The Stranger (Blitzed Book 1)

by JJ Knight

  As soon as we’re alone and have enough garlands and white Chrismons around us to be respectable, Mindy pulls out her phone.

  I hold up my hand. “I’m not sure I want to see anything,” I say. “Those clips you sent before were plenty.”

  She sets it down. “But he got his show back.”

  I open a new box and start untangling a string of lights. “During the contract meeting on Monday?” I ask.

  “So he has been writing you!” She shoves at me. “Why haven’t you written me back?”

  “I took the phone out one time to check on him. Once I saw the clips, I had to stop.”

  Mindy frowns. “Well, the live finale is scheduled for December. He is choosing the winner during it.”

  I shrug. I figured that would be the case. “He didn’t think he would propose,” I say. “Just be a dance partner.”

  “So there’s still a chance for you two?”

  I shake my head. “He’s in LA now. I am here. It’s done.”

  Mindy sets her phone down. “Are you okay, Livia? This is tough stuff.”

  “We didn’t get anywhere,” I tell her. When she looks crushed, I manage a smile. “I’ll never be able to find out if they sleep with him because of who he is or if he’s any good.”

  Mindy opens a box and pulls out a plastic Baby Jesus. She holds him up and shakes him as if he is talking when she says, “Good thing, since I was watching the whole time!”

  I pull out the Virgin Mary. “Go to sleep, Baby Jesus! It’s past your bedtime.”

  We dissolve into laughter.

  And just like that, we’re back to who we used to be. Two sheltered girls being silly, trying to make the best of our situation.

  Blitz is in the past.

  ~*´♥`*~

  I head up to the academy early on Tuesday so I can get in some ballet practice before Gabriella’s class. Danika said my assessment would be sometime this week. I’ve done stretches and strengthening at home, but now I need to be at the barre.

  It’s a little surreal walking into Dreamcatcher, almost as if Blitz could be here somewhere. He became such a fixture in the weeks he was here. I can’t help myself, but instead of going directly to dance, I pass the empty studios and head into the storage room.

  The ghostly racks and supply shelves are no different. I pick up the top hat he wore and place it on my head. I run my hand down the wall where he kissed me. This is hard. As hard as anything I’ve done other than letting go of Gabriella.

  But I still have her. She’s here. And she’s why I won’t go away to college. Why I’ll stay.

  I set the hat back on the shelf and head to a studio. If there is anything that can get me out of my melancholy, it’s dance.

  I avoid Studio 4 where I always met Blitz and choose Studio 2 instead. The room is bright and colorful. I run through my exercises and imagine what it will feel like to relevé in a toe shoe, extending higher than I ever have before.

  Danika pops in and gives me a few pointers, lifting my back leg and squeezing along my calves. We roll my feet over and over, and she leaves me to do it more, as that will be the first motion I take in the new shoes, if I pass.

  She leaves the door open, so I hear the rumble of students arriving before the lights even flicker for the transition. I pick up my string bag and head to Studio 3 for our class.

  The girls are chatty and excited, seeing each other for the first time since the video came out. They circle around each other.

  “Where’s Benjamin?” Daisy asks when I enter.

  I don’t have the heart to tell them he’s gone for good, so I leave it to Janel to break the news. They sit glumly for a while, so Janel passes out the ribbon sticks, a tactic that gets any group of kids excited and happy.

  We circle the room in a conga line, me helping push the girls who can’t easily move with only one hand. It’s funny and awkward with me and Janel racing between chairs, and before long the girls are cheerful and ready to work.

  If only I could soak in some of their joy.

  I roll up the ribbon sticks while they run through the recital, remembering when I did this with Blitz, the day he taught me to waltz. I’m having the worst time today, unable to think about anything but him. The hardest part is knowing I can relent. I can pick up the phone he gave me and text him. I’d still be in his life. It’s just so little. And he has so much going on. All those women.

  At some point in my life I want to have more than just scraps.

  The class finally ends and the girls head out with their mothers. I watch Gabriella with Gwen. If my baby had to have another mother, I’m glad it is her. She cares. She is careful. She pays attention.

  Apparently a cold front has blown in while we were in class, so the moms wrap the girls in jackets and blankets, anything they have in the car. It will be a cold walk home for me in my leotard. Maybe I’ll run.

  I change shoes and cross the foyer. Every space has an image of Blitz associated with it. I decide that I’ll write him one last time, after my assessment when I earn my toe shoes. He’ll be happy about that. Contacting him will be my reward.

  Thinking about this gives me a bit of joy to hold on to as the frigid air hits me outside the academy. The temperature has dropped at least twenty degrees and the wind feels icy.

  I hurry along the sidewalk, my arms wrapped tightly around my body. Good Lord, it’s cold.

  By the time I get to the park, my nose is running. I pray I don’t get sick. We’ll have to delay my pointe assessment if I do.

  My head is down, so I don’t notice the red car until I’m right beside it.

  I stop short.

  It’s a Ferrari.

  I peer in the window. The inside is empty.

  A heavy wool coat comes around me, and I whirl around.

  It’s Blitz.

  I’m so happy to see him that I almost lose the coat as I throw my arms around him. He draws it around both of us, holding me tightly against his warm body.

  “Just like a princess to run around expecting people to bring you a coat,” he says.

  I can’t even speak. I just press my face into his shoulder, trying not to weep. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here. Everything I’ve just promised myself about not settling dissolves in the light of his actual presence.

  “Let’s get you in the car,” he says. “Can you spare a little time without getting in trouble?”

  I nod. We walk together to the car and he opens the door. “Keep the coat on,” he says. “Texas weather sure does change on a dime.”

  The car is still clean. There’s a fresh McDonald’s cup in the console, which makes me smile.

  Blitz gets in. He’s wearing jeans and a deep green sweater that makes his hair seem black as night. I can’t do anything more than take him in.

  “I knew you’d be walking this way after the dance class,” he says. “I could only hope you hadn’t gotten so stuck that your parents didn’t allow you to go anymore. Did they take your phone? I’ve been writing you and writing you.”

  I don’t know what to say. That I got the messages and didn’t respond? That it was pointless?

  A woman and her dog pass by, and I startle, petrified it will be my mother trying to bring me a coat. It could happen. “Let’s get away from here,” I say. I’ve gotten good at lying again. I’ll figure a way out of it if she goes to Dreamcatcher and I’m not there.

  He starts the car with a low rumble of the engine. In seconds, we’re far enough away that I don’t have to worry about being seen. “Pull over here,” I say, pointing to the parking lot of a bank. It’s hidden by a tall hedge.

  Blitz parks the car in the corner and reaches over to unbuckle my belt. He takes me in his arms again, holding me tightly, as if he can’t believe I’m really there.

  I understand the feeling. “You came back,” I say.

  “Of course I did,” he says. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”

  My stomach falls. “Are you now?”

  He pulls a
way a little so he can look into my eyes. His are deep, dark brown, and full of concern. “Of course not. I flew back to find you again. I’ve been so worried. That you got caught. That your parents flipped out.”

  I shake my head. “They don’t know about you still.”

  “Do you still have your phone?”

  I nod slowly. “I just couldn’t answer. I saw the video with that girl. Giselle.”

  “God,” he says. “That was so screwed up.”

  “I know,” I tell him. “And I know that wasn’t your doing. But then I saw some of the others. And you were so happy.”

  He stiffens, and I press my palm to his cheek. “You were!” I say. “I saw it myself. You are back in your world. It’s what you wanted.”

  “No,” he says, his voice low and hard. “I don’t want it at the cost of you.”

  My heart sings at this, but I’m not sure I can believe it. It seems impossible.

  “Blitz,” I say. “We’ve known each other, what, three weeks?”

  “Are you saying you don’t feel this?” His voice catches at the end, and my heart squeezes.

  “I do, Blitz, I really do.” I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. “I just see that you love that life. And I can’t do it with you.”

  He closes his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What would you like me to do? Meet your parents? Whisk you away to LA? Break my contract and quit the show?”

  I hesitate. Something must be really wrong for him to want to throw everything away. “None of those,” I say. “Let’s just be for a minute.”

  He pulls me back against him and I sink into the feeling of his arms around me, the smell of his hair, the soft tickle of the bristle on his cheek against my forehead.

  A cold splat of rain hits the windshield, then another. Soon it’s pelting down, bits of ice mixed in. My mother will panic and try to come for me. I know it.

  “I have to go home,” I say to him. “Meet me back at the park tonight. I’ll text you. Probably after ten, maybe eleven.”

  He kisses my hair. “Okay. I’ll be there. Can you write to me in the meantime?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’ll charge the phone.”

  He pulls away from me and starts the car. We drive through the deluge. I have him drop me off as close to home as I dare and make a run for the door.

  Inside, Mom is just putting her coat on to come fetch me. She’s pulled out some towels. I let her dry my hair, thinking, plotting, wondering what I’ll do to get away tonight to see Blitz.

  Chapter 25

  Part one of my escape plot is to feed my family into sleep oblivion. Chicken pot pie is everyone’s favorite, and they will all eat it until they can’t move. I volunteer for kitchen duty and slice celery and onion, chicken and potatoes, adding peas and carrots, and putting the monstrous pie in the oven.

  For dessert I make chocolate cake from scratch with a thick creamy layer of frosting.

  I texted Blitz the moment I changed clothes from the rain, and throughout the day I’ve caught up on all the messages he sent while I wasn’t checking. I can see his mixed emotions in them, ranging from elation to regret. I guess even reality TV stars are allowed to have moments of doubt.

  At dinner, I encourage seconds and large helpings. I handle the dishes afterward too, keeping everyone sluggish. I make coffee, but it’s decaf, and by the time Andy goes to bed at eight, my parents are making comments about an early night as well.

  I stretch and agree, heading to the bathroom to change into pajamas.

  I pick up a novel, a parent-approved story about a Quaker family, and say good night to everyone. I turn out the overhead light and keep on only a small lamp.

  And listen.

  Water running. Doors closing. Murmurs. Then quiet.

  The phone is charged so I keep it tucked under a pillow. Wherever Blitz is, he’s obviously not distracted as he responds to every message within seconds.

  Around ten, I carefully crack open my door. The house is dark. I close it again and change clothes. I know what I want tonight from Blitz. I slide on a sweater without a bra. And a skirt. No panties. The feel of the rough fabric against my skin is sensual and I shiver. I send him a quick text that I’m heading out.

  I hold my shoes in my hand. My hair isn’t fancy, just up in a ponytail. I’ll pull it down at the last minute. I grab my puffy red coat off the back of a chair. I tuck the phone in a pocket.

  The hall is dark and silent. I close my door and creep to the living room. I’m afraid the front door is too close to my parents’ bedroom wall, so I head to the kitchen and go out the back. We don’t have a garage, just a covered carport that holds Mom’s sagging minivan and Dad’s rusting old Pontiac.

  The cold hits me in an icy blow. I still manage to turn and close the door carefully. At this point I just have to run. If I’ve been heard, I want to at least get away.

  I shove my shoes on my frozen feet and take off across the yard. God, it’s cold. We don’t get weather like this very often in San Antonio.

  The street is quiet as I run down the sidewalk to the park. At least it isn’t raining anymore.

  I haven’t gone far when I see the red Ferrari slowly inching down the street. I pull out the ponytail holder and shove it in my pocket. My hair streams behind me. By the time I reach the car, Blitz has opened the side door for me.

  “Oh, Princess, it’s way too cold for royalty to be out in this weather,” he says.

  I slam the door closed, sucking in a breath. “I’m fine,” I say, my teeth chattering from both the chill and the anxiety of my escape.

  Blitz cranks the heater and it blows fiery bliss onto my feet.

  “Is it okay if we go to my hotel, or is that too much?” he asks.

  “That sounds perfect,” I say. I had hoped that would be the case, not his family’s house or some public place. I’m done with that.

  I finally warm up enough to take in where I am and what I’ve done. Blitz peers out onto the street as we take off. The fog makes visibility low. The lamps over each intersection have a hazy glow. You can’t see much past each traffic light.

  “Spooky,” I say.

  “It’s like we’re driving into oblivion,” he says.

  Maybe we are.

  He reaches over for my hand. “I’m very close, just at the interstate. I didn’t want to be far from you.”

  My heart hammers. “Does your family know you’re in town?”

  “I didn’t tell them, but I think my mom follows the Blitz sightings hashtag. She says it’s nice to know where her boy is.”

  “Have you been spotted here?”

  “Not that I can tell.”

  “If she follows you, then she saw the Tweet?”

  His lips pinch together. “Yeah. Hers was the only call I took the next day.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That I would get through this.”

  “And your dad?”

  He laughs, a bitter sound that startles me. I’ve never heard Blitz sound that way. “He thought it was a riot. He’s never been fond of my dancing. He’s one of those ‘men should be men’ sort of fathers.”

  “I remember you saying he didn’t allow you to take ballet.”

  “Yep. Good ol’ Dad. I swear half the time I say something disgusting on the show, it’s a phrase I learned from him.”

  “But he’s proud of you now, right?”

  We pause at a red light. “I guess. He definitely approves of my carousing. He always asks ridiculous questions about…” He falters. “Stuff he doesn’t need to know.”

  I can imagine. “Well, you could tell him my bra size, but I’m not currently wearing one.”

  He sucks in a breath. “Princess, you’re tempting me sorely, and my intentions are strictly honorable tonight.”

  They are? I press my knees together. Why is it I wear panties when we’re being crazy, and I skip them when he’s being a gentleman? I need an instruction manual for torrid relationships.

  For the uni
nitiated, Blitz Craven is a crash course in sexy.

  We pull up in front of a towering hotel. A man in a uniform dashes out and opens my door. “Come inside, Miss,” he says.

  Another man heads around to the driver’s seat.

  I’m escorted into a posh lobby, warm and cozy, the lights dimmed for evening. The man heads back to the doors as Blitz makes it inside. I can finally take him in, the long gray wool coat he wrapped me in earlier, black jeans, a thick corded sweater in steel blue.

  He takes my hand as we cross the lobby to the elevator bank.

  “Just so you know, I didn’t book the room we’re about to go to,” he says. “I tried to pick something ordinary, but the staff upgraded me anyway. For my privacy, allegedly. Probably they are worried I’ll throw a party.”

  He takes me to an elevator away from the grouping in the center. Blitz extracts a card from his pocket and passes it in front of a sensor. The elevator doors open smoothly.

  “You need a special pass to ride this one?” I ask. I haven’t been in a hotel in years, since the time before. And even then, they were always motels with stairs on the outside of the building.

  “Keeps out the riffraff,” Blitz says as we go inside. “Or perhaps in my case, prevents access to the riffraff.”

  There are no buttons, and a display screen reads “Good evening, Mr. Craven.”

  “How does it know?” I ask. I’m like a child in a toy store, looking around. The back of the elevator is glass and provides a view of the atrium.

  “The card tells it,” he says. “So it knows what room to send you to.”

  “What if you want to go somewhere else?” I ask.

  He laughs. “I don’t know, actually. Maybe nobody ever does.”

  I punch at the screen. A menu comes up. One of the choices is “Override destination.” I hit it. The elevator smoothly glides to a stop.

  “There you go,” Blitz says.

  A list of rooms comes up, all with names like Presidential Suite, Executive Retreat, and The Ambassador. Then the other floors of the hotel.

  I click on The Ambassador. A message pops up. “Your card is not authorized for this floor. To request access, please contact the executive desk.”