Love Waltzes In (Dancing Under The Stars) (5 page)

“Well, maybe a nice, peaceful drive isn’t your thing, but it’s mine.
Especially in this truck. I don’t need a plane ticket, and I sure as hell don’t need first class.”

A thinly painted eyebrow rose while her eyes narrowed. “You’re saying I’m high-maintenance?”

Bret snorted a laugh, holding his hands up in protest. “Hey, I never said that, did I? I haven’t seen you in ten years. But from what I read in the magazines—yeah—I’d say you seem like a diva.”

Her mouth pouted but her eyes twinkled. “Okay, fine. I can handle a peaceful drive. As long as we can stop tonight at my place so I can get my stuff.”

“We can. But only if you don’t try filling up the back of my truck with all your fancy luggage.”

Selena’s gaze hovered to the left, and Bret saw
Dima walk by the lobby with a group of girls. Her eyes darkened and she whipped her head back with a shrug and a tiny smile. “I’ll have the bellman bring it all down, and you’ll see for yourself.”

“Never mind the bellman. Just give me your room number, and I’ll go get it.”

Selena’s mouth opened but she didn’t answer him.

“What, Selena? Are you on some secret celebrity floor? Do I need a special key?”

“No. It’s not that. Are you sure you don’t want me to call the bellman?”

He frowned. “Why do I need some other guy to grab stuff I can carry myself?”

Selena lit up and smiled. “I know. It's just . . . never mind. It’s room 1014.”

Bret fondled his new keys. “I need to run home and pack. I’ll meet you at your hotel room in two hours.”

Selena turned toward the elevator. Bret climbed into his truck and turned the stereo on. Caressing the leather steering wheel, Bret flicked on the headlights. He roared the engine. He would enjoy this gift for the season and could sell it for his buddy’s family if Bret didn’t last long on the show. He just had no desire to spend eight hours holed up in a steel box with the woman who broke his heart.

Bret would be knocking on her door any second. Selena tossed her clothes into her suitcase. The drive from San Diego to Marin would be eight hours, at least. Would he want to drive all night? Stay at her house in L.A? It was already dark out.

Dima
was still downstairs, probably flirting with his fans. She debated texting him that she had to leave but decided to write a note instead.

Dima
,

Benny said I have to take off to San Francisco tonight to meet my celebrity. I’ll call you tomorrow.

Love,

Selena

She chose to omit that Bret would be driving her. It shouldn’t matter to Dima. And it wasn’t like she had a choice. Crazy as it seemed at first, she was already starting to look forward to it. Some days, she lived at the airport. She was constantly in the air—traveling to train with her celebrities, jetting off to be interviewed on talk shows, hopping on flights for competitions. How exhausting. A nice, slow drive sounded like a welcome change of pace.

Ten years ago, she wouldn’t have thought she’d still be co
mpeting at age twenty-eight. Back then, ballroom dancing was relegated to the once-yearly televised competition on PBS. There were no weekly celebrity television shows. Though the show gave her the financial security she needed to support her family and her competition career, its demands definitely interfered with the practicing and coaching that they needed to win Blackpool. Selena had imagined that by this point in her life, she’d have already won her coveted title, be retired, settled down with a husband and kids, and running a small dance studio. But she’d pushed that dream aside for now.

Despite all the insanity with
Dima, slipping out of her three-inch suede Latin heels and walking off the dance floor was not an option, not yet. Selena loved her life and wasn’t ready to hang up her ball gown, though she desperately wanted to start a family. A pulsating samba, a rhythmic cha-cha, a melodic rumba, a confrontational paso doble, a frolicking jive—her body couldn’t just stop with it all. Some girls find the mink fur false eyelashes, the fake tan, the hair extensions—all of it—heavy. But not Selena. And when the music died, life was always a little less bright, waiting for the next turn on the sprung, hardwood floor.

Selena looked in the mirror. She had already scrubbed off all of her makeup, stripped off her costume, and washed the glitter out of her hair. She ran her fingers along the soft eggplant-colored terry fabric of the Juicy Couture sweats she usually saved for traveling. She folded the suit with care, slipping it into her suitcase. Instead,
she reached for a simple white cotton t-shirt and a pair of worn, tight jeans.

Selena pulled her hair back into a pony tail and perched herself on the edge of her bed, but she couldn’t relax. She grabbed a ma
gazine and flipped through it, all the while staring at the alarm clock, knowing that Bret was never late.

A strong rap at the door disrupted the silence. Selena discarded the magazine on the coffee table and crossed the room to answer it.

Bret stood there, looking stunned. “You didn’t even ask who it is. Don’t you have stalkers? I could be a sex-crazed fan.”

Selena laughed nervously. It was hard not to look at him and remember that he’d been her first love.
Her first lover. And she’d been his. He’d been a shy, lean, teenage boy back then. This Bret standing before her—he was all man. His presence threw her. Made her wonder crazy things. Like what it would be like to nuzzle his neck, fondle his muscles, taste his kisses. Those strong hands exploring every inch of her body. She couldn’t let herself go there. They were about to be stuck in a truck for eight hours. She gave a playful roll of her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Relax. I checked in under a pseudonym, and no one else knows my room number. I knew it was you because you’re right on time.”

Bret slung her duffle bag over his shoulder. He glanced at the two unmade queen beds, but if he wondered why Selena and Dima slept in separate beds or even shared a room, he didn’t ask. “What’s your name?”

“What?”

“Your fake name. What is it?”

“If I tell you, I’ll have to change it next time.”

Bret just stared back at her, clearly not amused.

“Fine, if you must know, it’s Brenda Walsh.”

He gave a blank look.

Selena shot him a skeptical glare. “Oh, come on. Beverly—”

“Hills 90210, I know. I remember losing weeks of my life watching those garbage reruns, over and over, at every dance competition.”

“Well, that’s the only American show some of those countries would play. Besides, you got a kick out of the ridiculous dubbed voices.”

“Ok, Brenda. Let’s get a move on. It’s late.”

She picked up her purse, her cooler, and followed Bret out the door.

When they arrived downstairs, she focused on the new truck. She’d always liked Dima’s flashy Fanta orange Lamborghini, but there was something about this big silver truck that seemed more exciting, more masculine and less pretentious. Bret tossed her luggage into the bed.

“Um…I thought you were only kidding about putting my things in the back of your truck.”

“No, princess, I wasn’t. Otherwise there would be no room for Banjo.”

The valet handed Bret his keys and a leash. Attached was a tan,
smooshy-faced dog, around thirty pounds, with a goofy smile. Bret slapped a five-dollar bill in the valet’s hand.

“You’re bringing your dog? I’m not sure the hotel up there will allow it. What is he, anyway? I hope he’s not a
pitbull.” Selena loved dogs. She even owned a King Charles Spaniel but she had to stay with her mother during the season. Selena wouldn’t dream of bringing her to work.

Banjo sniffed Selena. “He’s a pug/lab mix. Got him at the base shelter. Great dog. And what have you got against pits? Some of them are amazing. I’d probably have rescued one myself but we aren’t allowed to have one on base. Anyway, I’m not staying in the hotel. Get in, Sel. I’ll put a tarp over your bags so they don’t get too many dead bugs.”

Gross. The thought of slimy insects smashed over her luggage made her ill. But she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it because she didn’t want to endure Bret’s teasing.

He helped Selena into the truck and hoisted Banjo in next to her, and the mutt scampered to the back seat. The fresh scent of new leather tickled Selena’s nose. She stole a glance at Banjo, now making himself comfortable by turning in circles on the seat until plopping down. She wondered where they’d be staying, if not at the hotel. For all Selena knew, Bret could have a girlfriend in Ma
rin.

Bret climbed into the front seat and they were off.

“Are you hungry? We can stop at In-N-Out.”

Memories of a fifteen-year-old Bret egging on Selena to cram the rest of her Double
Double Burger Animal Style in her mouth hovered in her mind. Before In-N-Out’s were all over California, Bret and Selena once drove two hours away to find Bret’s favorite burger. Winning a competition meant a greasy reward they’d never be allowed to eat during training.

“I have my dinner packed,” she said, pointing at the cooler res
ting between her feet. Back then Selena could eat anything and not gain an ounce.

“I don’t even want to ask. Cooler?”

“Uhm yeah. My nutritionist has a chef prepare my meals for me. It’s vegan and gluten free. But super yummy.” She reached between her knees, prying the lid open and pulling out a clear plastic container. “It’s this amazing quinoa grilled vegetable salad with lentils and lemon basil vinaigrette. Wanna try?”

Bret turned his nose up. “I’ll pass. Thanks.”

He pulled into the drive-through and ordered a few burgers. When he received his food, he unwrapped a plain burger and tossed it to Banjo.

Back on the road, they were both silent. The music coming out of the car speakers grew louder, now that Bret had turned up the stereo volume. Eddie
Vedder’s deep voice belted the song “Black.” Sitting there next to Bret was surreal, especially without the buffer of mindless banter to keep Selena’s awkwardness from settling over them. He was right there, inches away from her. Years ago, she might’ve placed her hand on his thigh. Bret stared ahead, navigating the road with a determined expression on his face. She wondered if that precise focus was something he’d developed overseas, maybe driving a tank through dusty streets bordered by dilapidated homes. Or maybe that was just some image she’d picked up from a movie somewhere. She knew nothing of what he’d experienced in Iraq. She wanted to ask about his life. But none of her questions seemed the right one to lead with.

Banjo had finished his burger and rolled around in the back seat, tan hairs shedding everywhere. Selena brushed herself off with the back of a hand. The tiny grains tumbled off the fork, and she pouted, almost wishing her hands were clutched around a foil-wrapped Double
Double instead.

There would never be a perfect moment, so Selena reached over and lowered the music. “So what are you really doing here? I thought you never wanted to dance again.”
             

He sighed. “Like I told you in the audition, my buddy, Landon Pierce, was killed in Iraq. He had volunteered to go on a patrol, a patrol that I had been scheduled for, and his Humvee was hit with an IED.”

Selena gasped. “Oh Bret, that’s awful, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, it sucks. It should’ve been me.”

Bret paused and Selena couldn’t think of a single comforting word to say.

“He had a wife and two young kids. When Benny wrote, I fi
gured the show would be an easy way to make a bunch of money in a few months. Then I can help Pierce’s family out.”

A few months?
Selena had assumed there was a chance he would become a regular dancer. That he’d be around for the next few years. At least. “Why only one season? It’s a great lifestyle—you only have to work for fifteen weeks twice a year. Dima and I stay on the show so we can afford to compete. We want to win Blackpool within the next two years.” She paused, realizing that Bret probably didn’t want to hear about her and Dima’s competition plans. “You can raise money for other Marines—if you like it. You should stay on the show.”

“No, I can’t. This is a one shot deal for me. I had to get special permission from the Marine Corps. I’m still under orders for two more years. After that, I’ll have twelve years in—I can retire at twenty so I’ll just reenlist for eight more.”

Selena lowered her head. “But I’m sure if you wanted to, they could make an exception.”

Bret shook his head. “That’s not how it works. The military doesn’t make exceptions. And I don’t want to. I’m just doing this for Pierce. Otherwise there’s no point.”

Her voice increased a notch, as she tried to hide her anger. “It’s hardly pointless. We do good stuff, too. Charity work, fundraisers, that sort of thing. Dima and I even started this program where we teach poor kids how to dance. It’s awesome. I’ve met with sick children and wounded warriors. It’s not all tanning salons and talk shows.”

Bret laughed. “The whole thing is ridiculous. ‘Stars.’ How is starring in your own sex tape “star” material?
Or popping out a hundred kids? My buddy died defending the freedom of these buffoons to make assholes out of themselves on camera. These reality stars are pathetic. I’d rather live my life than watch people live theirs.”

This show,
her life,
was clearly nothing more than a joke to Bret. “We’ve also trained Olympic athletes and Grammy winners. And I’m a reality star—so are you saying I’m pathetic?” She could feel her body heating up. “You trash the show but want to use it for money. Where’s your integrity?”

“All the money I make will go back to helping my buddy’s family. So, yeah, I know I’m doing the right thing. What do you spend your money on? How much is that obnoxious ring on your finger?”

Selena stared at her 3.7-carat diamond engagement ring that Dima had given her after they finaled at Blackpool years ago. Even though she wore it on her right hand, now she wished she hadn’t worn it.

“
Dima got it on loan from a jeweler who wanted his rings seen on the red carpet. It’s
not
an engagement ring. We aren’t even dating right now. It’s just a gift.” When the words left her mouth, she realized that Bret must’ve thought she was awful. She took a nervous sip from her water bottle.

Bret scowled at her. “Whatever you say, Selena.
Dima makes five thousand dollars a week and he can’t even buy you a ring himself? Hell, I was making five hundred a week at Best Buy and saved up for months to buy you a ring. Not that you appreciated it. The fact that his ring doesn’t even mean anything to you makes it even worse.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I didn’t say it didn’t mean anything to me.”

“What’s the point of a huge diamond ring if you have no intention of ever getting married? Oh, I forgot—you don’t want that simple, I think you once said
boring
, life. But it’s cool, I’m sure we’d be divorced by now.”

Her throat burned. “It wasn’t easy for me either. I loved you but I was only eighteen, Bret. It was heartbreaking.” She blinked back tears, remembering what she gave up. She considered coming clean, and revealing the real reason she had ended it with Bret but didn’t have the courage. “I wasn’t about to give up my dreams and become a teenage housewife. And I needed to keep dancing to support my family. What would I do on some base in the middle of nowhere while you were fighting wars nine months out of the year? It would’ve never worked. We were too young. If you want to settle down so badly, why aren’t you married?”