Love Waltzes In (Dancing Under The Stars) by Alana Albertson Read Free Book Online Page B

this truck. I don’t need a plane ticket, and I sure as hell don’t need first class.”
    A thinly painted eyebrow rose while her eyes narrowed. “You’re saying I’m high-maintenance?”
    Bret snorted a laugh, holding his hands up in protest. “Hey, I never said that, did I? I haven’t seen you in ten years. But from what I read in the magazines—yeah—I’d say you seem like a diva.”
    Her mouth pouted but her eyes twinkled. “Okay, fine. I can handle a peaceful drive. As long as we can stop tonight at my place so I can get my stuff.”
    “We can. But only if you don’t try filling up the back of my truck with all your fancy luggage.”
    Selena’s gaze hovered to the left, and Bret saw Dima walk by the lobby with a group of girls. Her eyes darkened and she whipped her head back with a shrug and a tiny smile. “I’ll have the bellman bring it all down, and you’ll see for yourself.”
    “Never mind the bellman. Just give me your room number, and I’ll go get it.”
    Selena’s mouth opened but she didn’t answer him.
    “What, Selena? Are you on some secret celebrity floor? Do I need a special key?”
    “No. It’s not that. Are you sure you don’t want me to call the bellman?”
    He frowned. “Why do I need some other guy to grab stuff I can carry myself?”
    Selena lit up and smiled. “I know. It's just . . . never mind. It’s room 1014.”
    Bret fondled his new keys. “I need to run home and pack. I’ll meet you at your hotel room in two hours.”
    Selena turned toward the elevator. Bret climbed into his truck and turned the stereo on. Caressing the leather steering wheel, Bret flicked on the headlights. He roared the engine. He would enjoy this gift for the season and could sell it for his buddy’s family if Bret didn’t last long on the show. He just had no desire to spend eight hours holed up in a steel box with the woman who broke his heart.
     

     
    Chapter Six
     
    Bret would be knocking on her door any second. Selena tossed her clothes into her suitcase. The drive from San Diego to Marin would be eight hours, at least. Would he want to drive all night? Stay at her house in L.A? It was already dark out.
    Dima was still downstairs, probably flirting with his fans. She debated texting him that she had to leave but decided to write a note instead.
    Dima ,
    Benny said I have to take off to San Francisco tonight to meet my celebrity. I’ll call you tomorrow.
    Love,
    Selena
    She chose to omit that Bret would be driving her. It shouldn’t matter to Dima. And it wasn’t like she had a choice. Crazy as it seemed at first, she was already starting to look forward to it. Some days, she lived at the airport. She was constantly in the air—traveling to train with her celebrities, jetting off to be interviewed on talk shows, hopping on flights for competitions. How exhausting. A nice, slow drive sounded like a welcome change of pace.
    Ten years ago, she wouldn’t have thought she’d still be co mpeting at age twenty-eight. Back then, ballroom dancing was relegated to the once-yearly televised competition on PBS. There were no weekly celebrity television shows. Though the show gave her the financial security she needed to support her family and her competition career, its demands definitely interfered with the practicing and coaching that they needed to win Blackpool. Selena had imagined that by this point in her life, she’d have already won her coveted title, be retired, settled down with a husband and kids, and running a small dance studio. But she’d pushed that dream aside for now.
    Despite all the insanity with Dima, slipping out of her three-inch suede Latin heels and walking off the dance floor was not an option, not yet. Selena loved her life and wasn’t ready to hang up her ball gown, though she desperately wanted to start a family. A pulsating samba, a rhythmic cha-cha, a melodic rumba, a confrontational paso doble, a frolicking jive—her body couldn’t just stop with it all. Some