Chapter Two #2
They’d just arrived at the filming dance studio—where couples rehearsed routines on land—when they ran into the competition.
“Finn!” Sophia Simpson lit up to see him and moved in for a hug.
Laughing, Finn lifted her off the ground and said warmly, “Sophia! How are you? Good break?”
Sophia had joined the show two seasons ago after she retired from competition, and Finn was delighted to get to know her better. They’d known each other for years, meeting at competitions until Finn stopped, but it wasn’t until Dance Your Ice Off that Finn learned how much he liked her.
She stepped back and Finn noted the large hockey-player-looking man behind her wearing an unhappy scowl.
Looked like she lucked out this year with a meathead who was threatened by dancing men—there was always one who was weird about it, either because of the physicality Finn and his male coworkers tended to enjoy with the female skaters, or because the male skaters’ sheer existence threatened their masculinity.
Finn wasn’t sure which brand of douchebag this guy was yet.
“It was good. Spent time with family. You?”
“Yeah, same. Lots of time with Imogen.”
“Good! But what’s this I hear about you joining us on the other side of the camera this season?”
“Oh, you know, finally put my plan into action to sabotage Stef and steal her skating partner. Robbie here was too cute to resist.” Finn waved between them for the introduction.
Sophia laughed and introduced herself. Meathead did not, though Finn guessed they might know each other already.
“I should have known it was a plot,” Robbie gasped dramatically. “I’m a snack after all.”
“Yes,” Finn deadpanned. “Everyone wants a bite.”
“You better believe it.” Robbie winked at Sophia. “Sophia knows, right?”
“Oh, yeah, you look very tasty.” She kept a straight face, probably from years of on-ice acting, but was definitely holding in a laugh. Behind her, the meathead was now a deep magenta. Maybe his issue was less jealousy or insecurity and more old-fashioned homophobia. Yay.
“As you can see,” Finn said with a lack of sincerity, “I clearly have the best partner. You must be green with envy.”
Sophia laughed again, clearly enamored of their double act. Finn couldn’t blame her—he was also charmed by Robbie’s affable manner and willingness to be silly.
Meathead definitely was not similarly charmed.
“Well, maybe, but Chad and I will do our best to give you a run for your money. Right?” Sophia smiled at Chad the meathead, trying to bring him in on the joke, but Finn detected a slight uncertainty to her smile, like she hoped for but wasn’t certain of his good humor.
“Don’t be so modest, Sophia, you’re the best on the show,” Chad smarmed, “and I know my way around a rink.”
Robbie coughed, cleared his throat, and apologized. “Frog in my throat.”
“Robbie.”
“Chad. How are you? How has post-NHL life been treating you? Have fun in—Germany, was it?”
Chad stiffened—Robbie had clearly landed a hit, though Finn wasn’t sure how—and said, “Switzerland actually. Life has been good. Spending lots of time with my brother lately, working together. You know, those family bonds are so important.” He sneered.
Finn wasn’t sure exactly what he was getting at, but he imagined it wasn’t kind.
To Robbie’s credit, he didn’t take the bait. He just nodded seriously and agreed. “Family you can rely on is definitely worth keeping.”
Finn watched the byplay and mentally awarded a point to Robbie. Before he or Sophia could intervene and steer the conversation toward something less likely to incite violence, Chad cleared his throat and asked if they shouldn’t be leaving to check in with Production.
Sophia looked a little sad to say goodbye to Finn and Robbie, but Finn couldn’t claim similar disappointment about Chad.
But Sophia could take care of herself. She didn’t need Finn to rescue her by slapping Chad’s hand away from the small of her back as he followed her from the room. She could and absolutely would file a complaint with the production team if she felt the situation warranted it.
Or she’d just accidentally slice open his femoral artery while practicing a standing lift.
“Please tell me we can last long enough to beat Chad fucking Bush in this silly contest,” Robbie said, breaking the silence.
“Uh.” Finn considered. Chad wasn’t wrong—Sophia was good and had a knack for making her partners look equally so. Finn was no slouch, but he would have to adapt his style to play the opposite role than he was used to.
Backwards and in high heels, he thought hysterically.
“Because I cannot stomach the idea of coming in second to that dipshit,” Robbie continued.
“Uh,” Finn said again. “I’m sensing bad blood.”
Robbie shrugged. “Not really. But we travelled in the same hockey circles long enough for me to know three things: we were never going to be friends, because I’m better at hockey and he’s a bigot.”
“Yeah. I got that impression.” Finn pulled a face.
Robbie grimaced back. “He’s said worse.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“No, but sucks to hear bullshit.” Finn checked his watch. “Oh man, we gotta get going—first trip in front of the camera.”
Robbie followed Finn’s shapely bottom to Makeup. Figure skaters also apparently developed prodigious glutes and quads. Robbie didn’t normally ogle—he considered himself a gentleman—but he challenged anyone to not notice that perfection.
His displeasure over the run-in with Chad faded as Finn introduced Moira and Jan, the hair and makeup team.
“I don’t know what they expect me to do with this,” Moira sighed as Finn rolled his eyes in her chair. “It’s like painting over the Mona Lisa. You couldn’t have aged at all in the years you’ve been off-camera?”
“I keep telling you, the secret is bathing in the blood of virgins.”
Unfortunately, Robbie had to stop eavesdropping, because Jan wanted to know about Robbie’s hair-care routine.
When Moira had condescended to cover the nonexistent bags under Finn’s eyes and apply false eyelashes, possibly just for fun but maybe to annoy Chad, and Jan had done whatever hair people did to Robbie’s locks to make him look like a supermodel, they switched chairs and Finn said, “So how much do you remember about what you signed up for?”
Robbie tried not to sneeze at the application of powder to his face. “You mean what my kid signed me up for?”
“Tomato, tomahto.”
“Look up,” Moira instructed, touching Robbie’s chin.
Robbie looked up. “Uh, basically nothing?” He couldn’t talk much since Moira needed him to keep his face still.
“Okay, so we’re obviously doing hair and makeup now. We’re mostly getting B-roll today, so just random stuff the editing team will use during voiceovers, but you’ll meet the host and the other competitors—officially, I mean—and they’ll set out the first challenge.”
“Don’t fall on your ass trying to dance in figure skates?”
He caught Finn’s half smile in the mirror. “Something like that. Have you really never watched the show before?”
Moira made a noise of disapproval when Robbie attempted to shake his head. He was starting to suspect Makeup was, in fact, his first challenge, and that he was failing it. Before he could answer out loud instead, Finn said, “Ow! Jan, easy.”
Jan clucked his tongue. “Why you have so many cowlicks? Did I kick puppies in a previous life?”
Finn scowled, but he was making the face directly at the mirror, so it was probably for Robbie’s benefit.
“Don’t be offended, but no.”
“Okay. So the competition films for eight weeks, runs on air for six, which means we have two weeks’ lead time before the first episode.
But we air two episodes a week, so performances on Monday, results on Thursday.
The two pairs with the fewest votes do a skate-off on Thursday’s show—the time in between is for them to come up with their routine.
But we have guest judges for Thursday shows, rather than putting it to a vote. ”
“This seems unnecessarily convoluted.”
“It’s to give us a chance to kick off assholes like Chad,” Finn said wryly. “Holly has a whole spiel about it—you know Holly, right? Anyway, uh, officially I didn’t say that. But like, conflict is good for audience engagement. To a point.”
Robbie wrinkled his nose. Moira stuck a makeup brush in his ear.
“Yeah, that’s the face I made too. And Holly. She poured herself a huge drink about it.”
Isn’t she one of the producers? Robbie wanted to ask, but he feared Moira’s retaliation, so he kept his mouth shut.
Eventually Jan gave up on Finn’s hair, Moira pronounced Robbie camera-ready, and Finn led Robbie down another of the endless mazelike hallways toward the filming gym.
“Finn!” Robbie recognized Holly, a tall, gangly woman with a trendy bob, from his introduction to Stef. “And Robbie. I hope your new partner is treating you well.”
“Well, he refuses to try backflipping onto my face,” Robbie said cheerfully, “but I’ll wear him down.”
Holly must be used to hearing worse, because she didn’t blink. “That’s not very nice, Finn. You don’t want Robbie to think you’re not a team player.”
“I’m a team player,” Finn protested. “I think it’s very team-spirited of me to avoid breaking his neck with my ass.”
Holly opened her mouth to reply, then looked at Robbie and closed it.
“Okay, you know what? Let’s see if we can get through the first episode before I have to report us all to HR.
” She shook her head. “They’re going to call you in by pairs from different doors, all very dramatic.
Just wait here with me until I give the signal”—she tapped her headset—“and then you’ll go in and meet the host.”
Right—Robbie knew the host, Michelle, was a retired figure skater. Or was she an ice dancer? Robbie didn’t totally understand the difference.
“And that’s your cue. Break a leg!” Holly opened the door, and Robbie and Finn walked in.