by Toby Neal
My erection throbs, casting a solid vote for letting her do her worst. “I’m fine,” I lie.
She grabs my nipple and twists, and I can’t decide if it’s good or painful. “On the bench, Mister Boss Man Producer. You’re going to like this.”
Girl’s got a touch of the dominatrix going on. I do like it. I get up onto the bench and she kneels between my thighs, pushing them as wide as I did hers. I resist an urge to pull away, to shut down—but she needs to feel in charge. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, so exposed—but it’s damn sexy too.
“Like what you see?” I say to the crown of Jade’s head as she studies my anatomy. My heart is roaring in my ears.
“Oh, yes,” she says seriously. She circles me with her hand and then licks me deliberately. “Mm. Tastes good, too.”
My erection jumps and strains in her hand and I groan. She takes me in her mouth and goes to work. Within minutes I’m bucking out of control, hitting my head on the tiled wall I come so hard. She stays with it all the way to the end, like there’s nothing she won’t do for me.
“Holy shit.” I tip over to the side, sweating, panting, wrung out like I ran a mile in five. “Jade. That was insane.”
Jade dabs her lips on her towel and stands up. She’s magnificent naked. I stare at her perfect, lithe body so I can remember it always.
“Told you you’d like it.” Jade smiles as she catches my eye, enjoying throwing my words back at me. She picks up a towel, wraps it around herself, and walks out the door.
“Jade!” But by the time I get my towel on and follow, she’s disappeared.
Chapter 11
Jade
The next day I pull Ernesto Barza as a partner for hip-hop. He grins with straight, perfectly white teeth. “Good. I want to see what you got, little girl.”
“Not so much littler than you.”
Ernesto is actually the perfect height to partner me at about five ten, and his dark good looks are a nice foil for mine. Last night, when I finally got back to the room, I was grateful to find that he and Alex had gone somewhere else.
I’m still feeling kind of aglow from the encounter with Brandon in the sauna last night, though still not at all sure how to face him if we run into each other today. I hid in the women’s locker room and changed after I heard him leave the sauna last night.
I don’t know where this relationship is going and don’t want to have to think about it, either. Hiding had seemed like a perfectly legitimate short-term solution.
Whenever I remember those intense moments with him, my heart rate spikes. Holy crap. I can’t believe we did what we did. And in the steam room, where anyone could have walked in on us! And what he did with his mouth…And what I did with mine...and the germs involved!
I waited for the familiar germ horror to return and steal the good feelings last night, but it never happened. I hopped into the gym shower and washed briskly, feeling amazing. Alex had gone elsewhere, and our suite was mercifully empty. I slept like the proverbial log.
“How are you at hip-hop?” Ernesto asks, hands on hips. His lean, chiseled body, every muscle perfectly defined, reminds me of a well-made sword.
“One of my better modalities.” He scans me up and down doubtfully. I’m wearing my usual pale pink ballet gear and little leather flats. “Oh ye of little faith.”
Our coach and choreographer for the day arrives, a muscular black man wearing nylon warm-up pants, a net shirt, and so many tattoos that his skin looks like fabric. He claps his hands like a pistol shot and we both jump.
“Ernesto and Jade. I’m Saladin. You’re mine today, and you’re going to dance like you’ve never danced before. I want to see you both move.” He walks over to a boom box against one mirrored wall. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He pushes Play, and MC Hammer’s U Can’t Touch This blares from the box.
I can’t help grinning. The song’s been out a while, but it’s so catchy and fun—and of course, I’ve watched the music video on MTV and practiced many of the same rapid knee and elbow moves as the dancers on the video. I bust into some of that as Ernesto does the same.
Ernesto drops for some ground work while I stay up high doing kicks and jumps. Instinctively we swivel to face each other. The impromptu dance becomes a conversation—I go low, you go high. I go left, you go right—but always, we match each other in rhythm, speed and intensity.
The moment that Ernesto believes in me and knows I’m his equal breaks across his face in a compelling grin, and I smile back. It’s an amazing feeling to be perfectly in sync with a partner this strong.
Saladin cuts the music and claps his hands again, bringing us to face him. “Sweet. You’re both better than average. I’ve got some choreography for you, but I liked what just happened there, how you played off each other. The dances that steal the show tell a story—and the oldest story in the world, the story of love, that’s what will light up the audience and move them to dial their phones.”
What Saladin’s saying makes sense to me. We both draw closer to him, nodding. “I didn’t pre-work any choreography for this piece. I wanted to see what level you two would bring to the floor, and how you’d look together and play off each other. I like what I see. We’re going to use this song, but we’re going to infuse it with a story. Jade, you’re the innocent, untouched virgin from a good home—‘he can’t touch this.’ Ernesto, you’re gonna be the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks who wants to.” My heart thuds in response to this. How did Saladin read me as the ‘good girl virgin’ so well? Was it the pink outfit?
This feels way too close to home.
“I think I could be a bad girl going after nice Catholic boy Ernesto,” I say boldly. “Put me in some tight leathers. I can pull it off.”
Both of them stare at me. Ernesto folds his arms, frowning. “Do I look like a nice Catholic boy?”
“It won’t play.” Saladin’s eyes are so dark I can’t see his pupils. “You are what you are. Embrace it. Own it. Work it, sweet little virgin.” My cheeks flame, and I want to drop through the floor. “Let me demonstrate some choreography you two may not have seen.”
Saladin moves like mercury, boneless and smooth, rippling himself, twisting his arms around each other in an optical illusion of a knot. We spend several hours mastering the unique subroutines he wants us to integrate into our number, finally storyboarding the routine on a long piece of butcher paper on the floor.
By four p.m., we have the piece roughed out and it’s time to prep for the results show from the day before.
“Grab something to eat, take a shower, then get down to Wardrobe,” Saladin tells us. “I’ll see you bright and early for more practice tomorrow morning. You two are going to knock it out of the park.” He allows himself a little smile. “And it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you two to get out on the dance floor in your spare time. Keep working the chemistry.”
We walk down the hall. Ernesto slings an arm around my shoulders. It feels hot, sticky, and germy. I wish he would take it off, but I don’t say anything because we’ve become friends through the intense day of working together. “You’ve got more goin’ on than I gave you credit for,” he says. “I think we’re going to kill it tomorrow.”
“If we don’t get killed tonight.” I’m thinking of yesterday’s foxtrot with Hal. “I’m sorry, I was too distracted to pay much attention to your performance yesterday. How do you think you did?”
“Okay. It was the cha-cha with that hot brunette, Sally. She’s better than me.”
“I was with Hal and his foxtrot was better than mine, too. So let’s both hope.”
“Deal.” He takes his arm off my shoulder, but hooks my pinkie finger in his. Guy’s definitely a toucher, and I’m not. “Want to party with me and Alex later?”
“Uh…I don’t know. Depends on what you mean by that.”
He grins and winks at me. “I think you can imagine.”
What is he saying? My brain fritzes out and I pretend I didn’t hear
that. We reach the dining area and Alex, clearly waiting for us, waves from a table. We go through the cafeteria-style line and sit down with him.
“Holding pinkies? Do I need to be jealous, Hot Stuff?” he asks Ernesto.
“Only if you want to be,” Ernesto says, and plants a big one on Alex’s lips.
I clean my hands with hand sanitizer and address my mound of pasta while they kiss. I’m uncomfortable with public displays of affection, no matter what the orientation of the people involved. Forking up my pasta, I wonder why it bothers me to have Ernesto put an arm over my shoulders or hook my pinkie with his, but not have Brandon touch my actual... I can’t even complete the thought without blushing.
“So, little girl here and I are gonna steal the show tomorrow.” Ernesto cuts into the slab of salmon on his plate. “She’s got moves. I asked her if she wanted to party with us later tonight.”
“Sorry, Ernesto. Not only am I sure your kind of partying isn’t my thing, I need my beauty sleep for tomorrow... and if I’m booted off the show tonight, I’ll want to lick my wounds in private.”
“Good thing, too, because I’m not into sharing.” Alex nips his partner’s ear.
I finish my pasta, say my goodbyes, and head to Wardrobe. Oh, boy. Ernesto clearly swings either way and from the chandelier if that’s available, while I’m still trying to figure out how to kiss without wanting to use mouthwash after!
Except with Brandon. Everything’s good with Brandon. I can’t help smiling at how good.
Chapter 12
Brandon
There’s been so much to do today I’ve hardly had time to grab a bite to eat—but I can’t stop my mind from flashing repeatedly to that unreal encounter with Jade in the sauna room.
Did it really happen? I wouldn’t believe it if the hickey on my neck, a scarlet mark I’ve hidden with a shirt and tie, didn’t provide proof. It makes me grin every time I think of her biting my neck like that—talk about a surprise first move.
“You’re in a good mood, Boss,” Kerry tells me.
“Slept well, for once.” I’m glad Stu is filming on the floor and can’t give me shit—we’ve partied enough together over the years that he’d be able to guess why I’m feeling a hell of a lot better about life today.
Phone calls, money management, and other crises temporarily under control, I head down to the film editing room.
We’ve got video piped into the editing room from all the studio areas where couples are practicing.
“I’d like to get a look at the different pairings for today,” I tell Brad, one of the video editors. He nods and pulls up a live feed channel from each of the warren of practice rooms.
Jade’s with Ernesto Barza, that kid who blew us away at the tryouts with his very original flamenco-breakdance mishmash piece. From the looks of it, the dude does mean hip-hop. I sit back, grinning with relief, as I see that that Jade can, too.
In her usual pretty-girl pink, Jade’s breaking like mad, improvising some bold moves to MC Hammer’s U Can’t Touch This. Under the watchful eye of Saladin, one of the show’s best choreographers, these two are going to burn up their routine.
Good.
The hours fly by, and soon it’s time to film the results show.
I keep myself from checking the list of who made the cut to the next level by leaving the envelope sealed and sending it by intern to Kate for the announcement.
I don’t want to know ahead of time, and I don’t want to think too much about why.
It’s been a long, hot day by that time. I haul off the tie and unbutton my collar as I sit down with Alan in the little cockpit area below the stage reserved for us. I munch a hot dog that Clay from UCLA brings me from the cafeteria. We aren’t supposed to eat in the theater, but I dare anyone to call me on it.
The audience begins filing in. I stand and turn to see how the seats are filling up. We had a packed house for the first show.
One of the overhead lights picks out Pearl’s silver-blonde hair like a spot is set right on her—she’s always seemed to emanate a glow.
She’s holding hands with her husband. The guy is huge, muscles packing his suit like it’s filled with boulders. He wears a long black ponytail and scars on his face. She’s married to a guy who looks like a Native American WWF wrestler turned mob enforcer, but the way he settles her in her seat tells me everything I need to know about their relationship.
Following them is their mother, a good-looking woman with Jade’s dark auburn hair, streaked with ribbons of gray. Ruby, the redheaded oldest sister, enters the aisle holding a little boy’s hand, followed by her husband Rafe. Ruby seems to be looking for someone, scanning the crowd. She spots me and smiles, gesturing for me to join them. Rafe looks over and waves too, a big grin splitting his face.
I might as well get this over with.
“Be right back,” I tell the director, and head up the aisle.
I gave Jade’s family a premium row of seats, right in the middle and only a couple of rows back, so it’s a short walk.
“Hey, Rafe.” I shake hands with the tall, blue-eyed sailor tycoon who gave me the third degree about taking Pearl out back in the day. I gesture to the little boy. “Who’s this young man?”
“Peter McCallum,” the tot pipes up loudly.
Ruby laughs, leaning over to give me an air kiss. “Brandon, thanks so much for the tickets. We’re so excited to be here.”
On the other side of Ruby, Pearl stands up with her husband. The guy shakes my hand and it hurts. “I’m Magnus. Thanks for the perk.” He claps me on the back so hard my teeth rattle.
“My pleasure.” My gaze finds Pearl’s, and she smiles. God, she’s beautiful. She looks at my neck and smiles bigger. Damn, I forgot about the hickey and took my tie off. Thank God she doesn’t know who put it there.
“It’s great to see you again. We really appreciate this.” Pearl touches my shoulders for an awkward triangular hug and an air kiss that doesn’t touch my cheek. “We haven’t told Jade we’re here. We want to surprise her after the show.”
“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.” I switch gears and give my full attention to Jade’s mother. “Mrs. Michaels. I’m Brandon Forbes. Such a pleasure to meet you. I see where the girls get their good looks.”
“Oh, thank you.” Maggie Michaels flaps a hand dismissively, smiling, and lets me kiss her cheek. “I can’t wait to see Jade dance!”
“Well, that’s not happening tonight.” I explain the format of the show, and that they’ll see her dance live tomorrow. “I understand if you can’t stay for the duration of the show, because we run for ten days of filming—or until she gets eliminated, whichever comes first.”
“She won’t be eliminated,” Mrs. Michaels says flatly. “Jade wants this. And what Jade wants, Jade gets.”
“I hope you’re right,” I smile. “Seems like all the Michaels women might be cut from that cloth.” Both Rafe and Magnus nod vigorously, and the women laugh.
The lights dim.
“I gotta go back. Enjoy the show.” I raise a hand and trot down the aisle to my seat. Settling in as the lights dim and the contestants file out on stage, I mentally probe how I’m feeling about Pearl.
Not bad. I’m finally okay with it. I think. I hope.
She’s still one of the most beautiful women in the world, and I appreciate that—but there’s no chemistry between us—not the slightest fizzle. All that energy’s crackling in the air between her and her husband.
Not to mention, Magnus could pound me into the ground like a tent stake with just one fist if I so much as looked at her.
Which I’m no longer interested in doing.
It’s Jade I’m searching the stage for.
Jade comes out onstage, holding hands with Hal the Barn Door. They stand close together in the milling herd of contestants.
Kate does the intro and sets up the tension for the results show, ushering all the contestants to a temporary bleacher on the side where our cameras can mine their fac
es for stress and detail while waiting.
Meanwhile, another professional troupe comes out and performs an acrobatic hip-hop routine ending in some crazy Cirque du Soleil human pyramid shit.
The crowd loves it.
I’m itchy in my shirt, wishing I could take a shower and cool off, but there’s no time as Kate counts down the results. Two couples will be leaving us tonight, and the format drags out the agony with highlight recaps of the contestants.
Jade’s family screams and whoops like crazy as the crew runs the clip of her Dirty Dancing-style lift with Slab O’ Beef. I can see on the director’s monitor that he’s had the cameras pan back to the source of the noise.
Ruby, Rafe, and little Peter are holding up a big cardboard sign reading Way To Go, Jade!
Another camera zooms in on Jade in the stands. Her eyes are huge and welling with tears, both hands over her mouth in amazed happiness as she gazes at her family in the audience.
I feel a crazy-good tightness in my chest. Don’t know what it is. Don’t want to know.
But I did something that put that happiness on her face, and I like it.
Finally, Kate announces the bottom eight. Jade and Hal are not in the sad crew that has to stand in a half-moon of shame on the stage while Kate prolongs the agony and the team runs clips of her interviews with each of them, then the judges’ hammer falls.
Four return to the bleachers, and four do a weepy goodbye dance as confetti falls around them like rain. A few minutes into it the rest of the group surges down from the stands to hug them and wish the losers well.
Attrition over the next ten days will knock that group off one by one until only two remain. I really hope one of them is Jade.
I help the director pack up his crap and we get ready to head to the film review room as Jade hops off the stage in that rosy dress with the sparkles, running past me up the aisle to her family.
I turn to watch, the monitor in my arms, as she throws herself into her mother’s arms. Her sisters surround her, and the whole family is a blur of motion and happiness.
