3
Don’t screw it up. Don’t screw it up.
The routine lasted the entire song. Even though they were allowed multiple takes from various starting points, Olivia was a professional – this meant she had every intention of running through the whole choreography before making a single mistake.
How could she concentrate on her footwork and where her hands were supposed to go when one of the hottest men to ever come into her personal space was not only touching her, but twisting her body around, and lifting her into the air… all to the sounds of his own voice?
The music pumped through Olivia’s veins. Although she heard the same instrumental during her audition and dance practice, hearing it in tandem with Rick’s sultry vocals belting out a slew of dirty lyrics made her legs shake whenever both of her feet touched the ground at the same time. It didn’t help that the man was built for dancing. I’m not used to this… When Olivia thought of strong male dancers, they tended to be tall, stocky, and hitting one of two extremes: terribly aggressive or too demure for the job. Rick was neither – a healthy balance in between. When he put his hands on Olivia, it was with the strength of an athlete about to follow through on a commitment. That pressure was reassuring in the sense that Olivia didn’t have to worry about him dropping her or losing his momentum at the wrong time. It also wasn’t forceful. Some men could be like that. They thought using their strength to dance with a partner meant bruising her until she couldn’t breathe the next day. The best partners used strong arms with delicate fingers.
Even though this was their first time dancing together – and Rick and Clara had practiced multiple times before the cameras rolled – Olivia felt a kinship with the rock star that she never counted on. From far away Rick was another good looking face attached to a fit body. Up close she could smell his biting aftershave and the musk of his sweat. Coupled with how his hands ran across her body – touching her abdomen for this dip and her thigh for that spin – and Olivia was feeling something she didn’t normally experience when she danced with the finest men in her business: arousal.
Dancing was erotic. So erotic that sometimes Olivia had to turn off her brain and focus on the technicalities of the movements. Like thinking of baseball, or the queen. Luckily she was rarely attracted to her dance partners and this was never a problem, assuming they weren’t attracted to her as well. Most of them are gay, so who cares? With Rick, though? How could she have seen something like this coming?
The end of the second chorus required a lift. They were both sweating, the tight jeans digging into Olivia’s skin, serving as a reminder that she easily weighed more than Clara. Would it be possible for Rick to easily lift her? Olivia knew how to move into a lift. She didn’t doubt that Rick did too. Yet the variable of her weight could cause problems at best, injuries at worst. I’m not a ballerina. I’m a modern dancer. Muscles were her allies. As they grew closer to the end of the second chorus, Olivia flashed Rick a look that said he best prepare for how much she weighed.
On cue he held out his hand. Olivia had only one shot to get her leg up in time. She hooked her arms around Rick’s shoulders and jumped, alleviating herself from the title of “dead weight” as Rick caught her and spun her in a half circle before spinning in the other direction. If he was put off by her weight, he did not let on.
It was also possible that Olivia was too distracted by the man who now held her for a few seconds. The song disappeared. The scent of aftershave and musk overwhelmed her. Hot breath that once nourished this man’s muscles exhaled onto her bare skin. Olivia’s hands held fast to the solid body beneath them, amazed at how strong Rick felt although he didn’t appear muscular at first. He didn’t smile – he was concentrating too much to smile. In those brief few seconds in which Olivia glided through the air with the aid of a professional dancer, she felt that heart-pounding emotion that ruined careers like hers.
She landed most unceremoniously on her feet. Now that she knew she could wholeheartedly trust him, Olivia let herself go to the movements of dance.
There were few opportunities in life to find a fantastic partner. That went for both the realms of romance and art. Olivia had a few partners in each realm over the years. Some were better than others, few of them hardly stellar. The ones who were happened to already be spoken for or had no interest in pursuing something with her. I’m really talking about both, still. Boyfriends came and went with the wind. Dance partners were finickier than the boyfriends. And then came Rick Rodriguez, a freakin’ pop star who made Olivia feel more comfortable on the dance floor than anyone else. Shit, more comfortable in front of a camera!
The improvisation section arrived. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, Rick pulled Olivia into the familiar tango and led her across the breadth of the floor.
Tangos. I can do tangos. Her breath was running ragged, but her adrenaline had never been on such fire. Rick’s warm hand slipped against hers but they recovered, sliding across the floor in circles, in straight lines – in quite inappropriate movements as Olivia spun behind Rick and grabbed his hips. At first she thought his jerking motion was him expressing surprise, and she had blown it. Then his hands were on her wrists, pulling her backward into his athletic embrace, her spine melding against his chest in a perfect fit. Tight jeans? What tight jeans? Olivia felt lighter than the oxygen she breathed as Rick dipped her over his knee and ran his hands along her stomach, her thighs, and the tops of her legs. When she was snapped back up into his other arm, Olivia thought she saw a glimpse of heaven in the bright stage lights shining from above.
The final chorus began to wind down. Sweating, mouths open, and muscles sure to be sore the next day, Rick and Olivia held tight to one another, their legs folding and lips brushing against one another. Be still! Now was not the time for her to notice how his knee grazed her inner thigh and trekked dangerously close to more intimate places. As she was dipped once more, Rick following her down toward the floor, she couldn’t help but note that his meandering lips found the top of her shirt and bit the cotton.
Nope. She was done. Thank God the song was over, because Olivia was about to pass out from all the blood rushing from her extremities to her loins.
“Cut!” Were there other people around? Olivia pushed herself up, returning to her senses as the bright lights blinded her and Rick stepped away toward the director. A staff person hustled over to give them both water and clean towels. Olivia pressed her face against the cool and wet terrycloth, thankful that she could have this if she couldn’t get a cold shower right away.
The crew had little bad to say about the dance. The director still wanted to redo a few moves from different angles, and José even mentioned that Olivia was, “Decent when she has her shoes attached to her feet.” He lamented that he could not have worked with her beforehand since he was sure he could have made that session even sexier. “You two were practically doing it out there. Good. That’s what the viewers want to see. Softcore dance porn.”
Olivia covered her face so nobody could see her blush. She sat in an empty chair behind the camera, where Rick briefly joined her to watch the playback.
He put his hand on her shoulder. As the images played soundlessly in front of them, Olivia could only note two things: the first was that Rick seemed to never take his hands off her during the dance. The second was that he couldn’t keep his hand off her now.
If only they hadn’t done it so perfectly. Wouldn’t it be terrible if they had to keep doing those moves over and over until they finally got them right?
Olivia glanced up just in time to catch Rick smiling at her. Never before had she prayed for so many retakes.