The Swan and The Sergeant - Alana Albertson Page 0,14
free time playing video games and throwing eggs at houses, I was dancing, that was when I’d learned what it was to be a target.
Fag. Sissy. Girl. The taunts had never let up. But I’d been willing to endure the teasing.
For Selena.
After she left me, I’d turned all my focus to the Corps. I became a different man. And that man had vowed never to step on the dance floor again.
On the other hand, that man now had a plan. One season of this show and I’d get the money I needed to fulfill a promise to my best friend—a man who saved my life. It seemed like a small sacrifice.
“The Cha-Cha-Cha. Thank you, competitors.”
Dima presented Selena to the audience and judges. The crowd exploded.
“Who’s your favorite couple out there, ladies and gentlemen?”
“Couple 187!” someone yelled.
I couldn’t resist. I whistled. “Selena!”
“And places for your next dance. Ladies and gentlemen, samba, please.”
It had only begun, but Selena was on fire.
***
AN HOUR LATER, all the competitors were lined up in the on-deck area. They’d run through the samba, rumba, paso doble, and jive.
“And the results of the Closed Professional International Latin Dancesport Championship are as follows: Ladies and gentlemen, our runners-up. Placing second in cha-cha, third in samba, second in rumba, second in paso doble, and second in jive—from California, couple 201, Jared Brooks and Viktoria Volkova Brooks.”
Jared kissed his stepmother on the cheek, and she giggled. Thank god when my own father had remarried, his new wife wasn’t as young and sexy as Vika.
“And ladies and gentlemen, placing first in all dances, your Closed Professional United States International Latin Champions—from California, couple 187, Dmitri Volkov and Selena Martinez.”
Selena jumped up and down and kissed Dima on the lips.
An ache twisted in my stomach.
And it wasn’t just jealousy. Dima had been our coach when we were kids. He was ten years older than us, which didn’t seem like a big deal now that we were in our late twenties but had been a big deal when we were in our tweens. I idolized that motherfucker.
Then he stole my girl.
Spinning four times, they bowed and thanked the crowd. Selena took her place for the event photo. The competition organizer handed her a dozen red roses and their check for the prize.
The night winded down quickly as the spectators milled around the ballroom, saying their goodbyes. The judges vacated their posts. Reporters wandered the room, searching for any available dancers.
I made my way over to the floor.
Wrapping herself in a robe, Selena withdrew from the crowd, Benny following her.
I gazed at Selena and finished my beer. Dima posed for pictures, which was fine by me. I didn’t know what I would say to Dima when we finally met again.
I would probably deck him.
Breathe, Bret.
“Congrats, Sel. I’m glad I came to watch.”
Selena beamed, still short of breath. “Thanks, Bret.” She leaned forward, planting a light kiss on my cheek.
She was sweaty, and her hair was wild. I grinned, looking down, not wanting her to see my face. I’d always liked her like this.
Benny pushed in between us. “Well, I hate to cut this rip-snorter of a party short, but we’ve just confirmed your assignments. Your celebrity partners want to meet tomorrow. Sorry for the short notice, but this show business thing is highly unpredictable, isn’t it?” He opened his jacket and handed some papers to Selena and me.
“San Francisco?” Selena asked, looking up at me.
“Marin, actually. You and Bret are paired with a bloke and his Sheila. I can’t tell you their names, but they’re icons.”
Marin, of course. Benny was sending us to our hometown, where we’d fallen in love so many years ago.
Selena shook her head. “We start tomorrow? I only packed for the competition.”
“Sorry, luv. We just got word that they have to start training early because they both have a charity commitment and need to take the following week off when you were supposed to start. They’re expecting you both tomorrow evening.”
Selena stood there, blotting her head with a towel, the self-tanner staining the fabric. “But there’s no flight assignments, just an address. What time is our flight?”
Benny gave a big grin, his gray eyebrow inching up like a worm. Fuck, I knew that look from years ago.
“Well, Selena. That’s a great question. You’ll be gobsmacked. Bret, Selena, please step outside.”
I took a deep breath. I was used to Benny’s games but didn’t have a clue what he was planning.
Benny signaled to the film crew and led us outside of the hotel.
The