Page 45 of If Ever

My mind drifts back to Chelsea as I change into my costume, dark rugged pants, black boots, a simple T-shirt and light jacket. I can't seem to let her go. I did tell her to look me up when she gets to New York, but for what? She'll be here a day or two at best, and then go back to that small town of hers with some idiot ex-boyfriend.

I sit at my makeup table, and stare in the mirror at my ugly mug. Chelsea is surrounded by a bunch of buff male dancers. How do I compete with that? Dominic alone is enough to kill my chances.

I flip on my steamer and lean forward inhaling the cool steam to hydrate my vocal cords for the long show ahead, my mind still stuck on her. Despite Chelsea and Dominic's on-screen chemistry, when I asked him about her, he assured me they were strictly friends. Phone in hand, I scroll through my contacts. Why the hell didn't I ask for her number? That's another douche bag move, but I do have Dominic's. I glance at the time. What would that make it in L.A., late morning? Odds are they're rehearsing right now. Having watched the show all season, I can picture them in the rehearsal studio. Chelsea with her hair in a messy ponytail, wearing yoga pants that hug her bum so nicely, or those cute little dance shorts she was wearing on Sunday when I convinced her to use my piano bench as a stepping stool.

Aw, hell. Before I can over think it, I text Dominic, asking for Chelsea's number. There. I toss the phone aside, and wait.

While the minutes tick by in slow motion, I finish my steaming, apply my stage makeup, and do a final set of scales. My cell lays rudely silent.

"Five minutes to places," Wes announces over the loudspeaker.

I add a touch of hair wax to my hair and ruffle it to the style of my spontaneous young character. Just as I'm at the door, my phone pings. I snatch it and see Dominic's response. Not only has he sent me Chelsea's number, but a picture of her sitting on the rehearsal floor warming up. I can tell he didn't warn her as her face is screwed up in surprised protest and she's sporting a nasty shiner.

That's the girl I remember. I laugh and click my phone off, heading to stage right for places.

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