Chapter Four
Locker Room Etiquette for Dummies
“Holly. We have made a horrible mistake.”
At Finn’s dramatic entrance, Holly looked up from her laptop, which sat pride of place on her fancy sit-stand desk.
Finn released his grip on the doorframe he’d been hanging off of, stepped into the room, and shut the door. “A no-good, horrible, very bad mistake. Huge. Catastrophic.”
“Right.” Holly sat back, coffee now in hand, and eyed Finn overtop of her mug.
Finn had given her that mug, so he probably couldn’t be too insulted by it.
But he didn’t think it was a coincidence that she’d armed herself with it and held it so that Finn could so easily read the words etched into the side: I cannot be held responsible for what my face does while you’re talking.
Rude.
“Rude.”
“Finn. What horrible mistake have we made?”
“Robbie, Holly.”
“Right. Okay, can you maybe expand on why it was a mistake to cast the perfectly nice, funny, charming, talented athlete for the reality TV show?”
Dropping his face to her desk, Finn made a noise like—well, he wasn’t sure what it was like. Honestly, he hadn’t known he could make a noise like that.
“Stop imitating a dying manatee and use your words.”
“Thanks, Holls.” He lifted his head and stared at her for a long beat, then let out a gusty sigh because she didn’t say he had to cut all the drama, just the sea-mammal noises.
“So we’re working with Stef on the routine, right?
And thanks to my total genius and absolute stupidity, we’re working up a routine based on that bit from 10 Things—”
“Wait—the bit? The stuff of Finn Graham Romantic Dreams bit? The bit that made you realize you’re bisexual bit?”
Finn flailed. “Yes! That bit! So we’re working on it, and Robbie is just—he’s being all—” Finn wasn’t sure how to say this part.
He’d convinced himself he could deal with his attraction, but he had vastly overestimated his own willpower.
How did one describe the feeling of being mid-job when suddenly looking at your new coworker and realizing that he was not only conventionally attractive but that he had a lot in common with your first male crush and also that he’d have to touch you a lot over the next few weeks, for the aforementioned job, and you were maybe a little more into the whole playing the “girl” role in dancing and being the one led rather than doing the leading than you ever considered?
Ugh, it all would’ve been fine if Robbie were just another boring hockey bro.
Apparently you describe it just like that. Finn needed to work on the word-vomit thing.
“Okay, wow,” Holly said, her eyes a little wide. “That’s a lot to process.”
“Do I need to remind you that your contract clearly and explicitly says no romantic or sexual entanglement with on-screen talent?”
“No.” Normally, the fact that Finn was forbidden from asking any of the contestants out on a date was no big deal, and he understood the rationale.
The last thing the production team needed was to have to work around the volatile emotions of a short and messy affair, never mind the fact that it gave all the staff a very convenient and welcome way to say no without brooking any argument. But now…
“Right.”
“I told you, we made a horrible mistake.”
“Eight weeks of blue balls won’t kill you. Remember when you and Paris broke up—”
Finn hissed, scandalized. “Holly!” She’d promised never to bring that up.
“I’m just saying. There’s precedent. Keep it in your pants, lover boy.”
Finally, Finn had let out enough steam that he could start deflating, like a helium balloon in fast forward. “Yeah, I know. I can. I will.” Obviously he didn’t go around hitting on random people, or feeling them up without their permission, or anything else skeevy like that.
But either Robbie was the world’s most natural flirt or…. “He seems like he’d be into it, though.”
Holly sipped placidly at her coffee. “Finn Graham, I know you’re not asking me to speculate on a contestant’s sexuality.”
“I would never!” Then, because he was only a man, he fluttered his eyelashes a little.
“You do have good chemistry, though,” she went on. “Which it’s my job to consider, as producer, because that makes good television.”
“Okay, thank you.” That was as close to acknowledgment as he’d get, at least at work. She’d probably be happy to go up one side of him and down the other once they’d gone home for the day. “I can behave myself.”
“You’d better, because we had to have the fraternizing talk with Chad already, and I don’t need to explain to you the hornet’s nest he’ll kick up if he finds out he’s not allowed to get his dick wet and Robbie is.”
Finn winced. “Already?” Poor Sophia.
“So far he’s mostly behaving since she told him no, but I told her she has free rein to fake sick whenever and we’ll have someone else stand in and they can practice independently, if he can’t behave. And I stuck Jeremy in to supervise and told Chad he was the intimacy coordinator.”
Jeremy was six foot seven and looked like he’d come to Dance Your Ice Off directly from WrestleMania. “That’s something, I guess.”
“Mm-hmm,” Holly confirmed. “Don’t make me reassign Jeremy, is all I’m saying.”
“Oh my God.” If professionalism and a well-placed jock strap weren’t enough to kill any hypothetical boners, the idea of Jeremy scrutinizing his every move certainly would. “Seriously, Holls, it’s not—like, the physical stuff is fine, you know that.”
Her eyes softened. “Yeah, dumbass, I know the problem is what you’re like with your heart.”
He winced again, not sure if that was a reaction to the unaccustomed gentleness or the place she’d aimed it. Either way, it made Holly sit forward. “Wait. Finn. Holy shit.”
“Ughhhhhh.” He put his head back down on the desk. “Holly,” he whined pathetically.
“You have feelings! Heart feelings! Not just penis feelings!”
Finn picked his head up and glared at her. “Say penis a little louder.”
“Don’t change the subject. You never like people.”
Wow, ouch. “I like lots of people,” Finn grumbled. “Sophia, Jeremy, you….”
“Don’t play dumb.” She tried to kick him under the desk, but her foot thunked against the wood instead.
He might as well get it out of his system now.
“He’s funny,” he complained. “Not just goofy or whatever, but self-deprecating and theatrical. And he talks about his kid—his pseudo-adopted kid—like he might steal the Mona Lisa, but he’s also so fucking proud.
” It probably didn’t help that his family already knew and liked him.
Imogen and Gail were both excellent judges of character, which meant Finn could trust his own instincts this time.
“Mm-hmm.” She tapped her fingers on her keyboard for a moment and then closed her laptop and reached across the desk. “Finn.”
Reluctantly, he let her take his hands. Meeting her eyes proved more of a challenge.
“You deserve to be happy.”
Aww, jeez. Right for the throat. Finn felt his ears burn. “Holls—”
“No, listen to me, Finn. It has been so long since I’ve seen you like this. If I ever even have.” He could hear the but coming and braced himself for it. “However, as your producer, I can’t encourage you to pursue this.”
He blinked.
“As your producer, I don’t want to see you sneaking kisses with your dance partner or hear rumors about any philandering that might be going on behind closed doors.”
Oh shit. Was she—
Holly squeezed his fingers. “As your producer, you understand that would be a conflict of interest for me. So I definitely don’t want to hear anything about it. For at least eight weeks, Finn. Do you understand?”
Finn swallowed. “Yeah. I—thanks, Holls. I understand.”
She pulled her hand back. “Don’t thank me, I just definitely told you not to pursue a relationship with Robbie Zeiger. I love you. Now go away. I have work to do.”
Finn skedaddled before she could change her mind.
On-ice practices began on day three.
Robbie had been nervous before hitting the rink before, a few times—big games, away games in Toronto before the final contract that brought him home and close to Sawyer, games on the national stage.
Needing something familiar to ground him, Robbie brought his favourite neon sock tape to the arena and wrapped his calves in the same pattern he used when he was playing.
That was good enough for a practice, surely?
He’d probably have to order a special meal on performance nights, but the tape could tide him over for now, even if the bright lime looked ridiculous over his plain black track pants.
Finn was already skating when Robbie arrived, breezing around the ice ass-first. “Hey, Robbie.” He raised his eyebrows as he went past. “Nice fashion statement.”
“Big talk from a guy wearing a sweatband.” It was holding his hair back from his face, which Robbie figured had to be the point; it would get tough to see otherwise, going backwards.
Finn twirled to a stop and leaned against the boards. “I thought it was very Julia Stiles.”
God damn it. It was. Robbie shook his head and stepped onto the ice.
Countless media productions had harped on the difference between figure skates and hockey skates. Mostly they meant players’ skates, which had a curved blade. As a goalie, Robbie was used to flatter ones.
The toe pick was going to take some getting used to, though. He stumbled when he instinctively put his foot at an angle that would’ve worked fine in his goalie skates, because the toe picks dragged on the ice and stopped his leg cold.
Finn smiled as he slipped past. “Having fun?”
Robbie, a professional and a mature responsible adult, stuck out his tongue.
Taking another step, Robbie tried once again to explore the ice and his skates. He managed to go a minute or two before he tripped on the toe pick again.
Finn glided past him, backwards, and Robbie glared.
“You planning on doing anything other than laugh at me today or…?”