Chapter Ten
The Payoff
Scott didn’t beat around the bush. As soon as Finn knocked on his door, he stood up, smiling, and offered his hand. “Finn! Thanks for taking the time, I know your schedule’s nuts with filming going on. Good to see you back on the ice, by the way.”
Some of the tension left Finn’s gut, and he smiled back. “Thanks. Hope I’m not too rusty.”
Scott gestured him to a chair. “So here’s the thing. I need a new coach for a pair of twelve-year-old ice dancers, and I think you’d be a good fit.”
Oh. Finn licked his lips, trying to reconcile this information. Before he could ask any questions, Scott went on.
“The problem is I need someone with provincial qualifications.”
So the kids were good. Finn’s stomach sank. He hadn’t sent in his final assignment to qualify for regionals; he couldn’t even apply for the provincial courses to be allowed an in-training designation. He shook his head. “I don’t understand. You know I don’t….”
“Don’t have your regional?” Scott asked.
“Funny thing about that. I got CC’d on one of those reminder emails CanSkate sent you.
You know what’s great about the fact that you work in entertainment, Finn?
” He leaned forward. “There is so much footage of you teaching. I asked your producer for it. So. Congratulations, you’re eligible to apply.
” He slid an official-looking paper across the desk.
He saw the words Finn Graham and Regional Coach.
That was so much new information that he felt dizzy with it, like he needed to sit down. He was already sitting down. His heart needed to relax. “Uh. Uh, okay, but—doesn’t Carlos usually…?”
“Yeah, Carlos.” Scott huffed. “Carlos is about to do eighteen months for tax fraud. Surprise!”
Oh my God. How bad did you have to fuck up to serve more than a year for that?
“Look, I can see you weren’t expecting this.” Scott softened and shook his head. “Which, okay, I can kind of see, since I took some liberties. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks?” Finn tried weakly.
“But take some time and think about it. I’ll set up a time for you to meet the kids.
You’ll like them. And they could be so good, Finn, but they need the right coach.
Someone young enough to get them but old enough and experienced enough to have their respect.
” He paused. “Also someone who’s not going to be in prison.
You’re not going to prison, are you, Finn? ”
“Um. I hope not.”
Scott beamed. “Great! Okay, that’s all I wanted to talk to you about. I’ll text you to set up a time to meet with the kids. I’m going to send you an email with the course schedule—you’ll have to do the e-learning modules first—”
Finn let Scott’s words wash over him. He knew the drill: e-learning, virtual courses, in-person training. This was a dream, wasn’t it? What he’d wanted?
Except for leaving the show, of course. If he was coaching at a higher level, he wouldn’t have time for Dance in his off seasons. He’d probably have to do a fair amount of travelling once his skaters got a bit older.
But it meant a lot that Scott thought he could do this. That even though Finn had left professional skating young, he still might have a future.
He just didn’t know if he was ready to tell anyone else about it yet. What if he spread it around and everything fell through? What if the kids didn’t like him and wanted to work with someone else?
He had enough on his plate with the competition and Robbie, well, providing a Robbie-shaped distraction. Better not to jinks things.
The next day, as Robbie and Finn took to the choreography gym for practice, it struck Finn that their missed hotel date would be felt not just by themselves, but by everyone in their audience.
Robbie wrapped his large hands around Finn and steadied him before he hopped up onto Robbie’s thighs, and any preoccupation about coaching at a higher level fled Finn’s mind. His insides heated and trembled, and he wanted to beg Robbie for more.
A fact Robbie seemed all too aware of, judging by the way his lips quirked and he rubbed his thumbs along the jut of Finn’s hips.
Finn might have to reconsider his practice outfits if this kept up. He was in danger of bursting through his pants.
It didn’t help that Stef’s choreography, tangoing to “Holding Out for a Hero,” had them doing a playful seduction: Finn shook a finger and set his expectations, and Robbie chased and twirled and manhandled him, including that standing thigh lift, in order to prove his worth.
Finn was all but gagging for it by the time they called a break for food. Stef had already left to find another pair to chaperone, so when Robbie slipped out to find the bathroom, Finn was alone in the gym for Holly to corner.
“Well. That was… something.” She blew out a breath and billowed her shirt as if to cool down in a heatwave. “I’m a casting genius, clearly.”
“Yeah, yeah, clearly. A genius. It wasn’t just a moment of complete desperation on your part after Stef injured herself.”
“Am I or am I not the one who realized that you were the best option?” Holly arched her eyebrow. “Considering the chemistry I just witnessed, I’d think you’d be more grateful.”
Finn couldn’t deny it. Sure, he would have met Robbie anyway, but would they have hit it off? Would they have flirted and gotten to know each other in the same way as contestant and choreographer? Probably not. And Finn’s libido was willing to acknowledge that.
Not that he could say as much to Holly’s face, per her own edicts, so he didn’t know why she was gloating.
“Did you come looking for me for a reason? Or were you just passing through to spy on your minions?”
Holly blew out a breath and scratched her eyebrow. “Honestly? I was taking a break from work and looking for my bestie.” She smiled.
It was not a genuine smile.
“What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think anything is wrong?”
“Holly.”
She groaned and shook her head. “Just… worrying. Producer Paul is here and won’t tell me why yet, but he called a meeting. He wants to gather everyone in a couple of days and talk to them.”
“Well, that’s certainly different.” Producer Paul was definitely more of a hands-off kind of guy. If there was a television exec equivalent of “set it and forget it,” that was Producer Paul.
“Tell me about it.” She chewed her lip and looked around. “Michelle’s retiring.”
“Really? Damn.” Michelle had been the host of Dance since the first season. Her leaving would mark a definite change.
“Yeah. And they haven’t said anything yet about replacing her, so….”
So Holly was worrying about the stability of her job—and Finn’s, by extension. “Any indication yet of which way they’re leaning?”
“No.” She fussed with her hair. “Enough has been said or not said that makes me think they’re looking at all the options—replacing her, changing directions, or ending things.”
Oh. “Well, shit.”
“Pretty much.”
They stared at each other in miserable silence. The benefits of years of friendship meant no words were needed; they’d always had a knack for reading each other’s minds.
Robbie found them a moment later. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”
Holly curled her lip. “Gross.” She shook her head. “Don’t go spreading rumors, Finn. I’ll see you later, Robbie.”
She flounced off in typical fashion. She liked to drop a bombshell and then vacate the premises.
“Cryptic,” Robbie offered. “Everything good?”
“Define good.” Finn shook his head. “It’s…. Later. It’s complicated. But fine. One more run-through, and then I think we have to call it for the day.”
But unfortunately the end of the workday didn’t mean their schedules aligned to let their bodies align.
“Tomorrow?” Robbie asked hopefully in the locker room.
Finn grimaced. “Can’t. Tickets to see a musical with Holly after work. She’ll kill me if I bail. Especially since she’d totally know why and I have been forbidden from telling her. Sunday?”
“Promised Sawyer I’d take him and Imogen to dinner and bowling after practice to keep his mind off the shit with his grandparents.”
Damn it. Monday their families would be here for the show again. A whole week from the last time Robbie had touched Finn’s dick. Finn silently lamented the hardships of his poor unfucked body. “Tuesday,” he said.
“Tuesday,” Robbie agreed heavily.
The next three days were torture. Finn spent his mornings and afternoons with Robbie’s hands all over him everywhere except where he wanted them most.
Producer Paul had called the meeting for Sunday before regular practice and filming, because he was some kind of sadist. Finn filed into the biggest conference room at the arena with an extra-large double-double from Tim’s—it might not be “good” coffee, but it was familiar and comforting—and malice in his heart.
The principal cast and production staff squashed in too, Holly somehow wrangling her way next to Finn, even though she should have been at the head of the table with the other important people.
Fortunately for Finn’s patience, Producer Paul didn’t beat around the bush.
“Right, the rumor mill’s had enough time to circulate.
Michelle’s retiring. We’ll be looking at our options, whether we want to find a replacement cohost or change the format of the show, assuming the numbers make sense.
Everyone in this room is someone we’d like to keep on moving forward. ”
A wave of murmurs went through the room. Stef was the first to raise her hand in question.
“Go ahead.”
“What sort of format changes are we talking about?”
Producer Paul looked at Holly. For the first time, Finn realized she must have been more involved in the behind-the-scenes planning than she’d let on.
“There are a few options. We’ve tossed around the idea of doing a sort of Dancing with the Stars On Ice show, where we’ll recruit musicians and actors as well as athletes outside of hockey.
That show, if greenlit, would probably tour nationally or even internationally after airing. ”