he’s across the room or standing right in front of me. I’ve never felt this pull, this connection before. It’s exciting and terrifying all at the same time. There are so many unanswered questions, and no real way to get the answers. He’s my coach. That’s it. End of story.
But that still doesn’t explain why I suddenly feel the need to explore this attraction, because that look he sent me will forever haunt my dreams. It isn’t one-sided.
I just wish I knew what all of this meant.
*****
Saturday night brings a five-dollar cover charge at a club in Hollywood. Several of us gathered after dinner and made plans for the evening. In addition to Troy, Corie, and Ben, three other contestants are with us at Club Z; all ready to let our hair down.
Earlier today I had my first appointment with the stylist. The fact that she’s leaving my outfits alone and doesn’t seem to want to change them is a huge relief. I don’t know what I would have done if she would have wanted to turn me into some country belle like the others on Team Beau. That’s not me.
Zara is actually considering adding a strip of color to my hair before the first live show, which will probably make Mom happy. She wrote it down in her notebook with all of her other notes and measurements and will take it all into consideration before our meeting tomorrow afternoon where I’ll receive the outfits I was fitted for.
“What do you want to drink?” Troy asks as he uses his large body to protect me from the mass of people all pushing their way towards the expansive bar.
“Jack and Coke,” I tell him with a grin.
Even though this isn’t the type of place I frequent back in Chicago, I felt at home instantly when I stepped over the threshold. It’s still early enough that there wasn’t a line outside. Guys and girls are shoulder to shoulder everywhere you look, though. The dance floor is half full with sweaty bodies moving to the beat of the hip-hop music. My body instantly starts to move.
“Come on,” Corie yells in my ear. “There’s a table over there we can grab while they get the drinks.”
I follow the petite little thing as she pushes her way through the crowd. Elbows fly and toes are trampled, but we finally emerge victorious on the other side of the room and claim the small table with four chairs as our own.
Ten minutes later, the guys and a few of the others make their way to our table. Ben instantly sits next to me as he places my drink on the table. He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. I try to scoot my chair backwards a few inches to keep him from completely invading my personal space, but I end up hitting the chair of the guy behind me. These tables weren’t placed here with comfort in mind.
“Do you want to dance?” Ben asks, drawing my eyes away from the dance floor.
“What?” I ask, completely pretending like I didn’t hear his question over the loud thumping of the music.
“Dance. Do you want to dance? You’ve been watching the dance floor since we got here,” he yells and leans in even closer. His breath tickles my ear as he all but rubs his nose against the shell of my ear.
“Oh, no thank you.”
“Come on, Layne,” he says as he stands up, takes my hand in his, and leads me towards the dance floor.
When we get there, Ben finds us a small sliver of dance floor real estate and pulls me in close. The song is upbeat with lots of bass that vibrates the entire room, and even though I try not to, I find myself completely lost in the music. I’ve always loved to dance, but there’s something about being able to let loose after a stressful week that makes tonight so much more enjoyable.
I don’t even feel Ben’s hands on my hips at the end of the song when the upbeat number quickly fades into a slow number. I tense as he draws me into his arms, pulling my body flush against his. I hold my breath for several seconds as I contemplate what to do next. I could excuse myself,
But that still doesn’t explain why I suddenly feel the need to explore this attraction, because that look he sent me will forever haunt my dreams. It isn’t one-sided.
I just wish I knew what all of this meant.
*****
Saturday night brings a five-dollar cover charge at a club in Hollywood. Several of us gathered after dinner and made plans for the evening. In addition to Troy, Corie, and Ben, three other contestants are with us at Club Z; all ready to let our hair down.
Earlier today I had my first appointment with the stylist. The fact that she’s leaving my outfits alone and doesn’t seem to want to change them is a huge relief. I don’t know what I would have done if she would have wanted to turn me into some country belle like the others on Team Beau. That’s not me.
Zara is actually considering adding a strip of color to my hair before the first live show, which will probably make Mom happy. She wrote it down in her notebook with all of her other notes and measurements and will take it all into consideration before our meeting tomorrow afternoon where I’ll receive the outfits I was fitted for.
“What do you want to drink?” Troy asks as he uses his large body to protect me from the mass of people all pushing their way towards the expansive bar.
“Jack and Coke,” I tell him with a grin.
Even though this isn’t the type of place I frequent back in Chicago, I felt at home instantly when I stepped over the threshold. It’s still early enough that there wasn’t a line outside. Guys and girls are shoulder to shoulder everywhere you look, though. The dance floor is half full with sweaty bodies moving to the beat of the hip-hop music. My body instantly starts to move.
“Come on,” Corie yells in my ear. “There’s a table over there we can grab while they get the drinks.”
I follow the petite little thing as she pushes her way through the crowd. Elbows fly and toes are trampled, but we finally emerge victorious on the other side of the room and claim the small table with four chairs as our own.
Ten minutes later, the guys and a few of the others make their way to our table. Ben instantly sits next to me as he places my drink on the table. He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. I try to scoot my chair backwards a few inches to keep him from completely invading my personal space, but I end up hitting the chair of the guy behind me. These tables weren’t placed here with comfort in mind.
“Do you want to dance?” Ben asks, drawing my eyes away from the dance floor.
“What?” I ask, completely pretending like I didn’t hear his question over the loud thumping of the music.
“Dance. Do you want to dance? You’ve been watching the dance floor since we got here,” he yells and leans in even closer. His breath tickles my ear as he all but rubs his nose against the shell of my ear.
“Oh, no thank you.”
“Come on, Layne,” he says as he stands up, takes my hand in his, and leads me towards the dance floor.
When we get there, Ben finds us a small sliver of dance floor real estate and pulls me in close. The song is upbeat with lots of bass that vibrates the entire room, and even though I try not to, I find myself completely lost in the music. I’ve always loved to dance, but there’s something about being able to let loose after a stressful week that makes tonight so much more enjoyable.
I don’t even feel Ben’s hands on my hips at the end of the song when the upbeat number quickly fades into a slow number. I tense as he draws me into his arms, pulling my body flush against his. I hold my breath for several seconds as I contemplate what to do next. I could excuse myself,
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