Page 87 of If Ever

"You were afraid no one would take you seriously—that you'd never get a chance to get past week one or two because the audience didn't know you. Well guess what? The viewers have been paying attention. You've made it all the way to the finals. It doesn't matter how you got here, but you did."

The camera is focused on them, I've moved out of sight because this goes way deeper than Chelsea taking a night off.

She sticks her jaw out in stubborn defiance, but Dominic continues.

"The last thing viewers saw was us tripping over each other and screwing up like a couple of amateurs. Is that how you want to go out?"

She says nothing.

Dominic shrugs and throws up his arms. "Okay. We'll blow this off and party in the city. You made it to the finals. Who cares how we finish? Who cares that you have a one in three chance to win this whole thing? Who cares that I think we can do it?"

Her face is pink with embarrassment. I feel like a world-class jerk witnessing their battle of wills, but it's likely the whole country will see this footage Monday night.

"We only have tomorrow and Saturday to learn and polish all three numbers and half of tomorrow will be spent in the air. The ball's in your court. I'd love to call it quits and go grab a beer. It's up to you."

Chelsea doesn't say anything for the longest time. They're at a standoff, and yet he's allowing her to call the shots. Her eyes get watery. "I'm sorry."

Dominic's stance softens. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You've given this competition everything you have. I couldn't ask for more."

She swallows down her emotion and raises her chin. "I don't want to quit. I want to win."

A tiny smile lifts the edge of his mouth.

"You better have something phenomenal planned, because we're coming for 'em."

He nods. "Hug it out?" He opens his arms and she walks into them, leaving me more jealous than I'd like to admit.

An understanding passes between the two, and I know everything will be all right. I move to the door and catch her eye.

"Wait!" She runs across the room, takes my hand, and leads me into the corridor, shutting the studio door behind her.

She grabs my coat and drags me forward, pressing her lips to mine, demanding and hungry, as if she needs this connection to get her through the night. Finally, we part, her eyes delicious pools of desire.

"You better get in there before they come looking for you," I say, wishing I could steal her away.

"And you better get to work."

"I'm late. Look at what you've done to me. I'm never late. Ever."

"You saying I'm a bad influence?"

"Very bad."

One last quick kiss and I head out, not looking back because I can't trust myself.

I wake up Friday morning, after a desperately needed full night's sleep, and find Chelsea's sent me a link to CNN. I follow it to breaking news that a plane slid off a JFK runway shutting down two main runways. The barely reopened airport has been forced to cancel half its flights, including hers. She ends her text with emojis of fireworks, smiley faces, and hearts.

Propping an extra pillow under my head, I call her. She answers on the first ring. "You just can't get rid of me." Her voice is light with excitement.

"Kind of like mold in the basement." I tease, but I'm pumped she's still here. "I don't suppose Dominic's decided to give you the day off."

"Hardly, but he gave me time to buy some clothes that don't smell like a men's locker room."

I can't imagine Chelsea smelling anything but perfect. "Does that mean no more Hot Stuff across your bum."

"That's my first goal, to find something plain and boring."

"Darn, I liked how those letters hugged your, uh, assets. Any chance I can steal you for lunch or dinner? Maybe a quick coffee or a quick snogging in the back hall when Dominic isn't looking?"

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