Page 4 of Grunt: A Marine Romance

But enough of the self-pity. Selena did love her life. How blessed was she? The older generation of ballroom dancers had spent every penny they earned on competing. The show allowed her to pursue her dream of winning Blackpool while not having to worry about money. For years, she had struggled. Her mother had worked three jobs and cleaned dance studios at night in exchange for Selena’s lessons. Selena was finally in the position to support her family. Her first big splurge had been buying her mom a condo and starting a college fund for her sister. Now Selena could make twenty thousand dollars just for appearing at a party. She and Dima had even started their own charity, bringing ballroom classes to inner city kids. She was so appreciative of the opportunities the show had given her. How lucky was she to make a living out of her true passion—Selena lived to dance. She chastised herself for even feeling ungrateful for a second when so many people struggled.

But deep in her heart she knew what she had given up to have this life could never be replaced.

Selena had only opened the magazine to the first page when the receptionist called over to her. “Ms. Marcil, Larissa is ready for you.”

Selena sucked in a deep breath before standing. Let the games begin.

In the back room, she stripped off her peach-colored terry sweat suit, put on a smock, and lay on the paper-covered table.

Larissa entered the room and gave Selena a smile. “I just got tickets to the competition tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you win.”

“Thank you for supporting us.”

The hot wax dribbled onto Selena’s skin. “Are you thinking of retiring? I read in Star Magazine that you want to start a family.”

Larissa ripped the hair above Selena’s eye, but the face Selena made had nothing to do with the pain. Star, of course. “I hope to, someday.” Selena yearned to take a break and start a family. She was confident that she’d be able to balance her career and children but she hadn’t been on a date in years. Selena’s goal was to win Blackpool, the most prestigious dance competition in the world. People outside of the industry didn’t realize that no one could ever have a normal relationship in the ballroom world. Dancers had three options for dating: they could date their partner and combine their floor and relationship problems, like what had happened with her and Dima; they could date a dancer who was not their partner and the worse dancer of the two would be jealous of the other’s success; or they could date a non-dancer, who usually would have a hard time understanding the partner relationship and the travel demands. How would she explain to a prospective boyfriend that she spent ten weeks twice a year training celebrities? In the show’s off-season, she spent every weekend in a hotel in different states or countries with Dima at some random competition. Add in her celebrity status with cameras following her everywhere, and it was too much drama for most men to handle.

So, basically, it was hopeless.

A lump gathered in her throat. No nerves.

Larissa paused, a new glob of pink wax on the stick in her hand. “Well, you guys just look so good together. Watching you two dance is amazing. It’s too bad about all the rumors going around. It can’t be easy on a couple…right?”

Maybe that was why she couldn’t get a date. Everyone still thought she was involved with Dima. “We aren’t a couple. We just dance together.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You both look so great together.” Larissa cleaned up Selena’s other eyebrow. “Okay, honey, time for your bikini.”

Selena sighed and spread her legs.

THREE HOURS LATER, primed and plucked, Selena looked at her blotchy face in the mirror and debated putting on her makeup before leaving. Forget it—it would just sweat off in rehearsal. Though her natural hair color was a beautiful espresso brown, it currently was bleached blond, which shined great on stage under the bright lights but in plain sunlight resembled straw. Dima forced her to dye it because he thought it would make a better contrast to his own dark hair. She pulled her long locks back into a tight ponytail, grabbed her oversized purse filled with her dance shoes, and exited the spa. Putting her sunglasses on, she headed over to the small ballroom to meet the producer.

“Selena Maria Marcil.”

The deep voice stopped her from taking another step. There was only one person who would use her middle name.

But it couldn’t be him. Maybe she had fantasized so many times that he had found her that she was now imagining his voice. There was no way that Bret Lord could be inches away from her.

She slowly turned.

For the past ten years, she’d wondered what he looked like now. She’d dreamt of him but never could see his face.

She couldn’t move.

He wore khaki pants and a white polo shirt that hugged his ripped chest. A few hairs peeked out of the neckline, teasing her. Surrounded by all these groomed dancers and Hollywood pretty boys, Selena hadn’t seen a real man’s chest in years.

“Bret! What are you doing here?” Selena thought for a second that he was going to hug her, but he just crossed his arms, holding a shoebox. She was grateful that her sunglasses hid the guilt behind her eyes. All she knew was that he had been given orders to some base in North Carolina. She’d sent him a final letter during boot camp ending their engagement. Such a coward, she hadn’t even shown up at his graduation to tell him in person. She couldn’t bear to face him because she had already made her painful decision and there was no way she could ever reverse it. She’d never heard from him again. He'd vanished from her life. Not even a Facebook account she could stalk. All she could do was occasionally scour the Internet, looking for the names of casualties in the war. She'd breathe easier after not seeing his name. For a while, at least.

He opened his mouth to reply but Selena blurted out, “Are you still in the Marines?”

Bret’s blue eyes blinked hard. “Yes. I won’t retire for ten more years.”

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” she said.

Finally Bret stepped forward, one arm extended, as if showing some affection was an obligation. Selena returned the gesture. The shoebox that Bret clutched forced a space between them, like an invisible line. Her cheeks stretched into a thin smile, one meant to lessen some of the pressure around them.

He released her and Selena pushed up her sunglasses on her head so she could study him. Was this gorgeous man the same scrawny teenage boy whom she’d lost her virginity to? His hair was cut short and his skin a deep brown that no tanning bed could achieve. The bottom of a U.S.M.C. tattoo was visible from his sleeve. His lips curved into that lazy grin of his.

He was sexier than any movie star she had met over the years. The thought of being with a real man, muscles sculpted from carrying weapons, not practicing Pilates, made her quiver.