If Ever(25)

It was hell, but I survived. Dominic appears in our little alcove. "Hey guys, I'm heading out. Anyone need a ride? Chelsea, remember you don't have your car."

Tom glances at me then back to Dominic. "No, we're good, still coming down from the performance high. I'll drop her home."

I smile. Tom stands and shakes Dominic's hand. "Thanks again for inviting me. I had a blast getting a peek behind the scenes."

"Our pleasure."

"If you're ever in New York, give me a call."

"Eventually we'll get voted off and be there for the morning show. We'll see you then." Dominic smiles at me. He knows I'm crushing on Tom, and he better not breathe a word. "Don't stay out too late, we've got rehearsal."

"Always the slave driver," I say.

After Dominic leaves, we sit back down. I'm not positive, but it feels like Tom maneuvered a little closer. His leg brushes mine and I don't move away. His thigh is strong and solid. Between that, his delicious scent, and entrancing blue eyes, I've hit the jackpot. I never in a million years imagined I'd get to perform with Thomas Evan Oliver let alone spend an evening with him. "When do you fly back to New York?"

"Tomorrow morning. I have to get back for the seven-thirty show."

I mask my disappointment. "That's a fast trip."

"My producer wanted me on the red-eye tonight, but I kind of strong armed him into giving me until tomorrow. I hate red-eye flights. I can never sleep, so I end up sitting awake in the dark all night next to some gassey businessman with bad breath."

We talk about his new show, how he got started as a kid, and I laugh through his stories of the many mishaps he's experienced on stage. The waitress appears with refills of our drinks.

It's getting late, but I don't care. Tonight is like cotton candy, and I plan to enjoy every last taste of it before getting thrown back into the grind. Unless, of course, I'm sent home. While a couple weeks ago I would have welcomed the thought, I'm finally getting the hang of the show and after such great scores, hope to stay in it for at least one more week.

Tom asks how I got on the show. I tell him about Anna's engagement and my break up. "We were goofing around and auditioned. I never in a million years thought it would lead to anything."

He asks about the break up and I reveal how I caught my boyfriend cheating on me and how humiliating it was once I realized almost everyone knew about it.

We talk about tonight's show, how nervous I was, and how amazingly perfect everything went. It's as if we were both inspired by the other's energy. "I need you here to perform with me every week."

"That would be lovely. Each week you could dance to a number from a different Broadway musical."

"Dancing to show tunes." I absentmindedly reach down and rub my ankle.

"Does your ankle still hurt?"

"How'd you know?"

"I saw your fall on last week's show."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Of course, I forget that nothing's private on this show.

"Put your ankle on my knee."

I shoot him a questioning look, but do as he says.

Tom pushes up the bottom of my jeans and slips off my shoe, frowning at my bandaged foot. He gently cups my ankle between his hands. His light touch is like a caress and fans the flame that's been flickering in my heart all evening.

"What are you doing?" I ask quietly.

"Just a little energy work."

"Okay," I say. "Sure you don't have some weird thing for women's feet?"

Tom laughs. "Aren't you a fan of the healing arts?"

"I don't know. I've never experienced them before."

"Well, unless you pull your ankle away and slap me for being fresh, you're soon to find out."

I hold back a giggle.

"So what's your day like tomorrow?" he asks, as if it's perfectly normal for him to hold my ankle in his hands.

I struggle to concentrate with his hands on my bare skin. "It's a light day, sort of. There's hair and makeup, lunch, then dress rehearsal. The pros do most of the dances on results days. Oh, one team does the encore performance."

"Maybe it'll be you and Dominic."

"No. It's based on popular vote and even though we had a great night, I'm the least popular person on the show." Tom listens attentively, still holding my ankle.

"Then it's show time, and I get to stand under the microscope as we're slowly fed the results like a poisonous IV drip."

"Oh, no!" He lifts his hands from my leg.

"What?"

"I didn't vote for you." He lays his hands back down, this time his thumb makes slow circle on my tender skin.

"You were going to vote?" A zing of happiness shoots through me.

"Of course. What will I do with my Monday nights if you're not on the show?"

"The probability of us getting through is always low."

"You guys got perfect tens. No one else has done that yet this season." He gently squeezes my ankle and releases me. "How's it feel?"

I flex and rotate my foot then slip back into my shoe. "Good. Better."

"Glad to hear it." He checks his phone. "Oh, buggar."