Page 63 of Sway

“And you do now?” She nods at my silence then heads for the coffee maker. “That’s what I thought. Some things never change.” She pours her Diana-tainted coffee into the sink and grabs herself another cup. “Want coffee?”

I’m too lazy to get my own. “Sure, I take it—”

“Black. With sugar. I remember.” She fills our cups, hands me mine, then sits down with me.

I take a sip. Just the way I like it. The bus goes over a bump and the coffee sloshes all over us. “Aw, shit!” My new jammies!

“Dammit, Kip!” Vika yells at the driver. “Be careful!”

“Sorry, princessa,” he shouts over his shoulder. “I just got a radio from the men’s bus. We’re pulling over at the rest stop.”

Vika scowls at me. “Again?”

I shrug. Even though each bus has a fully functional toilet, we received the riot act before we left in a sheet entitled Rules of the Road.

First rule: #1 only! No Paper! No exceptions! EVER!

We pull into the gas station. Behind us, the male dancers’ nasty bus rolls in, followed by twelve luxury buses—one for each of the stars.

“Anyone coming with?” I ask. Not that I expect them to. Diana’s locked in the bathroom primping and Jenny would never let Tim see her not looking flawless. “Vika?”

“No. I can hold it. Vika does not do rest stops. I’d probably get kidnapped.”

“Yeah, because there are Dancing under the Stars stalkers hiding in every gas station in Mississippi.”

She laughs and waves me out. “Just go. They’ll have to be happy with just you.”

Damn, they’re all so high maintenance. I slip on flip-flops and walk outside in my coffee-stained jammies. I don’t care. There’s no paparazzi in Mississippi. I hit the bathroom first before the mad rush. When I’m done, I walk into the convenience store, where I buy a Star magazine, a Rocky Road candy bar, a Slim Jim, and a Coke. Life is good.

Genya is waiting for me by the bus door. He doesn’t look happy.

What, he doesn’t like coconut jammies? “Hey babe. I’d kiss you but I haven’t brushed my teeth and I have coffee breath.”

He’s not amused. “Salomé, I need to know if we are going to compete together at Heritage Classic. Mama needs answer today.”

Fuck.Here we go again. “No, Genya. I already told you. I don’t want to compete anymore. I’m going to do this tour and then Dolla’s tour and then I’ll see.” I try to touch him but he flinches. “Dammit, Genya, don’t do this to me again. I never told you I was going to dance with you again. I thought there was more to this relationship than a partnership.”

He crosses his arms. “There is. But I promised Mama I’d keep competing. It’s good for studio. Just Heritage Classic. Please. For me.”

Lord. No. Uh uh. Not gonna happen. If only . . . hey, that’s it! I’m a genius. “Dimochka. You’ll compete at the comp.” I pat his chest. “And you’ll win, too. I promise. Just trust me.”

The driver honks. “We’ll talk about it at lunch. I think we’re stopping at Cracker Barrel. I’m gonna get me some eggs, bacon, biscuits, and cheese grits. Yummy. Love you.” I run back on the bus and leave him standing outside.

Booking down the aisle, I find Vika still sitting at the table. She looks up at my stash of goodies and gets a sour look. She’d never risk the chance of a fan seeing her in coffee-stained pajamas. “I hate being on a road,” she says. “Remember time we went on that road trip with Genya and Stas to Mexico?”

“Totally. We went dancing at the club on that wrecked ship in Ensenada, and Genya was mad because they didn’t play ‘Be My Lover.’”

“We got so drunk; I fell down stairs in hotel. And then we had lobster in Puerto Nuevo.” She pulls up her pajama bottoms and shows me her calf. “I still have scar on my leg from that fall. Sun Shimmer won’t even cover it up.”

I can’t believe what I’m about to do. “So. You still want to compete?”

She starts undoing one of her rollers. “I know I won nationals, but . . .”

Yeah, we all know it was rigged with Benny on the panel and her dancing with Jared.

“I don’t know,” she continues, “it would just be nice to win now. When I’m with Antoshka and not ... But it doesn’t matter, there’s no one to dance with. Diana stole Jared, Iza’s now dancing with Stas, you’re gonna dance with Genya. It’s hopeless.”

I unwrap my Slim Jim and take a bite. Vika grimaces. I study the Slim Jim for a second. Okay, it does look like what Cha-Cha did on my Jimmy Choo’s—but still, Vika has no idea how good this damn thing tastes. “Vika, look, . . .” I take a deep breath. Here goes. "I’m not competing with Genya. Do you want to dance with him?”

The curler she was unrolling drops into her coffee. “You’re not serious?”

“I’m totally serious. I’m going on tour with Dolla. I don’t want to compete.” I won’t compete. “Please. Take him.”

Vika jumps up and down and curlers go flying everywhere. “Thank you, Salomé! Oh my God.” She hugs me and I almost choke on the Slim Jim. I can see her mind start racing. She grabs her iPhone—probably to text Tony—and then pauses and looks up at me.

I know the look. “What do you want, Vika?”

She speaks slowly. “The thing is . . . well, I need favor.”

“Spit it out.”

“Will you coach us?” She nods her head, like she’s deciding something. “You need to coach us. You make up my favorite dances.”

I look her straight in the eye. “Yeah, I know. I hear they even win Emmys.”

She laughs and gets up. “Da, they do.” She refills my coffee mug with all the grace of a waitress at Cracker Barrel and I realize just how much I’ve missed this girl.