Page 23 of If Ever

"Best strategy I've heard so far." I drop my bag in the corner, still not fully awake after a late night hanging out with Anna and Will.

"You ready to work? Because I think you're going to like what I've come up with for your song."

I nod. I'm a little nervous about it, but more excited. It's a beautiful, poignant song.

"Because it's a contemporary number, we can do as many lifts as we want."

"As in you lifting me?" I imagine him straining to heft me up, and grimace. "I don't want to."

"Tough. You're going to."

"But I'm heavy, and I have no experience doing anything like that."

Dominic laughs. "First off, you're a light weight. Second, everything about this show has been a first for you, third, the viewers love lifts and tricks."

He walks me through the opening steps until I get a feel for the rhythm of the choreography. The first lift he teaches me, I struggle, all gawky arms and legs.

"Good first try, but you're like a monkey trying to cling to my back. Relax. I will never let you fall. Try it again."

I do, and it's better, but it's strange being so close, usually it's just our hands touching each other, but this is full-body contact. I'm wearing my practice clothes, which are black dance shorts, along with a cute, strappy top. I mess up and slide off his shoulder, accidentally kicking him in the groin.

Dominic drops to the floor like a turtle retracting into its shell.

"I am so sorry!" I cry.

"It's fine," he groans through gritted teeth.

I reach out to pat his shoulder then pull back, because I'm not sure I should touch him during a situation like this. I glance at the producer and he's cringing as if he's the one that got the pot shot. The camera is focused on Dominic curled up in a ball. I can't help myself. I burst out laughing.

"You're evil."

"It's your fault. If you didn't insist on the lifts, this wouldn't have happened."

"Ha ha," he mutters, now on his hands and knees catching his breath. "I will get you for this."

We take a short break, and when we resume, Dominic, the slave driver, has us back at the hard tricks again. By 6 p.m. I'm bruised and sore from my gaffs and his firm grabs that save me from hitting the hardwood.

"Tomorrow will be better," he promises.

And it is. We try what we know with the music I chose, which adds an emotional backdrop for our lyrical moves. I love it so much and vow to work harder to get the lifts right. The one I'm most afraid of is where he wants me to take a running leap from the upper stage and land in his arms where he's waiting on the dance floor below.

"It's only about three feet," he says, as I bite my lip and consider the odds that he can actually hold all my body weight when I dead drop into him. "Come on, you big chicken. Do it."

"Is this the part where you get back at me?" The visual of slamming into the floor has me clammy with fear.

"No, but that's an excellent idea."

I gulp.

After a couple false starts, Dominic moves closer. I take the three-step run and leap out across the steps. Dominic catches me midair, turns smoothly, and gently sets me down where I spin away.

"Whoa! That's wild." I grin.

"You like it?"

"Sort of. It's scary. Can we do it again?"

He laughs knowingly.

---