d done interviews before, plenty of them, and he knew he’d need to channel some of the personality that viewers might think was fun, and yet wouldn’t seem too cheesy.
“Hey Luc, are you ready?”
“Born ready,” he lied, settling in his seat, while the makeup girl dusted powder on his nose, and tweaked his hair. It was unbelievable how crazy intense this was, and he hadn’t even danced a step yet. How on earth was he going to keep it together?
“Okay, I want you to look in this camera when we’re rolling, okay?”
He nodded, as the magnitude of what he was doing hit him like a tsunami. His mouth dried, just like it had when he’d first seen Bailey in that tiny silver dress. She’d looked way too hot for someone like him, and he’d barely known where was safe to look, let alone place any part of him near. But she’d guided him like a boss, which he supposed she was, and he was grateful that at least her Christian status meant they’d likely not get too hot and heavy. Dear Lord, no .
The interviewer grinned at him, as his microphone was fed through his shirt and adjusted. “Just relax. It’s okay.”
His words reminded him of Bailey, how she calmed him with her words or with her smile or laugh. He might not have known her long, but she seemed a real deal chick, for sure.
“Okay, are you ready?”
Luc nodded. “Let’s do this.” He smiled at the camera and gave a thumbs-up, adopting the fun and bouncy personality of that actor dude Bailey and her friend had hung out with a bit last night.
“And here I am with Luc Blanchard, a man known more for his forecheck than his dance moves. Luc, tell us why you agreed to do this show.”
Hit them with the truth, or a version of it? He’d choose option B. “It’s always good to learn a new skill, and when the opportunity came, I was sure they’d picked the wrong guy, because I have two left feet, so I guess we’ll see how that flies.”
“Cut.” The producer called. “Luc, I’m sorry, but we need a little more snap and crackle.”
“Excuse me?”
“You need to sound a little more positive. You know, like you’re excited to be here?”
Man, he wished Bailey was around. She seemed to have enough snap and crackle and sparkle for the two of them. “Uh, sure. Let’s do it again.” Lord? You need to help me here. I’ve got nothing.
“In three, two, one.”
The interviewer nodded. “And here I am with Luc Blanchard, a man known more for his mean forecheck than his dance moves. Luc, can you tell us why you agreed to come on Dance Off ?”
He made an effort to smile harder this time. That seemed to work for Bailey. “I found this was an opportunity too good to pass up. Who doesn’t want the chance to learn a new skill, and make a fool of oneself, all in the name of charity?”
“Cut.” The producer eyed him. “A fool? Seriously?”
“I’m just keeping it real.”
The man sighed. “Could you try that answer again, this time without the fool part?”
“How real did you want this to be? I didn’t realize I should be giving scripted answers.”
“We don’t need you to have rehearsed answers, and look, I do understand this was a last-minute thing, so perhaps you haven’t had the chance to get your head around everything yet—”
That was for sure.
“—but we need positive energy from you, Luc. This interview shapes how you’ll be seen by the viewing public, and how long you’ll last. Nobody wants to see a downer on TV.”
“I’m not being a downer. I’m keeping it real, that’s all.”
“Maybe just a little less real, this time?”
Wow. “Okay.”
Third time lucky. This time, when the interviewer paused, Luc grinned like a fool, and said, “I know my being here will surprise a lot of people, but this was an awesome opportunity to learn a new skill. And when it’s all in the name of good fun and raising money for one of my favorite charities, I knew I had to say yes.”
“Cut.” The producer beamed. “That’s perfect.”
Nope. That was insane.
He wondered how much more of this fakery his signature meant that he’d agreed to do.
Three more interviews later, where he’d basically repeated the same false enthusiasm, he finally found Bailey in the green room. She was talking with her friend Coco again, and he slumped into a seat next to her.
Coco glanced at him, arching an eyebrow, which he met with a look of his own. She was Bailey’s friend, and he didn’t want to interrupt, but his stomach had felt queasy all day, and he really needed to talk to Bailey and find out exactly what all of this meant.
“I think somebody wants to talk to you,” Coco finally said, before air-kissing Bailey a goodbye.
Good to know his death glare still worked.
“Hey you.” Bailey smiled at him. “How did all your interviews go?”
“I did not realize just what would be involved.” He groaned. “This is crazy.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Yeah, I know it’s a lot, but it’s only for a little while.”
That’s right. A notch of peace edged his heart. Only another day or so then he’d be done.
“Then we’ll be back in Winnipeg and the real work begins.”
“What?”
Her forehead furrowed. “This is the easy part. It’s learning the dancing that’s going to be the harder thing.”
No. He really wanted to whine like a little kid. “It’s too late to pull out now, isn’t it?”
“Come on. You’ll manage. You’re not scared of a little challenge, are you?”
When she put it like that… “No.”
“Good.”
Her smile arrowed straight through him, giving him courage for the next part of the day. “So, what’s happening now?”
“Didn’t you check your schedule?”
Clearly not. He’d gotten so many emails from the producers in the past forty-eight hours it’d take a year to read through them all.
“We’ve got one more interview together, then it’s a night off, then we’re back early for the morning show tomorrow, then it’s a meet and greet but with all the cast and crew, and then we’ll fly home.”
He sighed. “I didn’t realize just how much would be involved.”
“I don’t think anyone did. Coco has been great in giving me some advice, but I’m looking forward to going back and actually getting the headspace to get this process started.”
“What do you have to do?”
“Apart from figure out the choreo—”
“Corrie?”
“The choreography, the dance movements, for the music we’ve been given.”
“They give us music? We don’t get to pick?”
“We get given the dance we’re supposed to do, whether it’s a waltz or foxtrot or jive—”
He groaned.
“What?”
“I’ve only heard of one of those,” he confessed.
“Well, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be able to do them all.”
Huh. He leaned back in his chair. “You might look all sweet and innocent, but you’re a bit of a spitfire, aren’t you?”
Her head tilted. “Is that a good thing?”
“It’s a great thing.”
She bit her lip, then nodded and slowly smiled. “Well, Luc Blanchard, we better find someone around here who can get that on tape, because I think you’ll need to remember that.”
“Is this you getting sassy, huh?”
“Oh, Luc, you’ve got no idea.”