“He said as long as I work on muscle mass and do weights I should be okay. But man, I get so hungry all the time.”
“Must be all those lifts you keep boasting about.”
Luc grinned. “I know that I might’ve mocked a few things about dancing and stuff in the past, so don’t tell anyone, but I’m really starting to enjoy this.”
“Bailey!” Dan waved.
“Don’t.” Luc dragged his hand down.
“What is it?” Bailey asked.
“Nothing,” Luc said. Man, why did everyone have to watch their little interactions, like it was amusing? Seriously, these people needed to get a life or something. He peeked at her dad. He didn’t look too amused. He’d seen the way Bailey’s straitlaced dad had curled his lip when he’d seen Luc’s tatts earlier. Clearly the man hadn’t jumped onboard the Luc Blanchard fan train. He sure hoped his own folks weren’t making things worse.
Dan shot Luc a smirk then called to Bailey. “Do you think Luc’s enjoying dancing now? Enquiring minds want to know.”
Her gaze fell on Luc, soft and lovely, warming his heart. “I hope so. Because I would hate to think he’s going through all this and hating it.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure the man isn’t hating it,” her dad said, with a double raised eyebrow lift at Luc.
He swallowed, straightened, conscious he should be making more of an effort with her parents so they’d approve of him. “Look, I don’t want anyone to take this the wrong way, but,” he sighed, noting Bailey’s concern, “I really think I like the waltz the best of all.”
There was a new wave of tease and applause, along with a few “Awws” from some of the ladies. But he barely noticed, his heart full of Bailey’s soft gaze on his, her smile for him. It was all he could focus on.
Until he heard Poppy’s voice murmur, “Just wait until he gets to do the tango.”
CHAPTER 14
Monday morning Bailey entered the studio and found Ella and the crew waiting. “Oh! Are we late?”
“Nope. We’re just early.” Ella grinned. “We figured you two might be running a little behind time after celebrating last night.”
Bailey smiled up at Luc. “You did so well.”
“Two eights, Bails. Two! I was praying for one, but we got two!”
The highlight of last night: when John, the technical judge, had said Luc’s rise and fall had looked effortless and her choreography was amazing. Well, that, and when their last lift had worked, ending in the dramatic fish dive used by ballet dancers in everything from The Nutcracker to Sleeping Beauty, where she ended with her nose mere centimeters from the floor. She was very glad that had worked. That Luc’s promise to never let her fall had held true.
“I was so relieved,” she admitted. And relieved to see her bank balance had increased substantially this morning. “Especially after barely dancing together last week.”
“Well, you looked beautiful. Like you were wearing a pink cloud filled with diamonds. Don’t you agree, Luc?”
Bailey glanced at him, catching his proud look. “She always looks beautiful, but yeah, I think that was your best look yet.”
Aww. She placed her hand over her heart, but his words touched her. She had thought she looked her nicest, too. “The costume and makeup crew did a fantastic job.”
“Right? The way they get those costumes whipped up, and yet they still allow for movement? I’ve been involved with this production for a few years now, but I’m always impressed. So how is your toe this morning?” Ella asked.
“It’s still attached.” She kicked off her scuff and showed them, and as expected, they grimaced.
“You’re so hard-core,” Ella said.
“Really hard-core,” Luc agreed.
Gladness heated her chest. It felt good to impress the tough hockey man in this way. She’d felt that same approval when he’d introduced her to his friends on the weekend. She’d enjoyed meeting them and discovering how normal and easygoing they all were, and she’d thought his meeting her family had gone smoothly too. She wasn’t sure if he’d won her dad’s approval—her father was a little more conservative about full-sleeve tattoos than some—but Luc’s forthrightness seemed to win them over. Which still felt weird. Like they were a couple but not quite yet. Still, having knocked out the football player last night, and with a samba to perform this week, they’d see whether they could make it to the following week’s final.
“So,” she faced Luc, “this week we do the samba.”
“Let me guess; this is one of the Latin ones, right?”
“You’re so smart!”
“You’re so sarcastic,” he mocked back, drawing her smile. Then he winked. “Is this one of the sexy ones?”
She winced. She was glad her folks had been here for her beautiful gown ensemble. Dad would have a fit if he saw what the producers had picked out for her to wear this week. It was definitely her most revealing one yet, basically a green and orange rhinestone bikini top and the tiniest skirt that seemed to consist mostly of green feathers. Apparently they wanted her to amp up the sexy moves as well. Awesome. “Look, have you ever seen the scantily-clad women who do the carnival parades in Brazil?”
“Not in person.”
“But you know what I mean?” He nodded. “Well, that’s like a traditional samba. We’re doing a version of that, so think short skirts, lots of hip action and wiggling, tight dance formations. It’s pretty technical too.”
“Have we got lifts?”
“Not as many as you’d like. Maybe one or two.”
“What do I wear?”
“I kind of feel like this needs to be your week for slicked-back hair and for showing off your abs.”