“What are you doing?”
“This is how I prepare for game day just before I go on the ice.”
“Okay then. Let’s go crush the opposition.”
“I thought we were going to smoke them? That sounds more dancy, especially considering the smoke machine they’ve got.”
“Now,” the floor manager pointed to them. “You two are on.”
Bailey squeezed his hand, then drew him onto the dance floor. “Let’s do this.”
He swallowed. He might be used to bright lights and crowds, yet the churning in his stomach was nothing like what he’d experienced before. But he couldn’t think about any of that. He could only think about Bailey. About the hours and hours she’d committed to helping him look good. This moment was for her. Lord, help me. He realized he probably should’ve prayed with her beforehand, but maybe they could do that next time. If there was a next time.
The studio hushed, the music started, the piano tinkling, then she tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around.
This first part was easy, just a walk across the dance floor, or glide as she had said, with that slow, slow, quick, quick step movement she had drummed into him. Then he held her hand, and she did a spin, and he caught the way she big-smiled at him, which reminded him to smile back. This was supposed to be fun, remember?
His trepidation eased a bit as they did another sequence of slow, slow, quick, quick steps, then a third line before another spin, which was when the music changed into the trumpet section. He clutched her underarms and began the spin. He was feeling dizzy, but he had to concentrate. He had to get this lift right. He lowered, she put her knee into his hip and moved over onto his back, just like they’d practiced minutes ago.
He grasped her legs, but his hands were slippery or something, and instead of hoisting her onto his shoulders, she slipped, sliding down his back while he frantically tried to grab her legs to stop her hitting the deck. Somehow, somehow, she slid from his back in a tangle of white skirts, before she turned and faced him, gritting out a “Luc!” which got his attention, and his feet automatically moved into the sequence they’d rehearsed for hours.
But the feeling of failure sang through the rest of the song, and his smile felt as phony as a pink unicorn. He completed the final move, a spin that sent her to the corner of the floor as she beamed at the camera while he hurried to draw her up again. He held her in an arched back pose while he drew his arm behind him, before the final plinks of the piano saw them swiftly reverse sides and he dipped her at the end.
He was breathing hard, and she smiled up at him, one arm outstretched, the other hand around his neck.
“You did good, Luc.”
He shook his head, pulling her upright. “I messed up.”
“Hey.” She hugged him, like what seemed to be the norm here, and while he was glad the dance had finished, he was still conscious that his performance needed to go on. He had to pretend he didn’t mind screwing up, that he hadn’t wrecked things for Bailey. He’d never forgive himself if his clumsiness was the reason they exited tonight. She needed to get to the third round for her money.
“Come on.”
Jenna, the main host, drew them into position in front of the judges’ box, as the crowd continued their applause. He knew that wasn’t real, either. He’d seen the warm-up guys before, and knew their job was to make it sound like the celebrities had danced better than they had.
“Wow, Luc Blanchard. What a dance. How do you feel?” Jenna poked the microphone in front of him.
He bent down. “Relieved?” That was safe enough, right?
Jenna laughed. “Relieved it’s over or that you didn’t drop her?”
“Can I say both?”
Bailey wrapped her arm around his middle and squeezed. That’s right. He was supposed to bring perky fun to the situation. He slapped on a grin.
“Okay, well, let’s hear what the judges have to say. Over to you, Marco.”
His stomach tensed. Please Lord, let them be kind. For Bailey’s sake.
“Ah, well, Luc Blanchard. I have to say you cut quite a dashing figure in that suit.”
Okay, well, that was nice enough.
“You moved across the floor reasonably well, but you need to work on your posture. You need to tuck in that big butt—”
Yeah, good luck with that. He didn’t lead his team in squats at training camp for nothing.
“—and work on your frame and upper body. Sometimes your shoulders are going in one direction, your hips in quite another.”
He didn’t know what that meant, but hopefully Bailey did. If they stuck around for next time.
“The lift was a disaster, darling, but I liked the physicality you brought. Hopefully the viewers liked that too so we can see more next time.”
“I agree,” Cynthia said. “You’re a powerful, strongly built, good-looking man, you’ve got so much potential. I would like you to engage in the story a little more and work on your musicality. Listen to the song every day and feel it so you can work on your timing.”
Luc nodded. He had so much to work on. Maybe it would be better to get eliminated and not have to go through this.
John read from his notes then glanced up. “Hands like spades, my boy. Hands like spades. If there’s one thing I cannot tolerate it is hands that are splayed like little garden forks. And there was little connection, little rise and fall in the steps, your progression across the floor is supposed to be a glide, not a walk. You’re supposed to be light on your feet, and I have to admit that I didn’t see anything of the swing and sway that epitomizes the foxtrot. You’re a big man, but you should be projecting elegance. Bailey, if he survives this round, then I really want you to work on that, and focusing on what strengths he has. There might not be many—”
Ouch. The crowd booed.
“—but I’m sure they’re in there somewhere, okay Bailey, dear?”
Bailey nodded, and Luc felt so bad.
“We won’t talk about the lift. It’s obvious it did not go as planned. Wouldn’t you agree?”
So much for not talking about it. Luc nodded. “We worked so hard at it. We even nailed it just before.”
