If Ever(17)

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"Week five, baby!" Dominic high-fives me first thing the next morning.

"I still can't believe this."

"I love it. All we have to do is let the other teams melt down or get injured and we stay in the game."

"Best strategy I've heard so far." I drop my bag in the corner, still not fully awake after a late night hanging out with Anna and Will.

"You ready to work? Because I think you're going to like what I've come up with for your song."

I nod. I'm a little nervous about it, but more excited. It's a beautiful, poignant song.

"Because it's a contemporary number, we can do as many lifts as we want."

"As in you lifting me?" I imagine him straining to heft me up, and grimace. "I don't want to."

"Tough. You're going to."

"But I'm heavy, and I have no experience doing anything like that."

Dominic laughs. "First off, you're a light weight. Second, everything about this show has been a first for you, third, the viewers love lifts and tricks."

He walks me through the opening steps until I get a feel for the rhythm of the choreography. The first lift he teaches me, I struggle, all gawky arms and legs.

"Good first try, but you're like a monkey trying to cling to my back. Relax. I will never let you fall. Try it again."

I do, and it's better, but it's strange being so close, usually it's just our hands touching each other, but this is full-body contact. I'm wearing my practice clothes, which are black dance shorts, along with a cute, strappy top. I mess up and slide off his shoulder, accidentally kicking him in the groin.

Dominic drops to the floor like a turtle retracting into its shell.

"I am so sorry!" I cry.

"It's fine," he groans through gritted teeth.

I reach out to pat his shoulder then pull back, because I'm not sure I should touch him during a situation like this. I glance at the producer and he's cringing as if he's the one that got the pot shot. The camera is focused on Dominic curled up in a ball. I can't help myself. I burst out laughing.

"You're evil."

"It's your fault. If you didn't insist on the lifts, this wouldn't have happened."

"Ha ha," he mutters, now on his hands and knees catching his breath. "I will get you for this."

We take a short break, and when we resume, Dominic, the slave driver, has us back at the hard tricks again. By 6 p.m. I'm bruised and sore from my gaffs and his firm grabs that save me from hitting the hardwood.

"Tomorrow will be better," he promises.

And it is. We try what we know with the music I chose, which adds an emotional backdrop for our lyrical moves. I love it so much and vow to work harder to get the lifts right. The one I'm most afraid of is where he wants me to take a running leap from the upper stage and land in his arms where he's waiting on the dance floor below.

"It's only about three feet," he says, as I bite my lip and consider the odds that he can actually hold all my body weight when I dead drop into him. "Come on, you big chicken. Do it."

"Is this the part where you get back at me?" The visual of slamming into the floor has me clammy with fear.

"No, but that's an excellent idea."

I gulp.

After a couple false starts, Dominic moves closer. I take the three-step run and leap out across the steps. Dominic catches me midair, turns smoothly, and gently sets me down where I spin away.

"Whoa! That's wild." I grin.

"You like it?"

"Sort of. It's scary. Can we do it again?"

He laughs knowingly.

We practice it several more times. Dominic must be exhausted from all the abuse of my body landing in his outstretched arms, but he never complains. I'm getting bruises from ribs to thighs from the impact.

By Sunday's camera marking, we're doing well other than the fact Dominic keeps pushing me to show more emotion. I'm trying, but exposing my heart is difficult for me. When it's time for our run though, I head out of my trailer and run into Dominic.

"You ready?" He falls into step beside me.

"I think so, but why are we scheduled so early?"

Dominic holds the sound stage door open. "I have a surprise for you, and it means we're going to need some extra time before camera blocking."

"Uh, oh." I study his face for answers, but he gives up nothing.

"Relax, you're going to love it." He grins.

My shoulders stiffen as I brace for whatever new torture Dominic has come up with. We cross backstage and onto the actual ballroom area where tech guys and cameramen are in various areas working on the new lighting and sets for tomorrow's show. Up on the raised section of the stage where I'm to make my leap into Dominic's arms, there's a grand piano and the head producer, Larry, talking to a guy with his back to us.

"Ah, here they are," Larry says when he spots us.

The stranger turns and I'm stunned to find it's the guy who performed the song on YouTube. He's tall and lean with medium blonde hair, feathery eyebrows, and friendly blue eyes.

Larry says, "Dominic, Chelsea, I'd like you to meet Thomas Evan Oliver."

Thomas reaches his hand out to Dominic. "Call me Tom," he says and they shake, and then he extends his hand to me.