Page 25 of If Ever

I nod.

Tom plays again. The tempo begins slow, and I focus on the dance. We get to the first lift and I give it my all so Dominic doesn't have to work harder than necessary to hoist me over his head. It's exhilarating to spin up high in the air, and then in one fluid motion, he pushes me away, and I land on my feet.

The tempo builds and I try to lose myself in the dance, but something isn't right. I can't get into it and misstep, Dominic puts his hand up for Tom to stop. "What's wrong?" Dominic asks.

"I don't know. I can't get into the feel of it." All eyes are on me, from Tom behind the piano, to the cameras guys observing our rehearsal, to Dominic who has become adept at reading my emotions.

"You've been fine all week. What's different now?" he asks.

"I'm sorry. Let's try it again." I take my starting spot and try to brush off the vibe.

"Is it having Tom here?" Dominic says under his breath with a shit eatin' grin, aware that this stranger affects me.

I glance up, and Tom is pretending to examine the lighting tresses. "Yeah, actually, it is. He's not singing it the same as the recording we've rehearsed to."

Dominic stares at me like I'm out of my mind. "Are you saying you'd rather use a taped version instead of it being performed live by the original artist?"

"No! It's just that he needs to sing it with more emotion."

Tom laughs. "I'm right here. You can tell me what you need."

My face burns with embarrassment, but I really want this dance to be right. We join him at the piano. He looks at me expectantly.

"You're amazing. You really are," I exclaim.

He's fighting back a smile. "Thank you, but..." he draws out the word and pauses.

Here I am, Miss Midwest nobody, about to give him singing tips. "But, there's not enough... you know." I use my hands for emphasis.

His brow furrows. "I'm not sure I do."

"You're singing like we're at a concert or something. It needs more... more..." I struggle to find the right words, so I swing my arms some more. "Oomph."

He nods, his expression serious. "More oomph."

Dominic snickers, but Tom doesn't even twitch. He just waits for my explanation.

I look to the heavens, wishing I knew how to express myself. "I'm sorry. I don't know the lingo. And I shouldn't be telling you what to do." I wring my hands and my eyes dart from Tom, to the piano, to the dance floor, and back to him. "You're the professional and you obviously know more than me, and here I am telling you what to do when I don't really have a clue anyway."

I'm babbling, and I can't stop myself, and Thomas Evan Oliver is staring in fascination like I'm a trick dog doing back flips. But instead of shutting my mouth, I speed up.

"And I'm wasting your time. You dropped everything to fly across the country for this." And then it occurs to me he had to miss work to be here. Is the show paying him? "Oh, God, I hope you're getting paid. Are you getting paid?" I turn to Dominic. "Is he getting paid?"

Tom laughs. "Yes, I'm getting paid."

I whip back around. "That's good. I hope it's a lot, cause I'm not getting very much. But I'm nobody, and you're somebody, and you deserve a lot." I turn to Dominic with pleading eyes. "Oh, God, Dominic, please make me shut up."

Dominic holds back his laughter. "Nope. I think you're doing great."

I spin back to Tom who is as entertained as Dominic. "It's just that I really want this to be right. It needs," I wave my arms in the air, Tom's eyes follow my flailing hands. "You know, like, passion."

His eyes widen, as if I've said a dirty word.

"Not like sexy, smexy passion, but more... you know. Oomphy passion, like from the gut, the deep stuff that rips you apart." My hands are fisted as I make churning motions. "You know?"

Tom nods to appease me, but it also looks like he's biting his cheek so he won't burst out laughing.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry." I throw my arms in the air. "Sing it any way you like. I'm fine. Really." I hug myself and fight the urge to curl into the fetal position.

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