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.”
