Blitz takes my hand as he leads me down the hall I remember from the finale. But then it was bustling with people, crew members and dancers. Now the rooms are all eerily quiet.
“You probably were in here,” Blitz says, tapping his knuckles on the door at the corner. He’s right, that was the room where everyone watched the show on mounted televisions. “It’s a viewing room.”
“Yes,” I say. “And a couple doors down was where the makeup artists were set up.”
Blitz knocks against that one as well as we pass. “I’ve never been in there,” he says.
“You have your own makeup person, then?” I ask.
“Yes, and my own dressing room.”
“I didn’t see it that night,” I say, but thinking over the episodes of Dance Blitz, I could remember scenes that took place there.
And some of the girls who snuck in.
I shove those thoughts away. “Are we going to it?” I ask.
“I’ll take you in if you like. It’s on the other side.”
He must see my frown, because he quickly adds, “It’s not important, though. And yeah, there were always lots of cameras in it.”
“Which girl took a bet from the others to try and catch you naked?” I ask, trying to sound as if none of that really matters. And it doesn’t, I guess. It’s his past. But still. The antics on the show are hard to watch now.
“I don’t remember her name,” Blitz says. “Was it season one?”
“I think so,” I say, glad the girl doesn’t stick in his mind. “She found you, though.”
“Yeah,” Blitz says. “It was scripted. I was literally in there freezing my ass off while she tried to be all ninja. The cameraman in the corner was giving me a countdown for when she’d arrive.”
“She was only wearing a towel,” I say.
“Also scripted. I think she was supposed to be pretending she was lost.”
“Everybody could see it was fake.”
“I’m sure.” Blitz grasps my hand. “Most of the show was fake.”
“Did you really have sex with her? The show makes it look like you did, right there with the cameras.”
He sighs. “I wasn’t in it to be subtle,” he says.
He didn’t answer the question.
It doesn’t matter. I have to keep reminding myself of that.
But there’s a little tension between us as we walk these halls. This was his space with all those girls.
The articles written about Blitz during the show say that twenty of the fifty contestants confirmed sleeping with him, sometimes more than one of them on the same day. But who knows? That was just what they would say to get headlines and airtime. I see how it works now.
I squeeze his hand. I can’t let his wild past impact how we are now.
We pass the doors to backstage. I pause, looking up at the red and green “on air” lights above the sign that reads STUDIO A. It’s all dark right now. “It was so wild to see you out there, and the audience. It was surreal,” I say.
“I can’t believe you did it. More than one contestant has frozen up when they stepped out.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, especially in season one. Two got eliminated over it. Only one girl got a dramatic story line about her stage fright.”
“Yes, I remember. The tall one.”
“Farrah,” Blitz says. “I really felt for her and tried to help her. But something about that camera light turning on would just freak her out.”
“Poor thing.”
Blitz keys in a code on the door and it pops open. “Let’s go in.”
It’s pitch black beyond the door, although when my eyes adjust, I can make out the pale glow of emergency lighting along parts of the floor.
Blitz flips a switch and red light bathes the backstage. I can make out some of the equipment and props, waiting for a season that will never come.
“When will they clear all this out?” I ask.
Blitz shrugs. “I’m guessing we’re about to negotiate someone else taking over. It can be like The Bachelor, where a new dancer auditions new contestants every season.”
“But you’re the Blitz of Dance Blitz,” I say.
“Maybe they want me to make appearances,” he says. “Based on today, I’m not sure I’m willing to negotiate even that.”
We wander closer to the stage, which is lined with emergency lights, presumably so nobody falls off in the dark. It’s a solid eight-foot drop to the floor if you don’t take the side stairs. The seats for the audience are set on risers.
The stage is completely bare. Blitz changes his grip on my hand and twirls me out. My hair flies as I reach the end of his arm and reverse back up against him.
“It all started right here,” he says.
“The end of the beginning,” I say.
He slips his arm around my waist. “True. We went from secret couple to public spectacle in a single dance.”
We cross to the other side of the stage. I didn’t ever venture this way the night I stormed onto the show. On this side, props are everywhere, stacked tightly against each other. We have to carve a way through them in the near-dark.
I bump against a lamppost. “I remember that one,” I say.
“These are mostly from the finale,” he says. “The crew strikes from this side. People enter from the other.”
We dodge a palm tree and a giant moon. “I don’t remember these,” I say.
“They would have come in for the final dance,” he says. “But it ended up being with you.”
A line of dim floor lights leads us toward a set of enormous double doors.
“This is where the real fun is,” Blitz says and keys in another code.
The lock pops and he pulls on the handle. One side opens and another red light automatically switches on. He turns to me. “This will be a lark.”
His expression is pure mischief. He leads me into the room.
Even bathed in red, it’s astonishing. It’s a storage room, big as a gymnasium, for all the props ever used on Dance Blitz.
I let go of his hand. “Oh! There’s the boat from season one!” I turn around. “And the tiki hut from that Polynesian number! I loved that one!”
Blitz laughs. “That was a fun one.”
I rush from one set piece to the next. There’s the shell of a sports car, a motorcycle, two staircases set in clouds, and a partial interior of a malt shop. I sit on a stool and spin around. “Shake, please!” I say.
Blitz runs forward and leaps onto the counter like he did on the show, sliding along its surface to land in front of me. Then he grimaces. “That’s a lot harder to do in jeans,” he says.
I burst into giggles. “It still looked good!”
Another staircase sparkles red in the light. “I remember this!” I say and jump from the stool, running up the glittery steps. “Be a star where you are, be a star!” I sing out loud.
“Hey, you’re not half bad!” he says. He jumps from the malt shop counter and follows me up the steps. He kisses my cheek, then turns and slides down the rail to the floor.
I gasp, then remember that he did it on the show. “No mat at the bottom or anything?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says. “I perform all my own stunts.”
He holds his hands up to me. I descend a few of the steps, then leap over the last few. He catches me neatly and slides me down his body. “It’s way more fun on these props with you,” he says.
“You just had to audition a lot of dancers before you got to me,” I say against his cheek. He smells divine, like pine woods and diner food and leather.
“I knew you would love seeing all this,” he says.
“So sad to think it will all go away.”
“Other shows will use it. I think half these things came from previous dance productions.”
I turn around, and then freeze. Blitz feels me go still. “What is it?” he asks.
In the corner, almost hidden by a volcano, is the red satin bed.
I walk toward it. It’s still made up, as if somebody rolled it over and forgot about it. I smack my hand against the bedding, expecting an explosion of dust, but it’s fine.
“Yeah, that,” Blitz says. He runs a hand nervously through his hair. “They fixed it up again for the finale, in case I picked Giselle, but it just got shoved in the corner when we decided to go with the tropical theme.”
I sit on it. It’s an actual mattress, and it gives a little. “This was one of the first Dance Blitz numbers I ever saw,” I tell him.
“Really, that one? It definitely pushed the ratings into the stratosphere, starting off season two with a scandal and censored episode.”
“I saw the audience photos. She got naked!”
Blitz lets out a rush of air. “She did. I don’t know what she thought she was doing. They didn’t let her back on the show after that.”
“Did you want her back?”
He shakes his head. “No, she wasn’t professional. And they were already planning on a live finale, and you can’t let somebody like that be a part of it, even if there is a delay in the broadcast.”
“Really, there’s a delay?”
“Oh, yeah. The station can get shut down if something really bad goes on the air. FCC rules. There are engineers whose sole job is to bleep out anything not allowed, cuss words, or certain types of promotion. And nudity, of course.”
“You seemed really…attracted to her in the shots,” I say.
“I couldn’t believe she had done it,” Blitz says. “What you were seeing was utter disbelief.”
My hands run along the silky bedspread. “I was super jealous of that girl when I saw it.”
Blitz lies down on his side, his head propped on his hands. “At what point did you go looking up this gem?”
“After the first class with the wheelchair ballerinas. The second day I knew you.”
“Ah. So you were stalking me already?”
I punch him lightly on the chest. “No!” Then, “Okay, maybe.”
He grabs me around the waist and pulls me down on the bed. In a flash, I’m trapped beneath him, his knees on either side of my hips and his face looming over mine in the low light.
“Well, guess what?” he says.
“What?”
“I never saw her again, and this bed was never used.”
I laugh. “Poor forgotten bed.”
He reaches between us and unsnaps the top of my jeans. “Oh, no, not forgotten at all.”
My eyes go wide and I glance around. “Here?”
He jerks the zipper down. “Oh, yes. Right here.”
His mouth captures mine. I’m feeling a touch of panic. I mean, it’s a big space! And people will be arriving for the contract meeting! Directors. Producers. Hannah. Uggh. Hannah. And Bennett!
But then his hand slips into the open jeans and I forget all that. His mouth is hot on me, still tasting of pie, and I groan as he revisits all the knowledge he has of my body, his fingers deep inside me.
I gasp against his mouth. My hips rise to meet him. His thumb works my little nub, and my body can’t help but respond.
“I love this,” he whispers against me. “And I love you.”
He lifts his body and slides his hand out of me. Air hits my belly as he jerks my jeans down. “More naked or less?” he asks.
I glance around, my courage returning. The last girl on this bed bared herself in front of a studio audience.
“All the way,” I tell him.
I don’t have to say it twice. My jeans and panties are gone, my shoes flying. The red light disappears as the sweater flies over my face.
Jerry forgot to pack a bra, so that’s it. I’m as naked as that girl.
“Lie back on the bed,” Blitz says.
His face is intense as he looks at me. I obey, shifting back until I’m in the center, then I lie down.
“Oh, this is gonna make me lose it way faster than I want to,” Blitz says. “Spread those thighs for me.”
I brace myself up on my elbows and do as he asks, my legs sliding luxuriously over the cool silk bedspread until my ankles reach either side.
He lets out a long exhale and pulls his sweater over his head. He kicks off his shoes and unfastens his jeans. “I don’t know what I want to do first,” he says.
“Make it up as you go along,” I say. He’s outrageously hard, coming at me like a jungle cat, low and stealthy.
He crawls over my body, and I’m reminded of the dance he did with the girl, before she got naked. I hook a knee around his waist and slide around him. Now I’m straddling his back.
“Love it,” he growls, and he gets it. We’re dancing the way we sometimes do, naked, no music, all intensity and sex.
He kneels, partially sitting now, and reaches up to grasp my arms. With a sharp pull, he sends me falling toward the satin.
He leans down and licks my belly, his hair tickling my skin. Then he moves down, slipping his tongue between my thighs.
My back arches, and my body is seized by him. Everything is a swirl, the red lights, the satin, now rumpled in disarray. His mouth, his fingers, and I’m lost, spiraling up, my muscles tensing. He sucks hard and I just let go, over the top, my voice lost in the huge room, saying his name, Benjamin, Blitz, my love.
He brings me down carefully and moves his mouth to my belly, kissing my skin. He lets my breathing slow, inching forward until his erection presses against me.
“I’m going to take you so damn hard,” he says, his voice gravelly and low.
Then we hear it.
The pop of the door.
“And this is where many of the props are kept,” says a loud female voice.
“Shit,” Blitz says. He yanks the satin bedspread off the mattress and scoops me up.
I can’t even say anything in my panic. He dashes to the back side of the volcano and shoves his knee against a latch.
A back section pops open.
“Will we reuse any of these?” another female voice asks.
We duck inside the tall cavity of the volcano. Blitz turns and closes the door. It’s pitch black in here.
“Who is that?” I whisper.
“Taya, one of the producers,” Blitz says. “I don’t recognize the other.”
Blitz spreads the bedding on the cold floor and pulls me against him. “They might turn on all the overheads.”
And sure enough, white light suddenly appears above us through a hole in the top of the volcano. It’s still dim inside the prop, but I can see the shadowy figure of Blitz.
Naked Blitz.
Naked me.
In a volcano.
“It’s fine,” Blitz says. “They aren’t going to come in here.”
“But our clothes are out there.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “True. Maybe they won’t notice.”
God, the things I end up doing with Blitz Craven.
He runs his hands along my back and shoulders, massaging my anxiety away. We hear the muffled sounds of the women talking, but from inside the prop, we can’t make out the words.
I can feel Blitz behind me, still hard as a rock. After a minute or two of waiting, his hands stray from my back to my belly, and up to my breasts. “God, you are one hot thing,” he says into my hair. “Please don’t ask me to stop.”
I couldn’t if I wanted to. His hand reaches around for me, and I fall forward, propped on my hands. My fingers clutch the satin as he works me again.
“Can’t resist this,” he says, his voice strangled. He bumps against me from behind, then he slips inside and I gasp, my hair falling forward, my body on fire.
He works me carefully, his fingers tight around front, his body giving me long easy strokes.
I’m going to lose it again, I can tell. The air is warm and my breasts are tingling. Blitz is trying to stay silent, and so am I. But he picks up speed and I’m with him, pushing back, leaning down, wanting it hard and fast, and just like that I’m gone again, biting my own forearm, trying to be quiet.
Blitz’s face is buried against my neck, his own groans muffled. We breathe in tandem, still locked together, as the voices outside get a little louder. Now we can actually hear words.
“Some of these pieces are almost iconic for the show, like this volcano,” one says.
“Agreed. We’ll definitely hang on to this.”
Then silence, and the voices are muffled again.
Blitz pulls away from me. We sit together on the satin.
“How long do you think we’ll have to sit here?” I ask.
Blitz flicks his watch face. The circle lights up in the dark. “Five minutes until the meeting,” he says. “I’m guessing they’re probably on their way out.”
He’s right, because a few seconds later, the white light goes out. It’s pitch black inside the volcano again.
I sense Blitz moving, then I hear a click, and I spot a rectangle of red light where he’s opened the back of the prop. I scramble for it, dragging the bedspread with me.
Blitz waits outside, strong and magnificent standing in the surreal glow. I almost want to take a picture.
“Are our clothes still there?” I ask.
“I can see your white sweater glowing,” he says. “I think we’re good.”
We swiftly gather our things and pull them on. “I guess they were scattered enough that they didn’t figure it out,” I say.
“If they did, they let it go,” Blitz says. “We’ll see when we walk in the meeting.”
God, the meeting. I try to manage my hair. It’s all over the place, hair-sprayed to hell. As I step into my flats, I run my fingers through it and rapidly tame it into a fat bushy braid. I don’t have a tie, so I just hold the end, looking around.
Blitz tosses the bedspread roughly on the mattress and we weave back through the props. I spot an arch of fake flowers and bows and walk up to it, jerking one of the loose pieces until several inches of ribbon comes free. I tie it around the bottom of the braid.
I guess I’m about as good as it gets to go into this meeting.