by Alexis Daria
Kevin seemed to take it for granted that Stone would end up in the finals. He’d been around long enough to guess these things. But finals weren’t enough. They had to win. And Stone had to prove to Gina she could trust him.
One of the stage managers popped up at his elbow. “Come on, we have to get you to wardrobe to change for your next dance.”
His next dance. The Boylesque-inspired striptease. Gina had choreographed it to be sexy-funny, to showcase not just his body, but his breakdancing moves and ability to laugh at himself.
Tonight, in front of millions of viewers, he was going to use it to seduce her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
How dare they.
A fine trembling took over Gina’s body, a combination of fear and adrenaline and pure, white-hot anger.
How dare they fuck with her career this way? With her reputation, with her wishes, with her fucking life. Could she sue them? Probably not, but her agent was getting a call as soon as this whole mess was over with.
Natasha sat with her, making sure she sipped from a bottle of water. They were sequestered away in one of the empty offices.
“You’re a good friend, Tash.”
“Keep drinking.”
“Fine.” Gina took another sip. “I still have another dance to get through.”
“Not until the second hour. And I’m not needed until then, either. For now, we sit.”
Natasha didn’t ask any questions, which was part of what made her a great friend. She didn’t push or pester, didn’t ask, “Are you okay?” Any one of those things would have probably set Gina off, but Natasha’s quiet support was exactly what she needed to stay strong.
When the shaking subsided from earthquake to rumbling subway levels, Gina set down the cup. “He knew.”
“Knew what?”
“He knew they had the footage. And he didn’t tell me.”
Natasha sucked her teeth. “Qué jodienda, coño.”
Gina massaged her temples. A headache flirted at the edges. “He’s probably looking for me.”
“So what?” Natasha crossed her arms. “And why? To explain why he acted like a bonehead? Too bad.”
“He might have had a good reason.”
“Don’t defend him. What they did was fucked up. It’s okay to be mad.”
Filling her lungs deep with air, Natasha’s words rattled around Gina’s head. Yes, she was angry. And it was okay, and it was justified. She had every right to be angry at having a private dance session recorded. Without mics, on a day when filming was supposedly canceled and she’d been unaware there were cameras present. The producers were no better than the paparazzi, sneaking around to get the dirt and then airing it without her knowledge or consent.
And Stone knew they had the footage, and he hadn’t told her. When the paparazzi had confronted them outside his hotel room, he’d been there. She hadn’t hidden that from him. Sure, she’d gone to Donna on her own, but after he’d gotten pissed off about that, they’d agreed to handle things together.
“I bet this is Donna’s goddamn fault. Fucking Donna.” Gina got up to pace in the small office. “How many times did I fucking tell her I didn’t want the producers crafting that kind of storyline for me?”
“Our agent even told them that.”
“Yeah! My fucking agent!” Gina blew out an angry breath, clenching her hands into tight fists. “And who cares if I am having. . . . relations . . . with Stone. It’s my business. We’re both consenting adults. And we weren’t supposed to be filmed during that rehearsal.”
Natasha snapped her fingers in agreement. “Amen. Fuck who you want to fuck. Ain’t nobody else’s business.”
Gina narrowed her eyes. “You had sex with Jackson, didn’t you.”
“Sure did. And it was uh-mazing. But you don’t see them trying to make up a story about me.”
“They tried with Dwayne. And with Stone.”
Tash waved a hand dismissively. “I had no chemistry with Dwayne. It wasn’t going to happen. You and Stone on the other hand . . . I saw that coming from a mile away.”
Gina dropped back into the desk chair and covered her face with her hands. “Really?”
“Yeah, girl. You’re obvious as fuck.”
“I tried really hard to hide it.”
“I’m your roommate. And that man has a lot going for him. There’s a lot to like.”
“How could he hide this from me, though?”
Natasha chewed the inside of her cheek. “Did you ask him?”
“No. I didn’t want to talk right before we did our contemporary. I needed to have my head in the game so I didn’t fall during the aerial routine.”
“Which looked fucking awesome, by the way.”
“Didn’t it?” Gina leaned back, stretching her feet out in front of her. “We worked so hard on it.”
“And you got a great score. I’ll eat my toe shoes if you don’t get a perfect score for your next one.”
Gina grabbed Natasha’s hand and squeezed tight. “I’m glad you’ll be there with me.”
“To watch Stone strip? I’d do it for free. Hell, I might even bring some singles with me to tuck in his little shorts.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Or some twenties. Think we could get him to do a repeat performance backstage?”
“Not a chance. I had to fight with him to get him to agree to the number in the first place.” She grinned. “We might have practiced some stripping moves in his hotel room.”
“You are a lucky, lucky girl.”
Gina fell quiet. Sitting and chatting with Natasha made her feel normal, like the events of the night—like that goddamned footage—hadn’t happened. But it had. Everyone had seen it. It was a good thing she didn’t have her phone with her—it was still in the Sparkle Parlor—because her mother and sister had likely sent a bajillion texts.
“I thought I was.”
“You still are.” Natasha got to her feet and pulled Gina out of the chair. “Stop moping. The show must go on. After the second dance, you chew him out. Let him grovel. Then you have excellent make-up sex and get ready for the finals. I’m going out with Jackson again, so I’ll be home late.” She winked.
Gina smiled, but betrayal weighed her down, made her limbs feel like cement.
Donna had known how she felt, and the bitch had gone and put the footage in anyway.
But Stone had known, too. And he hadn’t told her.
* * *
Angry as she was, Gina was still excited for their combo dance, which combined Latin, jazz, and breakdancing moves. They were given a song from the movie Boylesque, a romantic comedy/dance musical about a group of teachers starting an all-male burlesque troupe to raise funds for their school. It was the most fun Gina had ever had choreographing something for The Dance Off, and with Stone’s breakdancing skills, she was pleased with the results.
He’d fought her on it, of course. The guy looked like a statue by Michelangelo—better, actually—but he was modest as a schoolmarm. Even if the judges didn’t love it, Gina was betting the fans would.
It was the last chance for America to vote. Next week, a winner would be crowned. Everything they did tonight would determine how many votes they got, so they were pulling out all the stops.
The finals were in reach. It was killing her to know their fate was already sealed, and they just didn’t know it yet. Tonight, two couples would be sent home, but they wouldn’t know who until the elimination at the end of the episode. In the finals, three couples would compete for the trophy.
And everyone who was left in the competition could be a contender for the top spot.
Not worth thinking about. If ever there were a time to stay present, to live for the moment, it was now. Gina had no idea what repercussions the night would have on her career. She was angry, but she was also so close to the end of this ride.
Finally, it was time to take the floor. The behind-the-scenes package showed them arguing about Stone stripping during the dance.
His incr
edulous tone rang out through the ballroom. “You want to me to strip?”
“It’s called boylesque. Like burlesque, but with dudes.”
“I don’t care what it’s called. I’m not doing it.”
“Oh, come on. Please?” Her pleas were interspersed by fits of uncontrollable giggling. “Do it for the fans!”
It hurt to watch it now, to hear herself so happy and carefree. The whole time, he’d known what was coming, and he’d kept it from her.
The lights came down. They took their places.
A stage had been set up in the middle of the ballroom, a long, rectangular platform that looked like a runway. Gina stood at the end, with other female dancers lining the sides. When the music started, she did her moves, mugging for the camera. Then it panned away, and Stone hit the runway.
He came out with the swagger of a champion, like he knew every eye was on him and he loved it. Gone was the man who wouldn’t meet her eyes during tango practice, and the man who had barely said a word during their trip to New York. This Stone was strong, confident, and he owned that fucking stage.
Gina and the other women swooned at the edges, reaching for him as he hit his moves. Stone pulled Gina up, lifting her from the floor with one arm. As many times as they’d practiced, it felt easier now than it ever had. There was a glint in his eye that made her feel warm all over, aware of every inch of her skin. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Stone spun and posed, executing perfect body rolls that would make a real stripper cry tears of pride. He ran his hands over her, executing their moves in hold with a level of force and mastery that was rare for a male celeb on this show.
He was truly leading, in complete control of this dance, and of her. Even though she’d orchestrated the whole thing, she could only go along for the ride. When the time came, he pulled off his shirt. She took it and pretended to swoon, falling off the stage into the arms of Matteo and Joel.
When Stone reached the end of the stage, the music picked up. He pulled out the breakdancing moves they’d been saving since the beginning, and the audience went wild.
And then Stone ripped his undershirt down the middle.
If the audience had been screaming before, now they lost their fucking minds. Their cries reached deafening status. Stone drank it in, embodying the character like never before.
Through it all, his eyes kept finding hers.
The fire in his gaze, the naked desire—it went with the dance. It went with the character. But it was all for her. She knew that look, had seen it every time he thrust his hips and filled her.
She’d never been so turned on during a dance with literally millions of people watching.
For the rest of the dance, Stone showed off what his mama gave him. He leaped off the makeshift stage to dance with her, seducing her with his body, his hands, his eyes, and most powerfully, his ability to lead. He pulled her against him, rubbed his body on hers, spun them around, all while undulating his hips in a way that had her mouth going dry.
Natasha joined in for a few moves, she and Gina providing accompaniment to Stone, who was the real star of the show.
When they pulled off his tear-away pants, the audience lost their minds again.
He completed the dance in gold lamé hot pants and matching gold-and-white high-top sneakers. The female dancers fawned over him, and when the song ended, he shot the camera a fuck-me grin.
He’d done it perfectly. Better, in fact, than any of their rehearsals. When he hugged her against him, she let him, and handed him the new pair of gold basketball shorts that had been their deal, so he didn’t have to receive their scores while mostly naked.
He looked damn good in that gold banana hammock, though. They’d joked about him keeping it and wearing it in the bedroom for her.
She couldn’t think about that now. Well, she could, actually. She could picture it all too well. But it wasn’t enough.
Already, her brain pushed away the discomfort of what had happened earlier. Already, she tried to convince herself this was normal.
It wasn’t. For once, she wanted more from a man than just a casual physical relationship. She’d put her heart on the line, knowing he was leaving, knowing men ruined careers. As soon as the cameras stopped rolling tonight, she’d have to face the consequences.
Backstage with Reggie, their scores appeared on screen. Ninety-seven. Dimitri was the only one who hadn’t given them a hundred.
“We’ll take it,” Gina said. “We’ve worked hard on these dances, and we just hope we can show everyone what we have planned for next week.”
While Reggie fed the camera the voting info, Gina and Stone moved off camera.
The others fell on them with congratulations, but Gina wasn’t in the mood for it. They’d all seen the footage. They all knew she and Stone were hooking up. It was her worst nightmare come true.
She could handle the good-natured teasing from her coworkers, but would anyone else in the industry take her seriously after this? The producers, the execs, future casting directors . . . It was the kind of thing that caused drama on set. Would they respect her now that they knew she’d gotten involved with her partner?
And the timing sucked. Even if they didn’t make it to the finals, Stone still had to stick around Los Angeles for the last episode, and after that, he’d be gone. They’d been exposed just in time for them to break up.
Lauren D’Angelo sidled up to her. “I knew you were fucking him,” she whispered in Gina’s ear. With a wink and a sly smirk, she slipped away. Gina’s blood boiled in response.
“Don’t listen to her.” Natasha stood at Gina’s side, ready to do battle. “That girl is jealous and you know it.”
Even though she didn’t want to, Gina sought out Stone in the crowd and found him chatting with Jackson and Alan. Lauren’s comment had pissed her off, but it also left a strange, sour residue. “I feel sick,” she confessed to Natasha.
“It’s stress.” Natasha rubbed her back. “Only one more week, then this is all done.”
“I kinda want to hide until the show is over.”
“I’ll go with you. Well, until Alan’s second dance. I’m in the opening bit.”
Before long, it was time to return to the stage for the elimination.
Stone gave her a look that managed to be both wary and full of heat. Gina’s twisted up emotions couldn’t take it. She swallowed hard and looked away.
They took their places on the stage with the four other remaining couples—Jackson and Lori, Lauren and Kevin, Alan and Rhianne, and Farrah and Danny.
Juan Carlos talked. Gina tuned most of it out.
Lauren and Kevin were safe. Ugh.
Jackson and Lori were safe. Good for them. Jackson was a great dancer, and Lori’s choreography pushed the boundaries of ballroom into performance art.
It was down to the three celebrities: Stone, Farrah, and Alan.
Gina held her breath. From his spot behind her, Stone wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head.
How could his touch make her feel so secure when he’d betrayed her like this? And why did her stupid heart yearn to wiggle even closer into his embrace? If anything, she should pull away. There was only one week left. Better to start the separation process now.
“The last couple who will be going to the finals is . . .”
Juan Carlos paused. Drew it out. The tension built while the low, percussive music played.
“Stone and Gina!”
Stone whooped and spun her around, lifting her into his arms. Gina clung to his neck and burst into tears.
Everything was fucked up and confusing and she shouldn’t be hugging him but damn it she was going to the finals! For the first time ever! And her job was safe!
That thought pulled her back a step. Her job, here at The Dance Off, with a producer who pushed her at every turn and went behind her back to dig up dirt and air it on TV. Hell, they’d done it to Stone, too, airing an interview with his ex in the third episode.
She slapped a lid on her compassion. The interview with his ex-girlfriend was all the more reason for him to have told Gina what he’d known. He’d experienced the betrayal and humiliation firsthand, and he still let it be done to her.
All night, she’d kept it in. And now, with the knowledge that they were safe, that they would dance another day, she lost it. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and her chest heaved.
Stone put her down but didn’t let go.
“God, Gina, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. Donna said—”
“Shut up,” she whispered. “Don’t do this here.”
Hiding in his embrace, she wiped the tears from her face before turning around. She headed straight backstage, skipping the portion of the night where she took selfies with the fans. She wanted to get out of this costume, wash her face, get the fake hair off her head, and sink into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Except Donna was waiting for her backstage, wearing a self-satisfied smirk.
Gina wanted to strangle her, but there were cameras everywhere.
“Gina, I have someone who wants to meet you.” Donna gestured to the man next to her. He was Latino, with a slight build and salt-and-pepper hair. “This is Hector Oquendo.”
Hector gave Gina a big smile and shook her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Gina.”
With a nod, Donna backed away and disappeared. Coward. Stone stayed by Gina’s side.
“Thank you,” Gina said. She’d never heard of a Hector Oquendo. Should she know him? “Were you in the audience tonight?”
“I was. You two were fantastic.” He extended his grin to Stone. “I was waiting to see if you were going on to the finals before I gave you the invitation.”
Gina frowned. “For?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m so amped up after the show—and a bit jetlagged, I’ll admit—I forgot to tell you who I am.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her his card. “I’m the producer for Bronx Girl, the autobiographical Broadway musical by Meli Mendez. We want you to come to New York and audition for the lead role.”