Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
N ot even dancing for the first time in The Nutcracker had drained her so much as four, no, five hours training with Luc Blanchard. She’d never been so exhausted as when she’d returned to the apartment and crashed on the cream floral couch.
“How did he go?” Poppy asked.
“Oh my gosh, Poppy.”
“That bad, huh?”
Bailey sighed. “He’s trying. But honestly, I don’t know how we’re going to get past this first elimination let alone reach the third round.”
“That’s when you get your second five grand, right?”
She nodded. She probably shouldn’t have said anything to Poppy about her payment, especially when she’d gathered from Coco that Bailey had been getting paid a bonus rate for stepping in as an emergency dance pro. But Poppy understood the pressing financial concerns of the dance studio, and the meager earnings of dancers. And while the network was helping subsidize things, and she was giving all the teacher fees to Poppy while she looked after the studio’s classes, and giving her free rent while she stayed here, she still felt like Poppy was probably being shortchanged.
“So, you have to get to the third round.”
“I don’t know how committed he is to the cause, either. I mean, he’s competitive—”
“All hockey players are.”
“That’s right.” She sat up, studied Poppy. “I keep forgetting that Franklin plays.”
Poppy laughed. “I love that about you. You’ve always been oblivious to much beyond dance.”
“Not oblivious, just not exactly… aware.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the same thing.”
Bailey threw a cushion at her, and Poppy threw it back.
“So, tell me more. Is he as serious as he looks? Funny? Charming?”
“Sometimes.” To all three.
Poppy studied her. “You like him, huh?”
“No.”
“Come on. He’s all big and brooding, and I know you’ve always had a thing for broody guys.”
“No, I haven’t.” Bailey threw another cushion at her, just missing a china teacup that had belonged to her grandmother.
“You need to be careful,” Poppy said, with a schoolmarm finger.
She winced. “Yeah, I’d hate to break that.”
“No, I mean with Luc Blanchard.”
Bailey rolled her eyes. “He’s not my type.” Even if the memory of him holding her, his scent of musk and manliness, had caused her to inhale a little deeper than was decent. She really hoped the cameras hadn’t picked up on that .
“And what exactly is your type? You’re not still pining over Mark, are you?”
She sighed. Mark Drummond had been everything she’d thought handsome, with his chiseled good looks, lean build, and floppy brown hair. Some had said he was beautiful, and his accent had certainly been. And while he could dance like an angel, his personal life wasn’t quite the same, and while she didn’t like to judge, a Christian girl had to have standards about the man she might wish to have as a romantic partner. Even if she couldn’t always be so choosy about partners in the world of dance.
“You still like him?” Poppy crinkled her nose.
“No. Not like that.”
“Luc is a Christian, at least.”
“Is he?”
“Oh my gosh, Bailey. He and Franklin are in the same online Bible study group. You know, along with people like Mike Vaughan, and Ryan Guillemette, and Chris Thomas.”
She frowned. Those names were vaguely familiar…
“Please tell me you know who those guys are.”
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’ve been so busy that I seriously can’t put a face to those names. Although I might’ve talked to some of them yesterday.”
“What? And you didn’t tell me?”
“There’s been a lot going on.”
“As soon as Franklin gets back from his honeymoon, I’m going to get him to call you and fill you in on everything you need to know about Luc.”
“Please don’t. I’m getting the feeling that everyone is trying to ship us, or something, and I don’t need that kind of pressure in my life.”
Poppy stared at her. “Maybe you do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if he’s really as bad at dancing as you think he is, maybe giving the public something to wonder about would be a good reason for them to keep you two around.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so tired I’m not following.”
Poppy smiled. “Look, if the audience are supposed to vote for you, and people think you and Luc are an item, then they’ll want to see what’s going to happen. You see it all the time with the couples who have chemistry. People always wonder if they’re a thing—”
“But we’re not. We have contracts that forbid it.”
“But the audience don’t know that. And they’ll be wanting you two to be a thing. You’re so cute and pretty, and he’s so big and tough-looking, they’ll think it’s classic opposites attract and want to see you dance in some of the sexy numbers.”
“Oh my gosh.” A wave of… something rolled over her. Sexy numbers? With Luc? She swallowed.
“Now don’t pretend that doesn’t interest you. I know you, Bailey Donovan. You’ve always had a thing for those Latin numbers, haven’t you?”
“Ugh.” She closed her eyes and covered her face. She might’ve enjoyed the energy of Latin dances, but her dad had never been a fan. What would he think seeing his daughter dance like that on TV? “To be honest, I’m struggling to imagine Luc doing any form of ballroom dancing, let alone the Latin numbers.”
The samba. The salsa. The rumba. The tango. All of them were about creating visuals that were hinting at a particular activity she’d never participated in. She’d always had to act those roles, projecting a sexiness she didn’t necessarily feel, when asked to teach those classes. The thought of having to own that sensual swagger and perform that kind of role with Luc was… disconcerting. To say the least.
“Have they told you what next week’s dance is supposed to be?”
She sighed. “I haven’t dared look. It’s been enough to get through everything this week.”
“You should find out. See if it’s something that might get the crowd going. And if so, then you’re in with a better shot of staying around.”
“Are you seriously suggesting I pretend I’m in a relationship with Luc so people vote for us?”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
“Oh my gosh, Poppy James, I didn’t realize you were so devious.”
“It’s not devious, it’s called strategy. And you need the money, right?”
“Well, yes. It’s helpful to have the network pay for the studio hire, that was an unexpected bonus, but I don’t like the thought I might be deceiving people just to get another five grand.”
“You’re not deceiving. It’s all part of the entertainment industry. It’s a show, it’s pretend . Just give the people what they want. And you and Luc Blanchard being a couple is what they want.”
“He won’t though. He doesn’t want to be on the show a second longer than he has to.”
“I thought he wanted to raise money for his mom’s cancer charity?”
“I think he wants to get back to hockey as quick as he can. This is just a momentary aberration in his life, not something long term.”
“Or maybe it’s a God-given opportunity for two Christians to meet and spend time together, in a way they might not normally do. For goodness’ sake, Bails, he’s a millionaire, he’s an athlete, he’s not bad to look at—”
“Have you seen his hair?”
“Details, details.” Poppy clicked her fingers. “You can ask wardrobe to cut it off, say that’s necessary for costume styling or something.”
Bailey’s mouth sagged. “Poppy!”
“I’m just saying that hair is an easy fix and doesn’t have to be a deal-breaker.”
“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe you’re talking like this. Anyway, there is a deal which can’t be broken called a contract, remember? Even if I did want. Which I definitely don’t .”
“Look, if you don’t want him, I can help you out.” Poppy winked.
“No. He’s— no . Stop talking about him like that. He’s a nice guy. I’m not going to manipulate him or anyone else just so I can make enough money to save the studio.”
“This could be a God thing. Just sayin’.”
“And it could be a distraction.”
Poppy smiled. “Then feel free to send the distraction my way.”
Hmm.
Day two of dance rehearsal saw a later start time, as Luc had insisted he needed a delayed beginning, thanks to a prior commitment. He didn’t elaborate, and she supposed it was hockey-related. Seeing it was Sunday and the city in summer seemed to slow down, she was happy to have a few extra hours to attend early church with her parents, then put what she’d learned yesterday, and some of what Poppy had said too, into some sort of order.
Luc needed to do lifts. Everyone knew that lifts were a crowd-pleaser, and something he’d seemed to enjoy doing yesterday too. Most of these shows had the male celebrities as the tree trunks to the dancing branches of the female dance pros. As long as they could move a little, and look graceful enough, attention usually focused on the woman and her dress and kicks and dazzle. She had to bring that, and do her best to cover his mistakes.
He needed to work on his frame. On his arms. Even keeping upright, chin up, “heart up” as she liked to say, so he could dominate the dance floor with his big body and not hunch over.
She’d followed Poppy’s advice and looked ahead, seen next week was a change in pace and was the jive. She thought he’d enjoy that more, if they made it through. The jive wasn’t a sexy dance, which was just as well, but the upbeat music would be fun and they could do some cool lifts. But first they had to get through this week.
The studio doors opened, and she smiled at Ella and the crew. “Good morning.”
“Barely. It’s nearly noon.”
“So still morning then.”
Ella glanced around. “Luc isn’t here yet?”
“I’m sure he’s on his way. We said twelve, and it’s not quite that yet.”
Ella sighed, as Tony helped Bailey get microphoned up. “We really don’t need him being late as it sets—”
“Hey.”
The deep voice drew a sigh of relief. And another swallow of appreciation. Today Luc wore long track pants and a white singlet, and was channeling a vibe not dissimilar to Paul Mercurio in Strictly Ballroom . Oh, she was so due to watch that again. The white top showcased Luc’s muscular arms with their intricate tattoos, his powerful chest and abs, and made her think—
“Oh, hello.” Ella turned to Ben. “You filming?” At his nod she refocused on Luc, and helped him get microphoned for the day. “Now we’re talking. The ladies are going to eat you up.”
He frowned. “Excuse me?”
Aw, bless. Did he not know that muscly arms were a turn-on for some women? Bailey hurried over to him, and grasped his hand and dragged him to the mirror. “Put your stuff down there, and let’s get started.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” She grinned at him. “Now, are you ready? You got done all you needed to do this morning?”
He nodded.
“Okay then. Let’s see how much you remember from yesterday. We’re going to add some more of the routine, and I thought we could tweak it with an extra lift or two, so I hope you’re feeling strong.”
He flexed. “Always.”
She laughed. “So full of confidence, aren’t you?”
“The only way to be.”
“Okay, let’s see how that translates to the dance floor, shall we?”
He nodded, and she ran through the movements again.
He seemed stiffer today, which was completely understandable after yesterday’s efforts when his muscles must be sore, and she had to demonstrate in front of the mirror the rise and fall of the movement.
“Now it’s slow, slow, quick, quick. See what I’m doing there with my feet?”
“You’re wearing sneakers today.”
“As are you. I figured we could try your dance shoes at the end.” She nodded to Ella. “They might want to film that moment, so brace yourself.”
“Man. I didn’t realize they’d be filming everything.”
“Be thankful they’re not filming you pee.”
He chuckled. “You know, you’re not exactly the dainty chick everyone thinks you are, are you?”
She grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, no more nonsense from you otherwise you’ll need to drop and give me twenty.”
He dropped to the floor and did five quick push-ups, which instantly drew a squeal from Ella. “Oh my gosh! Okay, I don’t know what just happened, but we need to record it. So Luc, can you get back up, then you two go through that interaction again, then you do the push-ups, okay?”
Luc’s nose wrinkled, but he obeyed, and stood close as Bailey tried to remember what she’d said before. Hmm, talking about using the toilet wasn’t the vibe she was going for…
“I said, ‘You’re not as dainty as everyone thinks you are, are you?’”
That’s right. She smiled. “You know it. Now don’t forget, I’m your drill sergeant, so you better behave otherwise you’ll need to drop and give me twenty.”
He winked and dropped to the floor and did a series of quick push-ups, as Ben drew close to film.
Then Ella gestured for Bailey to get closer. “Hey Luc, would you mind if Bailey sat on you? That’d be a fun visual.”
“No! I don’t—”
“Sure.”
Bailey peered down at him. “Are you sure?”
“Come on, Bailey. It’d be like a flea sitting on an elephant.”
“Are you calling me a flea?”
“A butterfly then.”
Oh. She smiled, and perched herself precariously on his back as Ben filmed. Then Luc lowered, drawing her gasp, which made him chuckle as he pushed higher, then lowered and completed another push-up again.
“See? I’m not feeling a thing. Are you sure you’re even sitting there?” he teased.
She laughed, but couldn’t help notice how his muscles were sculpted, his sleeveless top revealing some of his back muscles as well. He was… built. She bet wardrobe would have a field day showcasing his body in those costumes.
He did another drop, and she slid off, laughing. He glanced at her quickly, but she waved off concern as she got to her feet. “Okay, enough messing around. We need to get focused if we’re going to nail this routine.”
Bailey held out a hand and he grasped it and she pulled him up. He was standing close to her, so she gently pushed him back. There was something rather intoxicating about being a small skinny woman who could order around a big man and have him do her bidding.
She blinked, refocused. “Now, let’s talk about that lift from yesterday.”
She demonstrated again, saying this time she wanted to add in a new lift, an extension on the twirl that would see her lifted onto his back then onto his shoulder.
His eyes enlarged. “I don’t want to drop you.”
“I don’t want that either. And that’s what practice is about.” Although a crash mat might not be a bad idea… “Let’s start with what we did yesterday. Remember the plié?”
He nodded. “That’s when you bend your knees, right?”
She demonstrated, he copied her. She nodded and turned. “Now, grab me here.” She moved, her back to his front, and gestured in the mirror to her armpits.
His hands moved, his fingers brushing the side of her chest, which saw him instantly withdraw, the mirror reflecting his shocked expression. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
She glanced across, saw the cameras were still rolling, then switched off her microphone pack and gestured he do the same.
“What are you doing?” Ella called.
“I’m sorry. I just need to have a word with Luc about something and I’d rather it not be on film.”
“About what?”
“About an accidental boob brush.”
“Oh my gosh,” Luc muttered behind her. “It really was an accident.”
“Exactly.” Bailey turned to face him. “And you know what? It’ll likely happen again. Just as I might accidentally kick you, or hit you in the face, or you might drop me. Accidents happen, but if you’re going to get all hung up about it, then you won’t try, and I need you to try.”
His lips twisted. “You’re not saying you want me to accidentally touch your, um—”
“No. Nor intentionally either.”
He went red.
“But stuff happens in dance. Just like I’m sure it happens in hockey. I’ve had partners in dance where I’ve accidentally kicked them in the privates and they’ve had to keep on dancing. Stuff happens. So I need you to know that this,” she gestured to her body, “is just a body. You’re not hung up on the fact I’ve been touching your hips and legs, are you?”
His lips pressed together. Then he muttered “No”.
Hmm. Did that hesitation mean he was? Still, he couldn’t afford to think like that. And neither could she. “If we make it through this round, then there will be dances that could get a lot more up close and personal, if you know what I mean. And you’ve got to be okay with that.”
He exhaled heavily, and threw his hands in his hair. “Look, I just don’t, ah, do that kind of thing with anyone. Not anymore. And I’m trying to be careful, to, um,” he glanced over at where Ella and the crew were watching, but not filming, praise the Lord, “to not do anything that disrespects a woman, or stirs up things in me anymore.”
Oh. The fact that this bothered him and he didn’t get handsy with women showed he wasn’t a player. She’d known Christian guys before who didn’t mind getting handsy. Clearly Luc wasn’t one of them.
She moved back into his line of vision, and gently moved his jaw to look at her. “I appreciate that. That’s a rare thing these days, and honorable.”
He stared into her eyes, his lips flat, then he nodded.
“I want you to know that as far as I’m concerned, we’re cool.” She gestured between them. “I don’t want to do anything that stirs up anything in you, so if I do, you need to tell me, okay?”
A smaller nod this time.
“And I also need you to know that I view my body as a tool for my craft, which is dance. Sometimes I forget that, but I have trained my whole life to dance, and that’s why it doesn’t bother me.”
“I’m just not used to working so closely with a woman,” he muttered.
She smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on you.”
* * *
She did not go easy on him. She had no idea just how tough she was to work with. Not in her personality, she was as shiny and happy as ever, but in the way she obviously didn’t feel the same way as he did.
He’d never felt quite so mortified as when he’d accidentally touched her before. She’d tried to explain it away, saying it didn’t matter, but it did. All these years of celibacy, of trying to live God’s way after several years of making the most of his hockey and NHL status and fame, meant she had no idea how tough it was to not want more. Even if it had been completely accidental. In some ways, he’d like her to punch him in the nuts and call it even. But just that thought made his lips twitch, and made her up the ante in her military decisiveness.
“Come on.” She clicked her fingers, no doubt conscious that the cameras were back on after her boss-move of requesting they stop filming earlier. “I need you to commit, and look like you want to be here.”
He nodded to the cameras.
She shrugged. “If you don’t do what I ask, then I’m going to call it out.”
“You’re tougher than some coaches I’ve worked with.”
“Maybe it’s time you had someone whup your backside into line.”
Ella laughed. “That’s gold.”
No, it wasn’t. If that comment was broadcast he’d no doubt be scoring some scathing comments from the team’s coaching staff.
“So, come on, Luc. Get your head into the game.”
“Look who’s coming out with the sporting clichés.” Her eyes narrowed, and he muttered, “Sorry.”
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be. Now move.”
He tried to get into the pose, but he still couldn’t help wondering about what this would look like on TV.
She sighed. “What is it now?
“I just…” He glanced across at Ella.
She nodded. “I know. How about when we break and get a coffee, you tell me then.”
“Okay.”
That proved motivation enough for him to fill the next hour, then they were de-microphoned, and released for a ten-minute break.
But he didn’t get a chance to talk, because as soon as they exited the building he was recognized.
“Hey, it’s Luc Blanchard!”
She eyed him, then turned back inside the studio. “Bailey, wait.”
“You’ve got eight minutes then we’re starting again.”
Why did it feel like he’d failed her again? He managed to keep up the requisite small talk with the fan, get his coffee from Max and one he hoped Bailey would like, and determined they’d order in from now on. And that he’d try to talk to her after this next session. Two hours to go, then he could explain a little more. And maybe see if she’d regard this as an apology date.
He returned with coffee, and she accepted his apology cup with thanks, they drank, got re-microphoned up, then resumed practice.
Fortunately the coffee had sparked further energy and concentration, and he was able to pick up the steps and moves a lot easier than before, which she appeared to notice. “Well, look whose love language is coffee, huh?”
“Anytime you need more, I’m your man.”
She smiled, and his heart filled with sunshine.
But the good vibes were soon tested as she drew him closer to the box that still held his dance shoes. “Now look, I know you don’t want to do this, but it’s necessary. And now your feet have been working, you’ll find they probably feel a little tight, but that’s good. It’s always best to buy shoes in the afternoon so you’re getting the right size. Just remember there’s some give in them. Now, please try them on.”
He grabbed a seat, unlidded the box, then stared at the tissue paper-wrapped shoes, and, conscious of the cameras filming, tried not to wrinkle his nose.
“Go on. Try them on.”
He pulled them out, black, with a slight heel, not nearly as high as he’d dreaded. “They don’t look like normal shoes.”
“Because they’re dance shoes,” she said, like he was an idiot. “They have grip, but are designed to move across waxed floors, and allow for dance moves. The heels are to improve your posture.”
He took off his sneakers, and he caught her muffled laughter.
“I like your socks.”
His socks with jets on them. Yep, branded by the team, that was him. “I’m doing what I can to get the word out.”
“That you are. You should put that on your socials.”
Maybe he should. He’d take a pic and post it on Insta later.
“Now try them on.”
He pulled on the first shoe, laced it up. Winced. “Is it supposed to be that tight?”
“Try the other. Remember, it’s going to feel tight because you’ve been on your feet all day.”
He did, then took a tentative walk across the dance floor, trying not to look like a wuss as his toes pinched. Tough guy he would not appear if he complained too much.
“If you wear them at home, you’ll find they’ll fit better. And put them on first thing in the day.”
“I go for a run first thing in the day.” When he prayed, and listened to the Bible and his Northwest Ice playlist or various Christian podcasts.
“Then after that.” She eyed him. “You’re wearing them on Sunday’s show, so you need to get used to it now.”
He blew out a breath. Sunday? How on earth would they be ready for the show? Another question he’d have to ask her on their non-date after rehearsals today.
“Look, I just wanted to apologize for earlier again.”
“For what?”
Did the woman not hold grudges? Had she forgotten that quick? “I mean with, um…” He motioned to his pec.
She gestured to her chest. “That? Please forget it. I’ve moved on. You need to as well. And I mean that. And I’d really rather know what was bothering you after.”
He winced, trying to remember. That’s right. How this would look like on TV. How he’d look on TV. But saying that aloud would make him look like a vain tool, and he had no desire to do that.
He glanced around the studio. Ella and the camera crew had left, it was just them. He’d wanted to go to a café or restaurant, but Bailey had shot him down, saying that would look too much like a date, which wouldn’t work for the “no-relationship” clause in their contract. So they were still here, having told Ella they were running through more rehearsals. Even if he was wishing they could be anywhere else. Maybe they could go to a park, go running together. He’d have to find out if she enjoyed running too.
“I don’t have secret microphones installed if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
He managed a nervous laugh, then sighed. “Look, I don’t want to sound arrogant or anything, but I just don’t want my reputation as a tough guy on the ice being affected by looking too soft on the dance floor.”
“You think my routine is too soft?”
“It’s not the choreography,” look at him using dance terms, “it’s the music.”
She nodded. “I wondered. But it’s Harry Connick Junior, and he’s a legend, and the music for foxtrot does tend to be softer, and you know it’s what they sent me. And I didn’t figure I could argue about song selection on my very first dance.”
“Do you know what’s next?”
“The next dance? It’s a jive. It’s a lot faster, and you can look tougher, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“I don’t need to look tough, but I can’t afford to look too soft.”
She nodded. “But you do know this is all edited, right? That the show will want to portray you a certain way. And you’re known for being big and tough and intimidating, and someone somewhere thought it would be fun to show a different side to you, show you’re a man who cares about his mom and is willing to do this for her. You show that on Sunday and suddenly you’re more nuanced than the big man on skates.”
Huh. Like the GM had said not even a week ago.
“You don’t need to worry about Sunday, Luc. You’ll be great. People will love you.”
“Are you sure? I’m trying, but I just don’t think my body was designed to move the way you think it is.”
“It’s called training, just like you’ve had to do with hockey. Were you able to stand up on skates the first time you put them on?”
He shrugged. “I can’t remember that long ago.”
“Most people wouldn’t manage skating well first try, and the audience will understand you’re not a dancing pro and that they shouldn’t expect perfection from you. Luc, you need to remember it’s a show, an entertainment show, and it’s about giving the viewers what they want. And they always want stories, don’t they? Someone to cheer for, a villain, a hero, an underdog. You understand that, right?”
He nodded. He understood the concept of that, anyway.
She smiled. “Call me crazy, but I guess in some ways hockey can be like that too.”
Hockey was life, but whatever. “There’s definitely some villains,” like Sean Hart, “and some heroes.” He winked.
“I wonder who you could possibly mean?”
He chuckled. “I think you need to come to a game sometime.”
“Maybe.”
Definitely. He could just imagine her, with all the team’s WAGs, meeting him after a game and hugging him hello, kissing—whoa.
Her head tilted, exposing those long lines of her neck he’d had the pleasure of seeing up close, yet not too personal. Not yet, anyway. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. He would be. After an ice bath, and maybe a cold shower on top of that.