Page 1 of Wicked Dance
Chapter 1
I’m terribly nervous.
It’s release day for the DVD set for season two of the TV reality showDance Blitz.
The show is billed asTheBachelormeetsSo You Think You Can Dance. The star, Blitz Craven, auditions girls to be his dance partner, and possibly, his wife. He gets to pick the winner.
I wasn’t supposed to be on the show.
But I charged onto the season two live finale, right as Blitz was about to announce which girl he had chosen. Rumors had been swirling that he was going to propose to one of the three finalists. Commercials and promo spots had been airing for days showing him buying a ring, smiling slyly at the camera.
He wanted to make sure the ring was perfect for “the one.”
Except.
“The one” was really me.
And I wasn’t even a contestant.
I knew what was really about to happen on the show. Blitz was going to do something terrible, something rash, something bad enough that he got kicked off the show, out of his obligations, and back to me.
I couldn’t let that happen.
So I walked right onto the set in the middle of the live broadcast.
That is why, on this Saturday in February, I’m with Blitz as he heads toward Wild Side Tunes and TV, a music and movie superstore, to sign DVDs. Because of my crazy actions, I’m part of his fame. We’re a package deal.
It’s the weekend before Valentine’s Day, and Blitz’s manager Hannah is positive that our being together on this promotional tour is going to send DVD sales into the stratosphere. Blitz and I don’t care about that. But she does. And the lawyers who drew up Blitz’s contract do.
So here we are in LA.
Blitz takes my hand. We’re in a limo because, of course, we have to be, driving up to a store where apparently over a thousand screaming fans have been standing in line since yesterday to ensure they got a chance to see Blitz.
We have to look the part of Reality TV Royalty, whatever that is. Hannah talks really fast, and I generally only catch every tenth word, the ones she says more emphatically, like they’re in bold uppercase letters.
AndREALITY TV ROYALTYis definitely a phrase she emphasizes.
The words make me think of mostly negative things. I missed four years of television due to my father’s iron rule, but in the two months since I left home, I’ve caught up on some of the big shows.Dance Moms. Hoarders. Real Housewives.
If they are royalty, I’m not sure I want the throne.
“Your dress is killing me,” Blitz says. “I’m never going to make it through hours of signing without stealing you away.”
I glance down. The dress isn’t anything I would have picked out, but Hannah and her wardrobe people descended on us in the hotel, fitting me into everything from jeans and slashed leather vests to glittery ball gowns.
Nobody asked my opinion. In the end, they chose a stretchy dance outfit like you might see an ice-skater wear. It isn’t too crazy, the sparkly emerald skirt reaching halfway down my thigh. The fit is more demure than some of the things they’ve put on me.
But it does have diamond-shaped cutouts. One shows a lot of cleavage, and another one reveals my belly button. I was too paranoid to even eat breakfast, afraid any bit of roundness to my middle would lead to screaming tabloid headlines about a baby bump.
I get a little sensitive when people talk about babies.
Blitz looks exactly like they always have him dressed on the show. Sleek black jazz pants. A silk shirt in a pale mint green that complements my dress perfectly.
His black hair is short again, cut a few days ago by the original hairdresser fromDance Blitz. And the sexy stubble on his face is trimmed the way I’ve always known it. I reach up to run my fingers along his jaw. We are in this together.
He kisses my fingers. “Are we almost there?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, check Google,” Hannah says with irritation. She holds a compact mirror up, trying to apply lipstick on the bumpy drive.
