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  "I'm actually hoping someone caught it on camera for a replay," Tom teases.

  I narrow my eyes. "So that's the kind of guy you are." He grins, and I hobble after George.

  "Chelsea, wait." Dominic stands. "I need a quick word." He motions me off to the side. I join him. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. Just a little battered. You?"

  "Nothing serious. Listen. If you feel sure you're okay, don't let them take you to the hospital. They'll cut our encore dance and you'll miss the show."

  "I want to perform."

  He nods. "All right. Unless the medic finds some viable reason why you can't, the show must go on. Deal?"

  "Deal." We bump fists. I turn to Tom, "You up for it, Mr. Foot Fetish?"

  Tom grins. "Absolutely."

  George waves me over, so I follow and he checks my vitals and listens to my breathing. "Everything checks out. Here are a couple painkillers you should take right now, and some ice packs for your cheek and shoulder. I'll be back shortly."

  "Will the pills make me woozy?"

  "Not at all, they'll just take the edge off."

  I down the pills.

  Dominic peeks in. "I'm going to talk to Larry and make sure they don't pull us."

  "You sure know how to add excitement to the day." Tom touches the ice pack gently to my cheek. I wince. "You're on your way to a nasty shiner. Heck look at you, you're all banged up."

  I glance at a few stray bruises. "When I agreed to do the show, no one told me how much pain was involved. This is no sport for the faint of heart."

  He traces a bruise on my shin.

  "That tickles." I bend my knee. The panels of my dress slide open revealing a bare thigh. Tom's eyes travel up my leg.

  "This one looks especially nasty." His finger lightly brushes around a large bruise sending tingles up my arm.

  "A spray tan can only do so much. I feel like an old junker that's been through a demolition derby."

  Larry appears. "How are you feeling?"

  Tom pulls his hand away. I lower the ice pack from my cheek. "Good. Nothing more than a couple of bumps."

  "Glad to hear it. I just wanted to let you know that we felt it necessary to pull your encore number. We'll have Cassie and Shane do their dance instead."

  I sit upright. "That's not fair!"

  Larry frowns. "I know you're disappointed, but it's for your own safety."

  "Did the medic say I can't dance?"

  "No, but I feel it's better for you to sit this one out. Don't worry about joining dress rehearsal. Dominic's done the show a hundred times. He'll be able to guide you through. Tom, thanks for coming back, but we won't be needing you after all."

  Before I can disagree again, Larry's out the door. "Dammit." I slam my head back against the pillow, then grimace. "Ow."

  Within minutes, raised voices sound outside the room. One of them is definitely Dominic. I drop the cold packs and linger near the door. Dominic is arguing with Larry.

  "Larry, there's no reason for you to do this. We've both checked out with medical."

  "Dominic, you've already missed dress rehearsal and you have other numbers you need to stay sharp for. I'm not convinced that you aren't trying to hide a mild concussion."

  It never occurred to me that Dominic might do that.

  Dominic's feet are planted wide and his chin jetted out. "I'm not that stupid. Chelsea and I have rehearsed this number hundreds of times and performed it perfectly last night. She's had a lousy run on the show, give her a chance to have some fun."

  I step next to Dominic to support him in the fight. "Please, Larry. We've worked really hard for this. We won't let you down."

  Larry stares at me, and then Dominic, and scratches his head. "Shit. I don't know." He looks at Tom.

  "They're both pretty stubborn. Personally, I wouldn't want to cross either one of them, let alone a united front."

  "You're no help." He sighs.

  Tom grins.

  "All right, you're back in." Larry turns and walks away, then hollers back. "Don't make me regret this."

  "Thank you!" I call after him.

  "Yes!" Dominic high-fives me, then winces and pulls his hand back in pain.

  "Dominic, are you okay?"

  "I'll ice it in a minute."

  Tom shakes his head. "You guys are nuts."

  "Okay, Chelsea, you go get touched up by makeup to hide your bruised face. Then warm up really well. When you're ready, meet backstage by the piano. We're gonna rehearse that leap, so you have full confidence you won't fall again. Tom, make damn sure no lazy crew member leaves a water bottle or anything else on that piano."

  "Got it."

  "I want to speak to the control room guys about some camera shots. I'll see you in a bit." Dominic heads off.

  Tom watches me with a pleasant look on his face.

  "Ever since you arrived, there hasn't been a dull moment," I say.

  "And I was thinking it was you who created all the drama," he laughs. "I'm glad you're okay." His expression changes to serious.

  "Thanks. It takes more than a face plant to bring me down."

  About a half hour before show time, I arrive backstage. Hank asks how I'm feeling, as do Eva Alverez and Tedrick, two of the more famous celebrities on the show. The nice part is that everyone seems genuinely concerned. I think they realize that as our dances become more challenging, any of us could take a nosedive.

  I still don't see Tom when we do our big entrance opening the show. All the teams are lined up across the ballroom, while Marcus gives a recap of the highs and lows from last night. Once I'm backstage again, I finally spot Tom and sigh in relief. Something about his presence puts me at ease.

  His mouth curls in a half smile. "Despite the fact you're body is marred with bruises underneath your makeup, you don't look so bad."

  I laugh. "Is that what they call a backhanded compliment?"

  He smiles and shakes his head. "What I meant is that you look radiant."

  And after that, I could walk on clouds.

  "Everybody ready?" Dominic asks, joining us.

  "All set," I say.

  Tom nods.

  "Remember tonight is for the viewers. They asked to see you dance again, so relax and enjoy yourself."

  Our number goes beautifully and I realize I've broken through an invisible barrier that had been holding me back. It's exciting and exhilarating to perform this way. As the applause dies down, Marcus steps onto the ballroom.

  "Let's give another hand for Chelsea and Dominic as well as Tony nominated Thomas Evan Oliver performing “Stay.” I'm happy to announce that during this double elimination night, for the first time this season, Chelsea and Dominic are not in the bottom three. They are safe!"

  My mouth drops open. I shouldn’t be surprised after receiving tens, but I am. Dominic whoops and swings me around. We're rushed off to the skybox with the other teams as the crew sets up for the next number during commercial break.

  Hank gives me a bear hug. "I knew you were here for the long haul."

  I look back at the ballroom for Tom, but the grand piano has been cleared, he's nowhere to be seen, and I'm stuck in the skybox until the end of the show.

  Two hours later, I’m bummed that Tom left without saying goodbye. Dominic and I arrive at the rehearsal hall to start working on our dance for next week.

  "Chelsea, hold up."

  I turn and Tom is jogging across the parking lot while a cab idles at the curb.

  "I'll meet you inside," Dominic says with a smirk.

  I dip my head. "Thanks."

  "Hey, I was afraid I'd missed you," Tom says, out of breath.

  "Me too. I didn't see you after the show."

  "I waited around for a while, but you guys had a long line of interviews. I ducked out to grab my bag and when I came back you were gone."

  "When is your flight?"

  He pulls out his phone. "In little over an hour."

  "You're cutting it close."

  "I couldn'
t leave until I saw you one last time." He kicks at a pebble on the ground.

  My heart soars, and I try to tone down my smile. I lean against the brick wall.

  He places his hand on the wall beside my head and leans close. He's about to say something, but then pushes away from the wall. "I should go."

  "Okay," I say, but he doesn't move. His blue eyes lock with mine, and he slides his hand along my jaw, grazing my neck as he weaves his fingers into my hair.

  My breath catches. He leans in and tenderly captures my mouth and kisses me. After a lingering moment he pulls away a fraction and gazes into my eyes.

  I sigh.

  "Oh, hell," he breathes, and pulls me into his arms, this time kissing me deeply, igniting a fire that has long been squelched. My arms are trapped against his chest. I feel the rapid beat of his heart as I savor the taste of his lips.

  A flash goes off, and there's applause and catcalls. We look up to find half the cast watching.

  He reveals a boyish grin, the sweetest one I've seen yet. "I really do have to go. I hate to leave you alone to face their ribbing, but get some solace, because after kissing you, I won't be able to think straight for a long time."

  My head's swimming in the emotional deep end of the pool. My pulse is racing from the effect of his kisses, and I'm at a loss for words.

  He waits for my response, but when I'm quiet, he says, "All right, then." And heads for his waiting cab.

  "Tom!" I call. He stops and I run into his arms. He kisses me one last time.

  "Girl, you're killing me." He releases me, steps into his cab, and speeds away.

  I watch the disappearing taillights happier and more confused than I've been in a very long time. Now what? I still don't have his number. Will I ever see him again?

  Dominic and the others are waiting when I drag myself into the rehearsal hall. I feel the blush burning my cheeks.

  "Looks like you were having a good time. Thanks for making the rest of us lonely saps feel worse about ourselves," says Tedrick.

  I head off to our rehearsal room with Dominic. "What the hell just happened?" I ask.

  "Seriously?" He cocks his head. "Do I really need to explain to you why a boy kisses a girl?" Dominic laughs, opening the door.

  "But it doesn't make sense." He started something then left it hanging. He lives three thousand miles away. What am I supposed to do with that? I need to talk to Anna.

  "You're right. You were probably part of a to do list. Fly to L.A. Check. Sing on Celebrity Dance Off. Check. Kiss a hot girl. Check."

  I give him a dirty look. "Very funny. He didn't ask for my phone number." I plop down on a chair, my bag between my feet.

  "I'm sure we can track his down. You should ask Larry."

  "I'm not going to call him!"

  Dominic busts out laughing. "Why the hell not?"

  "Because he lives in New York and I'm in L.A. And after the show, I'm going back to Iowa or somewhere equally uninteresting."

  He sits and bumps shoulders with me. "But we'll be going to New York City before you go home."

  "What could possibly come of it? Nothing. He's a big shot on Broadway for freak’s sake. He's surrounded by gorgeous women every day. You saw how all the girls in the troupe flocked around him."

  Dominic shrugs. "I'm just saying, when the love bug strikes…"

  But I need logic and none of this makes any sense. "Can we just get to work? I'm exhausted and those pain pills wore off an hour ago."

  "Okay. I won't overwhelm you tonight, but I want to get some of this in your head before tomorrow."

  But it turns out my head is someplace else. It's on a cute guy with lightning blue eyes and a smile that brings me alive.

  After an hour Dominic gives up. At home I take a couple more painkillers, wash off my makeup, and go to bed thinking about Tom and how much he's affected my life in two short days.

  10

  New York City

  What the hell am I doing? I leave Manhattan for two days and my life is turned upside down by a honey-haired blond named Chelsea.

  "Hey, Ed." I greet the theatre security guard as I swing in the Crossing Lines stage door for the Wednesday matinee. After a red-eye flight from L.A. spent thinking about the amber-eyed spitfire I just met, I only caught four hours of sleep.

  "Afternoon, Tom. Great performance Monday night," he says.

  "Thanks. I never pegged you for a Celebrity Dance Off fan." I scribble my initials on the Call Board.

  "What can I say? My wife makes me watch, and with that show, once you start, how do you stop?"

  "Good point." I take the stairs up two flights to my dressing room. Tossing my backpack on the sofa, I whip off my shirt and pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt. The days off gave my body a well-needed break, but now my brain is overloaded replaying every minute I spent with Chelsea. I head for the Mezzanine lobby to do my physical warm up. It's one of the few places in the theatre with enough space to spread out. I find Paige already stretching.

  "You're back. Thank God. Jordan is a good understudy, but he's not you."

  "You missed me," I tease.

  "Sort of. He ate spicy garlic chicken before last night's show and then didn't bother to brush his teeth."

  "You know he does that on purpose." I laugh, unable to imagine making Paige kiss me after a meal like that.

  She wrinkles up her face. "He's a real shit."

  More cast members join us as we warm up and rehash Celebrity Dance Off, how cool it was that I actually performed on hit show, and how it might open more doors for me professionally. I drift off into my own thoughts when I hear Paige.

  "Hello! Earth to Tom." She waves her hand in front of my face. I catch myself staring into space.

  "Oh! Sorry. I guess I was somewhere else."

  "Ya think?" She laughs. "So, what happened in LA that has you so distracted?"

  Thoughts of Chelsea, with her gorgeous smile and vulnerable eyes, flash in my mind. I can't help myself. A guilty smile covers my face.

  Paige raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Or should I say, who happened in L.A.?"

  And now I'm grinning like a teenage boy with his first hard on.

  Paige laughs. "Really? Tell me more."

  "Tom, it's time to run the fight scene." Wes, our stage manager, appears to save the day.

  I hop up and give Paige a parting smile. "Gotta go."

  Max, Dave and I run the fight scene. We mark through it every night to make sure it stays tight and no one gets sloppy. One wrong move and somebody gets hurt. Next we run my fall. I climb ten feet up the side of the set and am pushed off into the angry arms of my cast members. Having been gone, I work privately with Wes on my backflip and a couple other stunts until we're both satisfied I'm back in the groove.

  After that I check in with the music director and the sound director to make sure who's working tonight and that we're on the same page. As I return to my dressing room I run into Tanya, a member of the ensemble and Paige's understudy. She purrs in my ear as I try to pass. It's her thing, and even though she's not my type, and a pain in the ass, I usually play along, but today I'm not in the mood.

  "Come on, baby, don't you want to play?" she teases.

  I force a smile. "Lots on my mind. Gotta run."

  As I head upstairs, I start my vocal warm up. My dressing room is far from the stage, but since I'm in nearly every scene, I only have to make the trip a couple times a night. Inside, I grab a bottle of coconut water and check my phone. No messages. No tweets. What was I expecting? Why would there be? It's not like I'm likely to see her again. I toss my phone away and drink.

  I focus on my vocals, running my routine scales for a good half hour. I'm never comfortable going on stage unless I work through the entire range of warm ups. It's what's kept my voice healthy all these years.

  "Thirty minutes till places," Wes's voice sounds over the loud speaker.

  My mind drifts back to Chelsea as I change into my costume, dark rugged pants, black boots, a simple T
-shirt and light jacket. I can't seem to let her go. I did tell her to look me up when she gets to New York, but for what? She'll be here a day or two at best, and then go back to that small town of hers with some idiot ex-boyfriend.

  I sit at my makeup table, and stare in the mirror at my ugly mug. Chelsea is surrounded by a bunch of buff male dancers. How do I compete with that? Dominic alone is enough to kill my chances.

  I flip on my steamer and lean forward inhaling the cool steam to hydrate my vocal cords for the long show ahead, my mind still stuck on her. Despite Chelsea and Dominic's on-screen chemistry, when I asked him about her, he assured me they were strictly friends. Phone in hand, I scroll through my contacts. Why the hell didn't I ask for her number? That's another douche bag move, but I do have Dominic's. I glance at the time. What would that make it in L.A., late morning? Odds are they're rehearsing right now. Having watched the show all season, I can picture them in the rehearsal studio. Chelsea with her hair in a messy ponytail, wearing yoga pants that hug her bum so nicely, or those cute little dance shorts she was wearing on Sunday when I convinced her to use my piano bench as a stepping stool.

  Aw, hell. Before I can over think it, I text Dominic, asking for Chelsea's number. There. I toss the phone aside, and wait.

  While the minutes tick by in slow motion, I finish my steaming, apply my stage makeup, and do a final set of scales. My cell lays rudely silent.

  "Five minutes to places," Wes announces over the loudspeaker.

  I add a touch of hair wax to my hair and ruffle it to the style of my spontaneous young character. Just as I'm at the door, my phone pings. I snatch it and see Dominic's response. Not only has he sent me Chelsea's number, but a picture of her sitting on the rehearsal floor warming up. I can tell he didn't warn her as her face is screwed up in surprised protest and she's sporting a nasty shiner.

  That's the girl I remember. I laugh and click my phone off, heading to stage right for places.

  11