Page 37 of Wicked Dance
Blitz laughs. “TWO bodyguards. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Well, you sort of wanted to get mobbed before,” I tease.
Ted glances at us via the rearview mirror. “I’m sure the girls go nuts,” he says.
“Now it’s all about the rematch,” I say. My phone is in my hand. I’m watching for any signs that we’ve been spotted. Lots of people are speculating about where we’ll go. Milan’s has been mentioned, but just as one of about fifty possibilities. One of them is McDonald’s. I laugh.
“What?” Blitz asks.
“Somebody knows about your addiction to fast-food French fries,” I say, showing him the Tweet.
“We should say I’m there,” he says. “Wearing a Spurs cap. Odds are good some poor fellow will get surrounded before they figure it out.”
“We’ll be there in three,” Ted says. “Just have to get through these two lights.”
“So far, so good,” Blitz says. “Man, taking you out to dinner is a major expedition these days.”
“We could spend our weekends in some other city and still not miss the private lessons or the dance class,” I say.
“But there’s Jenica’s,” he reminds me.
“Oh, right.” We need to train. “Any word today on what the producers are doing?”
“Nope,” Blitz says. “And I don’t much care. They can figure it out without me.”
“Here we are,” Ted says. We pull up to the valet, but Ted rolls down the front passenger window. A twenty-ish young man in a red Milan’s polo shirt leans in.
“We need this couple to get in and out as inconspicuously as possible,” Ted says. “There’s a lot of foot traffic right here.”
The guy nods, looking at the sidewalk and the people streaming by behind him. “You can take them around the block and into a small lot where the employees park. There’s an entrance with a small red awning.”
“Perfect,” Ted says.
When the valet steps back, Ted pulls away from the curb.
“Huh,” Blitz says. “Nobody told me about the private entrance last time.”
“You didn’t ask,” Ted says.
“And you used a word with more than two syllables,” Blitz says, clapping Ted on the shoulder. “You’re all growed up.”
Ted shakes his head. “Be nice to me or I’ll Tweet your location myself.”
Blitz laughs. “I always knew my antics in high school would catch up with me. But you guys are the only ones I trust these days.”
Ted turns the wheel as we make the corner. “Nobody would have guessed that skinny little pipsqueak Benjamin Castillo would end up more famous than any of us.”
“Just goes to show you can’t count anybody out.” Blitz sits back and takes my hand. “I think this is going to work,” he says.
“All depends on who’s inside,” I say.
“It’s a pretty upscale place,” Blitz says.
“Blitz fans come in all shapes and bank accounts,” I say.
We drive through a parking lot toward the back of the building. There are two doors. One double-wide metal delivery door, and another pretty wood door with a red awning, just like the valet told us.
“This is better,” Ted says. He pulls up to the awning and hops out.
