Three Guilty Pleasures (Blindfold Club 6)

I’d incorporated him into the routine, often mimicking the long, elastic slide of his bow, or the short bursts of staccato notes. I danced with a fire inside me, letting it pour from my limbs. It lengthened my lines, helped me reach new height on my leaps, and made my turns tight and perfectly balanced.

I prayed at least a fraction of the passion I felt showed through in my expression. The lyrics weren’t heard in this version, but I spoke them with my body. Today, I’d live like tomorrow didn’t exist, and danced as if it were my last time—

Because it could be.

There was a tricky combo I’d put in. A roll to the floor where I gathered momentum and then burst up into a huge split leap, and as I exploded off the floor, I heard cheers from the audience. It only made me soar higher on my next jump.

Grant’s cello wasn’t on a mic, but the music was so powerful it filled the house and demanded the audience’s attention. They watched as I traveled the stage, whirling around to give the impression of swinging on a chandelier.

The lights were hot and blinding, and I couldn’t see beyond the judges, who I only got flashes of, anyway. My choreography made use of the large stage. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck, but as we approached the two-minute mark, my energy grew. It had to be the same for Grant. I could feel the excitement leaping off his strings. It vibrated in my bones like a struck tuning fork.

I’d saved a complicated series of pirouettes for the end, hoping by that point the judges had seen enough to green light me to New York and I wouldn’t have to perform them, but now I was glad. I planted my standing leg, prepared, and then lifted into the rotation.

It was the greatest set of pirouettes I’d ever executed. I whipped my head around while spotting my turns, and as I opened out into à la seconde, my working leg was perfectly parallel to the floor.

Turns with an extended leg were much harder, but my center of balance never wavered. The crowd’s appreciative murmur swelled into a roar as I continued to turn.

And turn.

And turn.

I finished into fourth position, and only rested for a single breath before moving on to the final sequence. My toes beat so softly against the floor, I wanted it to look like I was floating across the stage. My thighs and calves burned from the exertion, but I pushed through. And when I arrived besi

de Grant, I softened and slid down to my knees, lowering the intensity of my movements.

The song was winding down, and his cello went from bright to mournful in one measure. I’d given everything to the routine, and it had taken all of it. Blood rushed so loudly in my ears, I could hardly hear anything else while I finished.

I ended the routine with my body wrapped around Grant’s leg, clinging to him for life as his bow slid across the final, long note.

On the balcony, people were on their feet. There were whistles and shouts punctuating the steady sound of applause, and I stared at the audience, awestruck. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and looked to Grant for confirmation. His stunned expression had to mirror mine.

The judges had remained in their seats, but Hugh waved a hand, signaling for me to come up to the front. As a staffer brought out the microphone stand and placed it before the panel, Grant stood and offered a hand, helping me up onto my shaky legs. I wasn’t just tired, I was overwhelmed. I wanted to remember this moment for the rest of my life, standing on stage, my hand in his, as the audience cheered for us.

But I couldn’t stay there forever. Grant nudged me forward, a brilliant smile spread wide on his face.

“Holy Toledo,” Rita said before Hugh could get a word in. She used a piece of paper to fan herself. “You were on fire. I mean—Lordy, that was something.”

“It was something.” Hugh echoed her. “And that something was . . . ‘wow.’ It was just fabulous to watch.”

I hadn’t caught my breath, and how the hell was I going to now? I gasped it out, pressing a hand to my chest, like I could somehow stop it from heaving. “Thank you.”

“Stunning,” Rita said, nodding. “It was thrilling, and I enjoyed the hell out of it. Everything from that insane first jump you did, to this hot cello guy you got to put your hands all over. I mean, I can’t blame you.”

The crowd giggled and gave me another moment to breathe.

Shonda leaned toward her microphone. “Who choreographed the piece?”

Her expression was unreadable. It wasn’t clear if she liked it or hated it. I swallowed hard. “I did.”

“The way you moved and transitioned, it was so unexpected.” She stared at me, her eyes intense, but excited. “I adored it. The concept and the execution. Was it your idea to stage him in the center?” When I nodded, she added, “Smart. You used him to your advantage. I don’t think I would have had such the positive reaction I did if he’d been off to the side.”

Hugh glanced down to the other end of the panel. “Michael, what did you think?”

He might as well have asked Michael how he liked them apples, because his expression was that smug.

Michael gave a soft smile. “I will be honest, I don’t remember you auditioning for me before. But, after today, I absolutely will. You danced with such passion, and your leg work was outstanding. Bravo.” He turned his attention to Hugh. “To answer your question, I thought this was something truly special.”

“Well, then,” Hugh said, “should we go ahead and—”