Page 45 of Flirty Pucking Wolf

We’re dancing the jive to the theme song from an 80s movie full of dancing high school students. Growing up in Ireland and Scotland, I didn’t experience proms and homecoming games like they do here in America. I’m in a flirty dress dripping with gold fringe, and Trevor looks like the All-American football quarterback in blue jeans, a white T-shirt, black high-top sneakers, and a letterman jacket. I bet he broke a lot of hearts in high school and college. Mine is breaking now, but it’s my own fault.

He squeezes my hand and smiles down at me. “Ready?”

Nodding, we take our place on the stage for our dress rehearsal. We’ve already gone through notes for blocking, so we just need to do a full run-through of our routine and prepare for the live show. I love this routine. It shows off Trevor’s athleticism and lets him use some of his skills from when he was a cheerleader. I know the crowd is going to go wild when they see him do a backflip off the judges’ table to join me back on the dance floor before our last moves. We’re in sync throughout, and Trevor’s having fun. If the show tonight goes as well as the rehearsal is going, we’re going to win. His flip goes perfectly, and we stand back-to-back and link arms for our final trick. Trevor leans forward at the waist so I’m resting on his back, and I flip over and land on my feet then immediately sit so I can slide through his legs to hit my final pose. We’ve done this dozens of times with no problem. This time, however, my left ankle twists, and it’s less a graceful sit on the floor and more of a flop. I hiss, “Keep dancing!” and Trevor blessedly does. We hit our final poses and I’m smiling, but Trevor is looking at me with concern.

My ankle is slightly tweaked. A bit of ice and some painkillers, and I’ll be right as rain for tonight. I believe that, I truly do. Until I go to stand and crumple to the floor, crying out from the pain shooting up my leg.

“Sophie!” both Ian and Trevor shout, rushing to my side. Ian immediately goes to my ankle, recognizing my injury in a flash. He gently grasps my foot.

“Oh, Soph,” he says sadly. I see what he sees—my ankle is already swelling around the strap of my gold high-heeled dance shoe.

“It’s fine,” I say desperately as the medical team arrives. Trevor has taken my hand and refuses to move out of the way. “Just wrap it up good and tight, put some ice on it, and give me painkillers. I can do it.”

An involuntary yelp slips out when Marvin, the show’s medical officer, takes my foot in a gentle, yet firm grasp and unbuckles my shoe.

He shakes his head sadly. “Sophie, we’ve got to get this x-rayed. Best-case scenario, it’s just a sprain, but there’s no way you’re dancing tonight.”

The producers are here with camera people shooting every moment of my dream dying. I’m a Mackenzie. I’m a proud and strong female wolf shifter. I’m not going to break down sobbing, asking, “Why me?” even though that’s what I want to do.

“Let’s get you back to the exam room and figure out what we’re working with,” Marvin says. “Ian, can you carry her?”

“Been doing it all my life.” He’s trying to make me laugh, I know that, so I smile weakly in response. Trevor looks like he wants to protest and carry me himself but doesn’t want to delay me getting the treatment I need. It’s just as well. If I was in Trevor’s arms, I’d break down.

Ian places me on the exam table, and Marvin shoos everyone out.

“Can Trevor stay?” I ask, reaching out for his hand. He takes mine and raises it to his lips. He’s been quiet, but I can see the concern shining from his eyes. Or maybe it’s tears? Could be both.

Marvin nods. “Okay with me.”

In my effort to not flinch, I squeeze Trevor’s hand so hard he’s the one flinching as Marvin examines my ankle. After some mmmsand hmmsand nods, Marvin looks up and gives me a slight smile. “You have a nasty sprain. I know you’re a shifter and should heal quickly, but I can’t medically clear you to dance tonight.”

“I’ll sign waivers. Whatever you want. I must dance tonight.” Tears are streaming down my cheeks now. “Trevor, tell him. We’ve worked too hard. You’ve worked too hard to not dance.”

Trevor brushes away my tears, but more follow their path. “Sophie, you can’t risk injuring yourself worse. We need to let this heal properly so you can dance for the long haul. You can’t throw away your future for one night.”

Before I can protest further, Nancy and other producers come into the room. The smirk she gives me tanks any hope I have.

“Oh, Sophie,” she says, her voice dripping in insincerity. “What a shame you can’t dance tonight. Guess you’ll have to drop out, Trevor.”

Geoffrey, the head producer, gives me a sympathetic smile. I like Geoffrey. “Not necessarily, Nancy. We can have another dancer substitute for you, Sophie. We have your rehearsal recorded, so one of the previously dismissed pros could learn it and dance with Trevor tonight. If Trevor isn’t voted out and makes it to the finals, and you’re medically cleared, then the two of you can compete next week.”

“I don’t want to dance with another pro,” Trevor says.

“Then you can drop out,” Nancy says.

Indecision flits across Trevor’s face. His life would be easier without the stress and commitment of the show hanging over him.

Swallowing hard, I hope my smile is convincing. “It’s okay, Trevor, whatever you decide to do. I know you’re busy with the wild card games. Do what’s best for you.”

“Getting you to the finals is best for me,” he says, running a fingertip down my nose and giving it a teasing bop. Turning to Geoffrey, he says, “I want to dance, but I have a suggestion for my partner. She knows the dance and would be great on the show. She’s here in New York and can be at the studio within the hour.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding slowly when I realize what he’s suggesting. If I can’t do this with him, there’s no one else I’d rather he dance with.

“Who?” Nancy asks suspiciously.

“Randi Quinn,” Trevor says. “She was my cheerleading stunt partner in college. She’s the only person other than Sophie I’ll dance with tonight. Can we show you what we can do, and you decide? If we don’t meet your standards, then I’ll drop out of the competition.”

Geoffrey shrugs. “If she can get here quickly, we’ll do what we can. Are you sure you don’t want to work with another pro? They’re your best chance, especially if you’re doing this for Sophie’s benefit.”

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