Chapter Eight #2
“Nah, no way that’s gonna happen. Boy’ll keep you in Gucci in the nicest granny suite anyone’s ever seen with the best home care.”
Robbie groaned. “Did I do something to deserve this?”
“Remember that time my parents caught you sneaking a girl in after curfew?”
“I absolutely do not because that never happened. How is Mandy, anyway?”
“She’s good, she says hi.”
“I say hi back to her and the kids.”
“Hm. So I guess you could say troublemaking is in the DNA.”
“You’re horrible and a traitor.”
“You love me.”
“I hate you.” Robbie sighed and sat up. “See you for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. I’m thinking vegan chili.”
“Of course you are.” Robbie hung up before Eugene could start listing the recipe. Fuck, but Robbie loved him and was glad he was around to talk him off various ledges. He wasn’t sure what he’d do without him. Worry to death, probably. Or turn into a pillar of salt.
Wednesday morning at the rink meant results coming in. The film crew gathered in the main gym, and Holly positioned all the pairs on their marks together so the host could make the dramatic reveal.
Finn knew these things had a formula to follow—that was half the reason people loved them; people loved formulas—but it was still hard to school his face into something other than mockery when Michelle said, “The votes from Monday night have been tallied. Tomorrow, two teams will be skating for the right to stay in the competition. Only one of them will prevail.”
“Oh no,” Robbie said under his breath, beside him. Finn hadn’t known you could do sarcasm so quietly. “Not getting kicked off a reality TV show that doesn’t even pay you.”
Across the room, Holly was glaring. Finn elbowed him. Robbie yelped and then shut up.
Michelle continued. “But before we can get to that, we need to announce next week’s challenge.”
None of the regular cast would be surprised, of course. It was always a tango or a foxtrot second. The only question would be what other elements the challenge would entail.
“This week, you’ll all be preparing your very own take on… the Argentine tango!”
From experience Finn knew that postproduction would add dramatic music to this “revelation.” Blah, blah, blah. Get to the part where you add in the program requirements.
“This week’s dance should be three and a half minutes long. You will incorporate one moving lift and a thirty-second in-sync touching step sequence. That means you and your partner will be touching during those thirty seconds.”
Finn would’ve thought that was self-evident, but some of the ice-dance terms really did need to be explained for viewers at home.
Not for him, though, which was great, because after yesterday, his brain was stuck on what it was going to be like to have people watch while Robbie put his hands all over him and moved in perfect sync with him and—
Yeah, he should stop thinking about it, actually. Good luck with that, Finn.
“And now for the moment you’re waiting for. This week, Emily and Alonzo… you were in the bottom two. That means you have today and tomorrow to prepare for what might be your final ice dance.”
Finn blinked in surprise. That team had done well, he thought; their program was engaging and fluid, considering the short period they’d been skating together and the fact that Emily was a hockey player.
Then again, that didn’t always matter—especially since the male players probably had bigger fanbases.
“Joining them in the bottom two for our first elimination episode will be… Kevin and Linsey.”
Both teams stepped off to the side, where they met up with Stef, and then exited the gym to get started.
After all, they only had one day to put their new program together.
For the first elimination round, most teams would reuse their first program with a few updates based on the criticism they’d received.
Sometimes, if a pair were really skilled, they’d be ready to do the next week’s challenge ahead of time.
“The rest of you are safe—which means you’re off to the ice to practice for the group number.”
Holly was definitely watching Finn and Robbie as the remaining eight teams headed for the dressing rooms. She was doing a sudoku on the couch when Finn came home yesterday. Her eyes had flicked up to him for only half a second before she forced them back to her page.
Finn had opened his mouth.
“Nope,” Holly said.
“I—”
“Get a better poker face.” She scribbled out one of her guesses.
She was looking at him now too—she caught his eye and nodded toward the wings of the gym, where an older white guy in business casual was half observing, half absorbed in something on his phone. Producer Paul, or whatever his name was—Holly’s boss.
Finn stepped out of the flow of bodies and sidled up to her. “What’s he doing here?”
“Protecting his investment, I guess. That’s the word, anyway.”
Shit. That kind of thing usually meant potential cuts. “Think this might be our last season?”
She shook her head. “No idea. Just—extra discretion, please. Any negative publicity is not going to help.”
“Don’t know what you mean. There’s nothing to be discreet about.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
It put Finn on his guard, either way. Fortunately he had years of experience focusing on the physicality of something at the exclusion of whatever was going on in his head.
Unfortunately that focus meant he was so in the zone he more or less ignored Robbie completely except when they had to interact as part of the dance.
To make things worse, Robbie wasn’t the only one who noticed. When rehearsal ended, Finn felt multiple sets of eyes on him. One belonged to Robbie, who looked—not worried, exactly, but not happy either.
The other belonged to Chad. He looked like a shark who smelled blood in the water.
Afterward, the pairs disbanded to work on their assignment for the week.
Finn led Robbie first to food—where they snagged Gatorade and snacks—and then to one of the quieter corners of the arena.
The building was full of meeting rooms/greenrooms that the production made use of every year, and in his first season, Finn had found a north-facing windowed room that managed to stay cooler in the summer heat.
Finn entered the small space and headed for the two comfy chairs with the small coffee table in the corner. Finn placed his haul of food on the table, settled into a seat, and pulled out the company tablet. Robbie followed him in, shut the door behind himself, and settled opposite Finn.
In the quieter space, they could talk about their plans for next week.
“Is everything okay between us?”
Or they could talk about what happened yesterday.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Robbie regarded Finn seriously; not even the cocker-spaniel head tilt could distract from the earnestness of his gaze. “Because yesterday I got kinky without asking first and today you seem a bit… distracted?”
Finn should have realized that Robbie would want to talk about it. That he’d be so forthright. But he hadn’t. At least, he hadn’t thought that Robbie would want to talk about it here and now. He glanced at the door, but it remained shut.
“We can’t talk about it here.” Despite the shut door, it would be a bad idea to think they were safe, especially with people like Chad and Producer Paul in the building.
“Okay,” Robbie said, voice and face frustratingly neutral. “But we are going to talk about it, right?”
Finn swallowed. Good Lord did he want to talk about it. First and foremost on his mind being, When can we do it again? But that was a talk for later. “Yes. Definitely.”
“And we’re okay?” Robbie asked again.
“Yeah, we’re good.” Finn ducked his head and fiddled with his tablet. He felt like a kid with his first crush. “Just, uh, really needed to compartmentalize today. You know?”
The silence held on so long that Finn glanced up and found Robbie watching him with dark, predatory eyes. Finn gulped.
“Finding it hard not to think about yesterday?”
“Well,” Finn joked, heart hammering, “now that I know how good you are at manhandling, it’s… hard not to think impure thoughts when you’re pulling me around the ice.”
“Jesus, Finn,” Robbie groaned. “You sure we can’t talk here?”
Finn almost wavered, but he knew better than to assume privacy. And Robbie should too. When you were in the public eye to any degree, the walls always had ears. “Definitely not. Chad was looking at us today and is just enough of a dick to try to get dirt on us to get us thrown off the show.”
Robbie groaned and flopped back in his chair.
“He totally would, wouldn’t he?” Then, still slumped and staring upward, he drummed his fingers on armrests and squinted at the standard industrial ceiling tiles.
“I can just picture him sneaking around in sunglasses, hiding behind bushes and newspapers, trying to watch us rehearse.”
Finn snorted. “Not a lot of bushes in the arena stands or the gym, Zeiger.”
Robbie lifted his head to grin at Finn. “Exactly. Chad’s an idiot.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Why would you want to?”
“Point.” Chuckling, Finn unlocked his tablet and pulled up the list of songs Stef had sent him. “But enough brain cells wasted on Chad. Let’s talk music.”