The Stranger (Blitzed Book 1)

by JJ Knight

  “Come here,” he growls, and before I know what is happening, he’s got me on my back.

  “Somebody’s looking for a second helping,” I say, then gasp as his fingers slip inside me.

  “I’d have a third, fourth, and fifth if I had my way,” he says. “But I know we can’t tarry.”

  My hand smacks his back. “Did you really just say tarry?” My laugh comes out as a snort, which makes him crack up.

  “Well, we are talking about princesses and castles,” he says. His hand shifts, and I cry out from the pleasure of it. He has me figured out.

  I’m feeling bolder than last night, and I catch him off guard by shifting sideways and rolling him over.

  Then I’m on top of him.

  “Well, then,” he says. His hands are free and he grabs another condom package off the side table.

  I lean down to kiss him as he tears it open, then sit back to give him room to roll it on. I watch it with interest. This is something I should have known about before. Something I should have insisted on five years ago. But I hadn’t. Young and foolish.

  Blitz grasps my hips and lifts me up. “You ready for this?” he asks.

  I nod and then cry out as he thrusts upward into me. He moves me over him, rapid and unrelenting. I can’t even think, sparks are shooting through me so fast. I gasp and try to find some sort of control, but it’s nowhere and before I can even figure out what he’s doing, I’m over the edge, spasming around him, and calling out his name.

  He pulls me down against his chest and rolls us over in one smooth movement. Now he’s on top again and his rhythm is hard and fast. I’m still trying to recover from the last orgasm when he adds his fingers and I feel it again, forcing me back into that space, pushing me, making me want more than I think I can bear.

  This time when I cry out, he goes with me, pumping straight through it, until I see colors bursting out like an explosion. When he finally collapses on me, I feel so exhausted I don’t think I’ll be able to move.

  But he gives me a quick kiss and withdraws. “Rise and shine, Princess. We have to cross the moat and get past the guards.”

  I groan and try to dive under the sheets. Blitz laughs and pulls them away. “Now, I’m more than happy to load you on a plane next to me and haul you to LA. But if you want to go home, we have to get you back.”

  I lie there a moment, thinking. What do I want? I picture myself riding off in the Ferrari, walking onto an airplane.

  But I know I can’t. There’s his show. My SAT. Parents. Toe shoes. Gabriella.

  I stick my head back out. “Fine. I’ll get my clothes.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  There’s no time to spare now, so we move to the living room and dress quickly.

  The atrium is dark and silent as we head down, although a few early travelers are in the lobby.

  Blitz’s car is out front and waiting for us. The vent blasts cold, though, so I rub my hands together as we take off for my neighborhood.

  “So when do you go back to LA?” I ask.

  “In four hours,” he says. “I was sneaking a day away. There will be hell to pay for skipping this morning’s rehearsal, plus yesterday’s.”

  “I didn’t know you were supposed to be there!” I say.

  “I couldn’t concentrate. I had to know that you were okay.” He reaches over to hold my hand. “It’s just ten days until the finale. I’ll declare a winner and end the show. Then hightail it back here for whatever’s next.”

  He’s coming back here? For me?

  “Is that okay?” he asks. “Do you want me to come?”

  “Of course. We can figure out a way to introduce you to my parents,” I say. “They might flip, but they can’t keep me locked up.”

  “Why haven’t you left?”

  “I’ve been pretty sheltered. I don’t know anything about finding a job or supporting myself. I don’t even have a driver’s license.”

  He shakes his head. “I can help you.” He parks at the same spot he left me in the rain, a few houses down from mine. “This work?”

  I nod. “I promise to keep my phone on. I won’t ignore you again.”

  “It’s going to get pretty intense in the next few weeks. They’re going to start airing some segments to promo the live finale. They might be hard for you to see. Don’t give up on me.” His eyes are pleading. “No matter what you see. No matter how well I play the role, believe in me.”

  “I will,” I say. “I have faith.”

  “Okay,” he says. He leans over to me, and I meet him halfway for a good-bye kiss. Except that it isn’t really. I’ll see him when all this is over.

  I open the door and take a deep breath.

  “Should I wait until I know you’re okay?” he asks.

  I peer down the street. My house is still dark. “Nobody’s up,” I say. “I can get in.”

  “Call me if anything goes wrong, okay? I can come get you.”

  I lean down and smile at him. “I will.”

  But as I cross the carport and open the door to a dark, quiet house, I know I’ve made it.

  And I also know my days here are numbered.

  Chapter 27

  Blitz writes me constantly. Between taping promo segments. During breaks in the dance rehearsals. I rarely go more than two hours without hearing from him.

  I’m starting to believe this could be real.

  Mindy comes on Thursday to take me to the park. We watch old Dance Blitz episodes. I witness how he goes from a dancer to a philanderer to a jerk. It’s all there. The explosion in the ratings. The comments on the episodes. They love it. The crazier he gets, the more they love him.

  They created him.

  But he let them. He went along.

  The one time he seems like himself is during the finale of season one. He’s supposed to propose to one of the finalists, or at least offer to be their partner. I pause the footage, zoning in on his expression, the lift of his eyebrows, the tightness around his mouth.

  “What are you seeing?” Mindy asks me.

  “I’m seeing someone who doesn’t like who he’s become,” I say.

  She squeezes my arm. “You’re still talking to him?”

  My phone chimes and I hold it up. “Every few hours.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  We do searches and read gossip. There are no limo images, no dates outside of filming. Everyone is speculating that he’s actually in love with one of the finalists and wants to have time alone without cameras. They try to guess who it is.

  Only I know.

  “The finale is December 10,” Mindy says, scrolling through links.

  “That’s the same day I take the SAT.”

  “You should be done by then, though, right?” she asks.

  “Oh, yes, a little after lunch.” We double-check the listing. The finale goes live at 8 p.m. our time.

  “You going to watch it?” Mindy asks.

  “I don’t know how,” I say. My father appears in the corner of my eye and I tuck my phone under Mindy’s leg. The park is quiet, but the weather is back to warm again. I wave at Dad. He walks on by.

  Mindy leans in to talk softly. “Come over after the SAT. Spend the day with me and we’ll watch it together.”

  This is a good idea. I might need the support. “I’ll talk to my parents about it,” I say.

  “I’ll have my mom call yours.”

  I stick my phone in my pocket, and we walk through the playscape.

  I see Blitz everywhere. Pushing Daisy on the swing. Pulling up in his red Ferrari. I miss him. I cling to our night in the Presidential Suite. I wish I could walk up to the hotel and just gaze at the entrance. But it’s too far.

  At least I have my memories.

  On Friday, I know it must be time for my toe shoe assessment. Danika said it would be this week. I bring the pointe shoes in my string bag and head into my ballet class.

  Betsy greets me with a smile. “Can you stay after class to be assessed for
pointe?” she asks.

  I nod. This is it!

  My stomach is a ball of knots as we go through class with the other students. Most of them are younger than me, some of them waiting to be old enough for toe shoes even though they qualify in years.

  When the lights finally blink and class is over, Betsy says good-bye to the other girls, and I stay behind.

  I’m filled with doubt. What if Danika was wrong and I’m not ready? What if I snap a tendon the very first time I try pointe? It can happen if you’re not strong enough.

  My belly flutters with nerves as Betsy closes the door and comes back to me. “Ready?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “All right,” she says. “Come to the barre.”

  Even though I’ve taken dance with her for over two years, I’m nervous as I approach the barre.

  She notices my anxiety. “Don’t worry, Livia. I’m sure you’ll do fine. We just have to make sure you won’t injure yourself when you try pointe.”

  I place my hand on the barre.

  She comes up beside me. “All right. Show me your demi-plié.”

  I drop into the position. I know she is looking for proper turnout in my feet and hips.

  “Good,” she says. “Now sixteen relevés.”

  This is not as easy as it would have been before doing an hour of ballet rehearsal, but I manage them okay.

  “Nice,” she says. “I know you’re probably tired.” She steps a little farther away. “Show me your passé balance at half-pointe.”

  I move into place and hold. She squats down, checking my form, my calves, my feet. “Arch your foot a little more,” she says.

  I feel her hands on my feet.

  “Roll your feet for me,” she says.

  This is what Danika had me do earlier this week, and I move from flat feet to demi-pointe over and over.

  “Fix your turnout,” she says.

  I adjust my knees.

  “Did you bring the shoes?” she asks.

  My heart hammers. Does she mean I can put them on? “Yes,” I say.

  “Let’s see how they fit.”

  I hurry to my string bag in the corner and pull out the pristine shoes. I haven’t cut or sewn them yet, as I didn’t want to damage them in case we had to exchange the size.

  Betsy heads to the shelves and rummages through a bag, returning with two small toe socks. “Put these on first. You want extra protection and support until you are secure en pointe.”

  I roll the socks over my toes. Then I pull out the shoes. I haven’t put them on, even to check for fit. I was afraid I would jinx my chances.

  The shoe goes on perfectly. It makes me think of Cinderella trying on her slipper.

  “Looks good,” Betsy says. She squeezes along my toes, arch, and heel. “You’ll want to sew this.” She sticks her finger in a small gap.

  My feet are extra long in the shoes. They have a padding of glue and fabric in the toes. It’s a strange feeling.

  “Let’s go to the barre,” she says.

  I know she’s going to have me do my first relevé in the shoes. “Can I get my phone to record it?” I ask.

  “Sure,” she says. “It’s a big moment.”

  I tug the cell phone out of my bag. I set the camera to record a video and lean it against the wall, using the selfie mode so I can see what it is capturing.

  “Okay,” she says. “Take care in your first relevé. Do one foot at a time, no weight on it, and get a feel for the shoe. Fourth position.”

  I move into the pose, one foot in front of the other, toes in opposite directions.

  “Now go to the toe with your right foot,” she says.

  I do the movement, feeling my foot slide against the base of the shoe.

  She squeezes the shoe around my foot. “Good. Now the left.”

  I repeat it. It feels solid. She checks this one as well.

  “You ready?” she asks. “Let’s relevé with both feet. Shift to first position.”

  I take in a breath and move my feet so the backs of my ankles touch, toes out.

  Then slowly, I rise, feeling the strange pull on my arches as my feet lift higher, up onto the bulk of the shoes.

  I look down. I’m en pointe!

  “How does it feel?” she asks.

  Tears squeeze from my eyes. “Amazing,” I say.

  “Come on down,” she says. “Go up and down slowly a few times in first position, then go back to fourth, this time rising up with each individual foot.”

  I follow her instructions. Every lift onto the shoes is like ascending a staircase. I watch the mirror, admiring my own feet, the arch, the beauty of the shoes.

  “That’s enough for today,” she says. “Congratulations, Livia, you’ve moved to pointe.”

  I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand as she hugs me. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever achieved. I pick up my phone and stop the video. I can’t wait to share it with Blitz.

  Chapter 28

  All weekend I practice my pointe form at home. I improvise a barre with a closet rod, cramming all my clothes to one side.

  Blitz sends me a video of him watching my shoe video, the cutest thing ever. He’s so proud and happy, but sad he wasn’t there to see it in person. But I’m fine with that. I can’t imagine how much more nervous I would have been if he were there.

  Both Mom and Dad stop by my room when they spot me in the toe shoes, admiring the form. There’s something about a ballerina en pointe that is enchanting and magical. They treat me a little differently, like I’m someone who has actually accomplished something. I feel myself moving from the shame of the family to the pride of it.

  On Tuesday, Janel doesn’t mention my pointe to the girls, which makes sense. It is something they may never do. Seeing Gabriella after this achievement strikes grief into my heart. She will never dance en pointe. For a while, I’m back into my regret and misery.

  When I come out of class, the girls gone with their mothers, I find Suze and Aurora and Jacob huddled around the computer screen at the front desk.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  They look at each other like they don’t want to say.

  I come around to peer at the screen. Suze has paused a video clip of Dance Blitz. It’s a new promo.

  “You don’t want to see this,” Suze says.

  They don’t know anything, so I shrug casually. “I think it’s cool he got his show back,” I say. “Hopefully he isn’t still Tweeting naked chicks.”

  I’m impressed by my ability to sound completely calm and indifferent. Suze watches me for a moment as if trying to decide if it’s okay to keep watching, then hits the play button again.

  Blitz shakes his head at the camera as if he can’t believe it is following him. It zooms close on his face.

  “Don’t let Mariah see this,” he says.

  “Who’s Mariah again?” Aurora asks.

  “One of the finalists,” Suze says. “She’s the fan favorite. Nobody wants Giselle after the scandal, and Christy is a total skank.”

  I control my smile at her assessment. I know the contestants by heart at this point. I’ve watched all of season two and seen how Giselle, Mariah, and Christy were selected by Blitz to be finalists. All that was before we met. But this segment is new.

  I remember what he said. No matter what I see, to have faith in him. I fully intend to do that.

  The camera pans up and shows the sign on the shop. It’s a jewelry store.

  The scene cuts to inside. It’s a promo video, slick and polished even though it’s supposed to look spontaneous. I know all this is scripted. Blitz is playing a role.

  It’s still hard to watch. A woman on the other side of a glass case asks him if she can help him pick out something. Blitz tells her he wants a gorgeous engagement ring for the perfect girl.

  “Please say it isn’t for Christy,” Jacob says.

  I want to laugh. They are so caught up in it. But Blitz is good. His expression is absolutely sincere as he lo
oks at rings and discards several as “not good enough for how amazing she is.”

  He looks straight into the camera and says, “I can’t handle it if she says no.”

  I want to laugh. He’s so good. But the others are completely bamboozled. Aurora squeezes my arm. “You okay, Livia?” she asks.

  I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell them how things really are.

  The scene cuts away with a voice-over that says, “The finale of Dance Blitz will air live in just four days. But the fun won’t end there. Once Blitz has proposed, we’ll follow the happy couple for three intense episodes where they perform in Paris, meet her extended family for the holidays, and the first important planning session for the big wedding.”

  What? There’s more after the finale?

  Now I can’t catch my breath. Blitz said he would declare a winner and be done. But there’s more scheduled! There’s air dates and everything! That can’t just go away. It’s got to be contractual. He’s obligated. This could go on for months.

  Jacob notices my distress. “Shut that mess off,” he orders Suze.

  She immediately complies.

  Jacob envelops me in a hug, his tall solid frame surrounding me. “I’m so sorry, baby girl,” he says. “He’s just a man-whore preying on the innocent.”

  I know I promised Blitz I would have faith, but I’m not sure I can. He hasn’t told me about the extra episodes.

  Why hasn’t he?

  I back away from the desk, planning to head home. Walk through the park. Okay, maybe not there. Take a random street, one with no memories.

  I need to think. Why wouldn’t Blitz tell me about those extra episodes? That he can’t come get me. Can’t come back to San Antonio to live. Can’t keep his promise.

  I’m just down the steps when I realize why.

  He isn’t going to do them.

  He’s going to blow it on purpose.

  It’s a live finale.

  And he knows how to get thrown off the show. He’s already done it once.

  I whirl around and dash back up the steps.

  Jacob, Suze, and Aurora glance up at me, but I dash past them to Danika’s office. Please, please be there, I pray. You have to.