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 competing 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 magazine 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 Marin.
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 resting 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 l
ead 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 figured 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?”
He looked away from Selena. “I almost got married, but she cheated on me while I was deployed.”
“It’s her loss, Bret.” She didn’t know what else to say. After all these years, Selena had hoped Bret had found the family life he had always wanted, that she couldn’t give him. At least that’s what she told herself. To hear that Bret was still alone and had given up hope made her sad.
“It’s fine. I don’t want to get married. Not until I get out of the Corps. I’ve seen so many divorces and many of my buddies’ wives cheat on them while they were deployed. Broken families. Kids never see their dads. Plus even if I found a great woman, what if I died over there like Pierce did? I’d leave a young widow and my kids without a father.”
“You can’t live your life like that. What happened to your friend was awful and I feel so sorry for his family. But that doesn’t mean the same fate would await you.”
The truck accelerated, nothing drastic but enough for Selena’s water to spill. Banjo jostled in the back.
After a few songs in silence, Bret relaxed into his seat. “So where do you live? Some gated Beverly Hills mansion? Are there going to be paparazzi waiting for us?”
“Why? Hoping for the cover of People?”
“No. I just don’t want the Marine Corps to charge me with adultery, with your deep commitment to Dima and all.”
“I told you we aren’t together, Bret.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Sharing a room, kiss on the floor, huge diamond ring.”
The red brake lights blinded her and she was too tired to focus on anything. “It’s not like that and you know it. You know how ballroom partnerships are. A kiss on the floor means nothing, it’s just acting. We book a room together because it’s easier to keep all our costumes together. Most times, he ends up crashing at another one of the dancer’s rooms anyway. And I already explained to you about the ring.”
“Well don’t you have an excuse for everything.”
Her jaw shook. She hated being on the Los Angeles freeways. Especially at night.
“Anyway, soldier boy, no, there won’t be any paparazzi. It’s not like we go around ringing them up and saying, hey, come over, I’ll give you a good shot. Jesus, Bret, not everyone on the show is some shallow fame whore. Some of us actually do it because we want to dance.”
“First off—Marines aren’t soldiers. Marines are Marines or warriors. Army has soldiers.”
Selena laughed. Bret was so uptight. “Sorry, Marine.”
She gave him the address and Bret plugged it into his navigation system. Selena’s gaze zeroed-in on his large hands, bulging veins, and confident hold on the steering wheel. A fleeting thought entered her sleepy mind, blowing past her consciousness and leaving a trail of even more questions. Like what it might be like to feel those hands touching her bare skin. Warmth climbed up her neck, and she shook the thought away, scolding herself. As much as she was attracted to his amazing body, masculine scent, and deep voice, she had to remind herself that Bret’s reappearance into her life would only be brief. Besides, all he did was give her a hard
time about her life. He infuriated her. Drove her completely crazy.
And if she allowed herself to get used to him being around, then she’d have to learn to live without him.
Again.
Foxtrot
The jazzy beat made her body tingle. He reached for her hand. They glided across the floor, weaving between the other dancers. The music began to crescendo. Their bodies rose and fell together, in synch with the music. The intensity between them built. She shimmied her shoulders toward him. He embraced her from behind. She escaped from his arms on the spot, and then staggered away. The chase was on.
Chapter Seven
Bret maneuvered his brand new truck up the winding Hollywood Hills. Towering trees framed the street and it was difficult to focus on the road. Being this close to Selena unnerved him. Despite the fact that she drove him absolutely crazy with her spoiled and selfish outlook on the world, she looked and smelled incredible. He tried to keep his mind on the road and not think about kissing her neck, tasting her lips, and caressing her body.
“It’s the next driveway. Just enter Code 0114 in the keypad.”
Bret eyed Selena. January fourteenth was the anniversary of the day he and Selena won Nationals. Did Dima know the significance of Selena’s password?
Selena seemed to understand his questioning look. “Don’t get all weird on me. It was just the first major competition I, I mean we, ever won. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Whatever, Sel.”
Bret turned into the driveway and pressed the numbers into the black alarm pad. A huge gate opened and Bret drove to the front of Selena’s house. It was less extravagant than Bret had expected; just an old Spanish-style bungalow with talavera tiles framing the entrance, not some sprawling Hollywood mansion.
Selena took the keys out of her purse and opened the door. “It’s super late and I’m beat. Are you sure you don’t want to crash here tonight? We can leave as early as you want tomorrow morning.”
Love Waltzes In (Dancing Under The Stars) Page 5