8
The press attention causes Dominic and I to arrive late to the post show party. We enter the restaurant to cheers from the cast for our perfect tens. I'm touched. The lights are low and the music pumping. Whatever's being served smells delicious.
As the group turns back to their conversations, I spot Tom smiling at me from across the room. I wave. Cassie, the redheaded pro dancer is leaning in, she touches his arm to draw his attention back to her. When Tom excuses himself, Cassie frowns.
He joins me, looking great in a pair of jeans and a button down shirt. "Thanks for the invite. You were absolutely smashing."
"I'm so glad you made it," I say, suddenly nervous.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
"I'm pretty sure they're already paid for by the show."
Tom laughs. "Yes, I know."
"Oh. Right." We wander to the bar and I order a rum and Coke.
He leans his elbow on the bar as we wait. "So how did you find my song?"
"A friend from college spent a semester abroad in England and watched the show you were on. She showed me on YouTube."
The bartender hands me my drink, and Tom leads us to a highboy. "It goes to show, you never know how one opportunity leads to another."
His accent is mesmerizing with its romantic lilt and I could stay lost in it forever. "I also saw your performance on the Tony awards."
"Yeah?"
"You were amazing. I can't imagine how you could stand up there by yourself, knowing you're in front of millions of people."
"I couldn't sleep the night before." He laughs. "But it's no different than you getting out there every week on national TV."
"At least I'm not alone. I have Dominic to make sure I don't mess up too bad." But Tom's right. I am performing in front of millions, and yet I don't feel like the world is watching, only the people in the ballroom and that's bad enough.
"Well, thank you for bringing me out here. As long as we're making confessions, you should know that I've been watching Celebrity Dance Off all season."
"Really?"
"One of my cast mates loves the show, and because Celebrity Dance Off airs on Monday nights, I'm free to watch. We always tune in on Tuesdays during intermission to see who's voted off."
"That's so weird that professional performers would want to watch a show about amateurs."
"Are you kidding? Live performances, amazing choreography, watching some schlepp with two left feet try to dance each week."
"Yeah, that's me."
"Not even close. I will admit though that at the beginning I didn't think you had a chance." He winces.
"You and ten million other viewers." I laugh.
"It made me root for you." He touches my hand. I smile. "You were the underdog, the unknown, and I know how intimidating this must have been for you."
"It still is!"
"Well, you've shown them all tonight." He raises his drink and we touch glasses. "You deserved every one of those tens."
A new song plays and several of the dancers from the show spin onto the dance floor. I'm not sure if they're doing a rumba or a samba. Tom's hand appears in front of me. I stare at him.
His smile is warm and casual. "Want to dance?"
"Uh, I don't know." I utter. "I'm no good next to them."
"That's crazy talk. You just scored perfect tens."
Stepping back, I say, "I'm serious. I can't dance unless I've been given steps and a week of rehearsals." Talking with him is more than enough to make my night. I don’t need to ruin it by dancing poorly.
"Me, either." He gestures to the dance floor.
I take a sip of my rum and Coke, and we step onto the dance floor with his hand at the small of my back. The song is upbeat. But he swings me into his arms, guiding me around the dance floor. Surprisingly, I'm able to follow his lead. I guess all these weeks of dancing has paid off.
The song changes to something slower and he transitions us into the new number. "Wow, you can really dance!" I exclaim, relaxing in his close proximity.
He raises an eyebrow. "I am on Broadway."
My mind goes blank. What does that have to do with dancing? Then my thoughts click. Broadway. Performing. Singing and dancing. "Oh my God. Of course!"
He throws back his head and laughs. I lower my forehead to his chest to hide my embarrassment. Tom leans back and holds me away so I'm forced to look at him again.
"I am such a moron. I've been in this Celebrity Dance Off bubble for too long. It's like anything outside of this show doesn't exist."
He maneuvers me into a turn, pulls me back to him, and smiles. "I love how there's no fancy pretenses with you." He smiles.
I'm so out of my element with this guy. I release his hand to make a quick escape. He catches me before I take two steps. "Oh no you don't. You're not bailing."
"Now who's bossy?" I say, firmly and happily ensconced in his hold again.
He smirks and when the song eventually ends, I'm disappointed. We join Dominic, Pavel and a couple others at a highboy. Tom is dragged away to meet someone and I pretend I don't miss him.
Hank sidles up as the others leave for the buffet. "That was some performance tonight."
"Thanks." His compliments always mean the most.
"That video package was something." He holds my gaze. "You've been through fire and ice and come out all the stronger."
"Is that what happened?" I laugh.
His wise, old eyes see right through me. "You, my dear, are a survivor."
I glance away, self-conscious. Tom is talking with Dominic. Dominic shakes his head and smiles, then pats Tom on the shoulder.
Hank lifts his glass. "So it looks like you and Dominic are back in the race."
I return my attention to Hank. "You looked pretty suave out there tonight," I say to change the subject. And then I see Cassie fawning over Tom again and turn my back so I don't have to watch.
"I just let Sonya push me around the floor and whisper the steps in my ear. I'm getting too damn old to play with you kids." He shakes his head, as if ready to throw in the towel.
"Hank. Don't say that. You're one of the few highlights of this show for me."
He smirks. "I don't know. You seem to have found a new highlight of your own."
"What are you talking about?"
He tilts his head toward Tom who's now laughing with Cassie and her troupe friends two tables away.
My heart warms at the sight of him, but he's distracted with the gorgeous pro dancers. "It was really amazing that he came out here to sing for us."
"I'd say it was amazing in more ways than that. I've seen how you light up whenever he's around." Hank winks.
If Hank noticed, has everyone else? My face falls. "Oh my God, do you think he knows?"
"I damn well hope so. If he doesn't, the boy's a fool."
I hang my head in embarrassment. "I should go back to my apartment."
"Calm down. Every woman in the room turns into a giggling idiot when he's near. You didn't."
Sure enough I glance at the women Tom's talking to. They're all grinning like fangirls, and Cassie gives out a laugh that sounds like a high-pitched cackle.
"No worries, Chelsea. You were your lovely self."
"You mean caustic self?"
He pats my hand. "That's my girl. And if a man doesn't love you for that, he's the wrong one. Now let's get some food. I've only had one trip to the buffet, and my belly can hold plenty more."
I mound my plate with little meatballs, stuffed mushrooms and quesadillas. Dominic and some of the others join Hank and I.
I pretend not to watch Tom, but it's impossible not to notice him being maneuvered through the room. I swallow down a meatball along with a stab of jealousy. After twenty minutes of Hank and I speculating what the theme is for next week, Dominic, Sonya, and Pavel refuse to give us a hint, I finish my drink and reach for my handbag. "Hank, I'm going to head out."
"I don't think so," he says.
"I'm whipped. These long days are catching up with me." I don't usually relive my past for the world to see, and I truly am exhausted.
Hank touches my arm. There’s a twinkle in his eye. "You're not going anywhere, sweetheart." He looks at something behind me. I turn and there is Tom with his easy smile and warm eyes. I fight to stay cool and not "light up" as Hank implied.
"I thought I'd never get away from everyone. This is the chattiest cast I've ever met," Tom says.
I force a smile. I wouldn't agree, but I'm also not the hot, British visitor from New York City.
Hank drains his glass and slams it on the table. "Hang around long enough and they'll talk you to death. It's time for this old man to go home and take his pills."
"I was just heading out myself," I say.
"You can't leave. This is my last night in L.A.,” Tom says, and the tone of his voice and his playful eyes make me want to stay, but I also don't want to act the embarrassing fangirl.
"I don't know. I've had a long day."
"One more dance won't hurt." Tom cocks his head and looks so hopeful and sweet. I don't understand why he's giving me all this attention when the more polished and talented Cassie and crew are a couple tables away.
Hank bumps my shoulder with his. "Chelsea, when a charming young man invites you dance, you don't say no. My God, you young kids are thicker than bricks." Hank shakes his head and moseys for the door, ignoring our laughter.
"Well, when he puts it that way, how can I refuse?"
Tom holds out a hand, and I place mine in his warm grip. As we reach the dance floor the music changes to a ballad and he sweeps me into his arms as if he planned it this way.
The bar has thinned out, allowing us more room on the dance floor. Tom's breath warms my cheek. I inhale his cologne and wonder what it's called so I can secretly buy some and be reminded of him after he's gone.
"Having a good time?" His steady hand on my lower back guides me.
"I am. You?"
"You bet. I actually know a couple of the pro dancers."
"Who?"
"Carlos was in a show with a friend of mine, and Cassie was in the ensemble of a show last year."
The stab of jealousy strikes again. "I wondered if maybe you knew each other."
He laughs. "Cassie is a terrific dancer, but subtlety is not one of her strong points." He spins us on the floor. Releasing my hand, he slips his to my waist dragging me closer. My heart flutters as I slide my arms around his neck, my arms resting on his shoulders. He feels great—so at ease, and yet in total control.
Dominic has some of these qualities, but with him it's totally different, like dancing with a best friend. With Tom's face mere inches away, his arms draped around me, and his hands resting on my lower back, it's impossible not to be affected. I battle to keep my cool.
He starts to sing along to the music. The low timber of his voice resonates in his chest and I feel the soft vibration as he gazes into my eyes. My breath hitches. "You don’t play fair."
Tom chuckles knowing exactly what he’s doing to me. He leans back to look into my eyes. "Want me to stop?"
"God no. I've never had a guy sing to me before, let alone someone with a voice like an angel, but don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" He feigns innocence.
"Like you're delving deep into my soul and stirring everything up."
"I didn't know I held such power." He leans closer, so he isn't looking into my eyes, and sings. His voice tickles my ear. I lay my head on his shoulder feeling a deeper connection now that we're practically skin to skin. I'm probably being too obvious about his effect on me, but when will I have an experience like this again? Anna would be proud that I'm putting myself out there. Plus, resisting this man is impossible.
When the song ends, I hope for another slow song, but something poppy sounds through the speakers. He leans away and smiles and I wonder again why he's paying me so much attention. He releases me and we step back, a cool void separating us from the delicious cocoon we'd been in.
We leave the dance floor. A nook with a crescent-shaped sofa has opened up. Tall plants surround it.
"This looks nice." He guides me into the private alcove.
"I feel like such a VIP," I say, sinking into the soft cushions.
"You qualify," he says, getting comfortable next to me.
"Hardly."
A waitress takes our order. We lean back and put our feet up. "Tonight has been so much fun, but I'm exhausted."
"Me too, and I didn't even dance."
"But you sang the heck out of that song. Thank you again for that."
"You need to stop thanking me. Getting the call to come to LA to sing on a hit network show was an amazing opportunity. Other than the Tonys, I've never been on primetime before."
"Really?"
"Nope. I've done a couple of national morning shows, but most of what I do is smaller regional stuff."
The waitress delivers our drinks.
"In that case, I'm glad to help." We clink glasses and drink.
Tom is quiet. He's staring at the ice in his drink. "That video package they played before you danced was powerful."
I sigh, embarrassed about my past. "I never thought they'd air it."
He looks surprised.
"No, really. They usually show me saying something dumb, messing up, or struggling to get along with Dominic. They've never shown anything that personal before."
He stretches his arm out on the back of the sofa behind me. "You seem comfortable with the cameras."
"At first I never thought I'd get used to them, but after a while, you really do forget they exist."
Tom doesn't speak, so I continue. "When Dominic asked me why your song held such significance, I didn't think twice, I told him. The thing is, I never talk about my past. Ever. So I was surprised when it all poured out."
He considers me and then says, "Maybe it's been building up for a long time."
"Maybe." I stare at my hands wondering how to change the subject.
"That's a lot for someone so young to handle."
I shrug it off. "It's the only thing I know."
"Still, it must have been tough."
It was hell, but I survived. Dominic appears in our little alcove. "Hey guys, I'm heading out. Anyone need a ride? Chelsea, remember you don't have your car."
Tom glances at me then back to Dominic. "No, we're good, still coming down from the performance high. I'll drop her home."
I smile. Tom stands and shakes Dominic's hand. "Thanks again for inviting me. I had a blast getting a peek behind the scenes."
"Our pleasure."
"If you're ever in New York, give me a call."
"Eventually we'll get voted off and be there for the morning show. We'll see you then." Dominic smiles at me. He knows I'm crushing on Tom, and he better not breathe a word. "Don't stay out too late, we've got rehearsal."
"Always the slave driver," I say.
After Dominic leaves, we sit back down. I'm not positive, but it feels like Tom maneuvered a little closer. His leg brushes mine and I don't move away. His thigh is strong and solid. Between that, his delicious scent, and entrancing blue eyes, I've hit the jackpot. I never in a million years imagined I'd get to perform with Thomas Evan Oliver let alone spend an evening with him. "When do you fly back to New York?"
"Tomorrow morning. I have to get back for the seven-thirty show."
I mask my disappointment. "That's a fast trip."
"My producer wanted me on the red-eye tonight, but I kind of strong armed him into giving me until tomorrow. I hate red-eye flights. I can never sleep, so I end up sitting awake in the dark all night next to some gassey businessman with bad breath."
We talk about his new show, how he got started as a kid, and I laugh through his stories of the many mishaps he's experienced on stage. The waitress appears with refills of our drinks.
It's getting late, but I don't care. Tonight is like cotton candy, and I plan to enjoy every last taste of it before getting thrown back into the grind. Unless, of course, I'm sent home. While a couple weeks ago I would have welcomed the thought, I'm finally getting the hang of the show and after such great scores, hope to stay in it for at least one more week.
Tom asks how I got on the show. I tell him about Anna's engagement and my break up. "We were goofing around and auditioned. I never in a million years thought it would lead to anything."
He asks about the break up and I reveal how I caught my boyfriend cheating on me and how humiliating it was once I realized almost everyone knew about it.
We talk about tonight's show, how nervous I was, and how amazingly perfect everything went. It's as if we were both inspired by the other's energy. "I need you here to perform with me every week."
"That would be lovely. Each week you could dance to a number from a different Broadway musical."
"Dancing to show tunes." I absentmindedly reach down and rub my ankle.
"Does your ankle still hurt?"
"How'd you know?"
"I saw your fall on last week's show."
Rolling my eyes, I say, "Of course, I forget that nothing's private on this show.
"Put your ankle on my knee."
I shoot him a questioning look, but do as he says.
Tom pushes up the bottom of my jeans and slips off my shoe, frowning at my bandaged foot. He gently cups my ankle between his hands. His light touch is like a caress and fans the flame that's been flickering in my heart all evening.
"What are you doing?" I ask quietly.
"Just a little energy work."
"Okay," I say. "Sure you don't have some weird thing for women's feet?"
Tom laughs. "Aren't you a fan of the healing arts?"
"I don't know. I've never experienced them before."
"Well, unless you pull your ankle away and slap me for being fresh, you're soon to find out."
I hold back a giggle.
"So what's your day like tomorrow?" he asks, as if it's perfectly normal for him to hold my ankle in his hands.
I struggle to concentrate with his hands on my bare skin. "It's a light day, sort of. There's hair and makeup, lunch, then dress rehearsal. The pros do most of the dances on results days. Oh, one team does the encore performance."
"Maybe it'll be you and Dominic."
"No. It's based on popular vote and even though we had a great night, I'm the least popular person on the show." Tom listens attentively, still holding my ankle.
"Then it's show time, and I get to stand under the microscope as we're slowly fed the results like a poisonous IV drip."
"Oh, no!" He lifts his hands from my leg.
"What?"
"I didn't vote for you." He lays his hands back down, this time his thumb makes slow circle on my tender skin.
"You were going to vote?" A zing of happiness shoots through me.
"Of course. What will I do with my Monday nights if you're not on the show?"
"The probability of us getting through is always low."
"You guys got perfect tens. No one else has done that yet this season." He gently squeezes my ankle and releases me. "How's it feel?"
I flex and rotate my foot then slip back into my shoe. "Good. Better."
"Glad to hear it." He checks his phone. "Oh, buggar."
"What?"
"It's almost 3 a.m."
"No way!" I reach for my bag. "I never stay out this late."
Tom stands and drops money on the table. "What time is your call?"
"Not till ten, thank God. What time is your flight?"
"I leave for the airport at seven thirty."
I cringe. "That's a bummer."
Tom leads us out of our private alcove. The bar is quiet with only a few people lingering. No one from the show remains. "I am so sorry," he says.
"It's not your fault. I should have kept better track of time." Except that I was having the best time ever.
Outside the air is cool. "I'll get us an Uber." When he's finished, he says, "It’ll be ten minutes."
It gives me a few more minutes with him before having to say goodbye. By the time ten minutes pass, I'm chilled to the bone even though my shoulder is pressed close to Tom's. My short-sleeve top is no protection against the October breeze. I shiver and he pulls me in front of him, wrapping his arms around me, his body tucked against mine.
I sigh at the instant warmth. "Thank you." I wrap my arms around his to offer some reciprocal warmth and grin. This night keeps getting better.
He leans his head close. "I'm always looking for an excuse to put my arms around a beautiful girl."
I laugh at his line, but it's been so long since a nice guy has given me compliments.
"I should have insisted we come outside earlier," he says.
"I bet you use these lines a lot in New York."
"Absolutely, I hang out in front my building waiting to warm any random women waiting for the bus."
"I should have known you're a player." But inside, I hope he's not. I'd like to part ways believing he's one of the good ones.
"Oh yeah, you should see me with the little old ladies. My apartment is next to a senior center. I'm quite popular with the grey-haired set."
A black car pulls up to the curb and rolls down the window. "Tom Oliver?"
"That's us." He releases me, and cool air moves in. He opens the car door, and I slide in. The driver heads to my apartment. There's so much I want to say, so much I want to wish for, but our time together is nearly over. Tom is quiet, but his thigh rests against my leg. Does he feel the connection too, or is he just a space hog?
"Here we are," the driver says outside my temporary home.
"I'm going to walk her to the door. I'll be right back." Tom steps out of the car and takes my hand.
We take our time to the door, putting off the moment we have to part. The cool night air makes me long for his arms again. I face him with my key in hand and take in the sight of this tall, handsome man before me. "I guess this is goodbye."
"If only tonight could have lasted for days." He smiles, and in that moment, I believe he speaks the truth.
"Have a safe flight tomorrow, and thank you again for everything. I'll never forget today."
He moves to leave then turns back. "Chelsea, I want you to know something. Your performance tonight was one of those special moments that doesn't happen very often. You can rehearse some songs or scenes a hundred times and never strike the magical chord you hit tonight. I don't know if it was the chemistry of everyone on stage, or just an organic moment, but it was special and something I'll always remember being a part of."
I look into his eyes, overwhelmed. "I don't know what to say."
He gives my hands a warm squeeze. "I'll be watching the show tomorrow, and if by some impossibility you're sent home, I'm going to write the producers a firmly worded letter."
"You do that." I laugh and before I realize what's happening, he kisses the corner of my mouth, as if he didn't want to get too personal, but still wanted that final connection.
"Good night, Chelsea," Tom says and disappears down the sidewalk.