“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.
