Chapter Ten
We stood in the rink parking lot debating our food options. The last place I expected to wind up after finishing our schedule
for the week was picking a dinner restaurant with The Score team, but they’d all cajoled me into joining them. Neil mentioned a couple of beef-and-grease spots, but Ben finally suggested
our town’s lone vegetarian restaurant, Dalla Terra.
“You don’t eat meat on certain days, right?” Ben asked me.
I never talked about my dietary preferences in the press, so I wasn’t sure how he’d uncovered it. But then I remembered my
extended food rant that night in Switzerland. I’d told him things that no one knew. It was yet another bit of my soul that I’d sliced off and handed to him, and now I was going to pay for it with cameras
watching.
I sidestepped his question. “Dalla Terra is amazing. It’s classic Italian food with a vegetarian twist.”
“You’re speaking my language,” Ben said with a hand over his heart. “My Nona Rossi used to make a killer eggplant parm.”
It was impossible to forget that Ben was a second-generation Italian American, since it came up in almost every interview.
He even had a tiny Italy flag tattooed on his ankle, the tell in the photo I’d posted of us then quickly deleted.
I had a feeling he’d lobbied hard to go to the Games given the location.
“Eh,” Neil grimaced. “Vegetables for dinner? I don’t know . . .”
“Then go to Burgerville by yourself,” Hailey said a little too forcefully. “It’s not like we can mess with Quinn’s meal planning,
you know? And she doesn’t strike me as a loaded tots kind of person.”
“Yeah, you’re free to go wherever,” Ben added. “You can take the rental if Quinn drives us.”
Neil glanced at the three of us. “Okay, fine, I’ll go eat like a bird with the rest of you.”
“No complaining,” Hailey scolded, wagging her finger at him like an old-timey schoolmarm. “I’m not in the mood to listen to
you bitch.”
“I don’t complain, I express strong opinions,” he replied. “I’m not allowed to have opinions?”
Ben ignored their bickering. “Where are we parked? I’m starving, let’s go.”
The restaurant was busy, but the minute they spotted Ben they cleared a spot for us that was meant for three. Our knees were
inches away from one another’s beneath the rustic table.
“Should we get a couple of bottles of organic wine?” Neil asked as he scanned the drink menu. “Our per diem isn’t even close
to maxed out yet. The dollar goes a lot further in rural Colorado than in Manhattan.”
“You guys can, I’m good with water,” Ben replied.
I was happy he’d opted out first, since the rare nights I was able to be social I was usually the one refusing alcohol.
Ben’s struggles with drinking had made plenty of headlines over the years.
I wondered if him staying dry was part of his plan to get hired, or was it a bigger life directive.
Whatever the case, it was a personal decision and I wasn’t about to ask him for details.
Orders were placed, and then it was time for the awkward small talk. I prepared for the spotlight, only to discover that I
was going to be a supporting player for the night.
“Whatever happened with that hurdler chick?” Neil asked as he took a massive scoop of sun-dried tomato hummus. “You guys wound
up hanging out for a while after you interviewed her for that first trial episode you did, right?”
I could’ve sworn I saw Ben flinch at the question. “Oh, that was nothing.”
“Seriously? Because I felt like you two needed to get a room during the interview,” Neil snorted out a laugh.
I hadn’t watched the show but the split-screen stills from it had wound up on my timeline, and even the photos looked scorching.
Elli Andreson was a gifted athlete from Finland who also happened to be drop-dead gorgeous, which made it easy for audiences
to speculate that Ben had been flirting with her during their interview.
From what I’d heard, it was very mutual. Like, the BookTok girlies went feral for their chemistry. There were dozens of videos
showing Ben using the “triangle method” on Elli, which was an eye contact technique that supposedly made people fall in love
with you.
“I thought you guys dated for a while?” Hailey asked.
Which was exactly what I’d turned up when I definitely wasn’t deep-diving on her in the hope of accidentally finding more
details about what was going on between them.
“Maybe for like a minute,” Ben replied. He seemed to fixate on getting the perfect pita-to-hummus ratio. “It was nothing.”
The vibe felt too heavy for what wasn’t a big reveal. Ben was a known flirt and heartbreaker—present company one hundred percent included—so I couldn’t figure out why he was acting like a youth pastor caught kissing a high schooler.
Neil turned to me. “You better be careful or you might be next. He has a way with the ladies. No one can resist the power
of Magic Martino.” He wiggled his fingers like he was casting a spell on Ben’s behalf.
“Seriously?” I laughed in Neil’s face. “Watch me.”
Ben deflated half an inch at my response, but I knew better than to think that it had anything to do with me specifically. It wasn’t that he wanted another chance, it was because he couldn’t believe that a human female wasn’t tripping
over herself to impress him.
Or any human, because Ben had a huge gay fanbase. He knew how to walk the line and be just flirty and receptive enough to score
him a “Favorite Ally” pass.
“Yeah, and maybe you need to remember that this is work?” Hailey said. “Ben doesn’t need you to be his pimp, Neil. He does
just fine on his own.”
I swallowed down a laugh. Hailey was growing on me.
“Whoa, stand down, Captain Feminism, I was just having some fun,” Neil replied. “He gets it. Right, Ben?”
Ben’s face went stony for a moment as he finished chewing.
“Listen, all I’m worried about this week is capturing a great story,” he replied. “And staying out of Quinn’s way.”
It was the last thing I expected him to say. Ben lived his life on fun mode, and even though I’d encountered a different side
of him that night in Switzerland, I figured it was the exception and not the rule.
“Thanks,” I said softly. “Appreciate that.”
He met my gaze and for a moment it was just the two of us, confessing our feelings by the distant glow of a bonfire. Something in my chest toggled toward the warmth and safety I’d felt that night, but I smashed the sensation before it could spread.
The server interrupted my delusion to deliver our entrées.
“Yay, time to eat weeds,” Neil joked.
“For someone who keeps shitting on the food you sure did some damage to that hummus,” Hailey said.
“And the arancini,” Ben added.
Neil didn’t answer because he was too busy downing stuffed peppers, which I was pretty sure he didn’t realize were vegan.
I was hungry, like always, and the spaghetti squash casserole with way too much parmesan sauce was a blissful change of pace
for me. I forced myself to eat slowly. I was on guard now, because even though the meal seemed pleasant enough, they were
still trespassing in my life during a critical period. And they were watchers. Anything I said could and would be used as content, even unofficially. I was under a spotlight even when the cameras weren’t
on me.
Yeah, this was going to be our first and last group dinner.
“Fan club alert,” Hailey said under her breath. She jutted her chin toward a group of six women across the restaurant who
were doing a terrible job of pretending not to watch us.
I looked over even though I knew they weren’t staring at me. They’d been busy taking photos of their food but they’d finally
picked up on the force field radiating from Ben, and now they couldn’t stop glancing over. I caught one of them pretending
to show her friend a photo but I could tell she was filming us. I shifted so my back was to them.
No sense in cranking up the rumor mill early.
“Anyone want to bet on how long it takes one of them to come over here?” Neil asked. “Given the nonstop staring and empty bottles on the table, I say it’s fifteen minutes.”
“We’ll deal with them when we have to. How’s everyone’s food?” Ben asked.
“Passable,” Neil answered as he scraped up the last bits of his meal, way before the rest of us were even close to finishing.
“Amazing,” Hailey sighed and gazed down at her mushroom flatbread. “I think I’m coming here every night. I mean, it’s all
healthy, right?”
That’s what I told myself when I cheated and got takeout, but the cheese sauce and pasta were just as devious as the stuff
from Olive Garden.
“Close enough,” I agreed.
Neil refilled Hailey’s glass without even asking, and her nod and quick sip suggested a level of comfort that didn’t compute
with the way they acted. Maybe that was just how it was with long-term colleagues?
“How long have you two worked together?” I asked Hailey.
She and Neil squinted at each other. “Uh . . . this is like month three?”
He nodded. “Yup. She’s a newbie and I’m showing her the ins and outs.”
“I’m new with The Score,” Hailey corrected him quickly. “I’ve been in production since I graduated. I started as an intern on the Today show, then they hired me full time. Live morning TV is a different animal. I’m happy I got out.”
“If all goes according to plan we’ll be doing some live feeds from Milan,” Ben said. “It’ll be my first time going live and
asking the questions instead of answering them.”
Neil turned to him. “Hold on, did they finally make you an official offer?”
“Not yet, but it’s coming,” Ben said with the same bravado he used to have when he talked about winning medals.
I had to wonder what the producers were waiting for, and what their contingency plan was if they decided that Ben wasn’t a
fit. And what he had to do to prove to them that he was the right person for the job.
Not that it was my concern. All I wanted was for him to remember our rules and keep our time on camera light and fluffy. People
who watched my segment needed to come away from it thinking that my life was a mix of passion for my sport, hard work, and
plenty of sunshine.
It actually was, now. As long as we focused on the present and future, the profile would turn out fine.
“Hiiii, you guys.” A pretty ponytailed brunette waved both her hands at us, standing a few feet away from our table like there
was a force field around it. “Sorry to interrupt . . .”
“Not at all,” Ben replied with a huge smile. “Hi there!”
This time I could almost feel the shift in him. From regular person trying to finish his dinner to celebrity.
“Um, my friends and I were hoping that you might take a picture with us.” She glanced around the table and her eyes rested
on me for a beat longer, like she was processing whether Ben and I were together. “Would that be okay?”
Neil and Hailey were already moving out of the way before Ben could answer.
“Of course, happy to,” Ben said as he slid out of his chair.
The whoop that went up from the table when Ben walked over was loud enough to get the whole restaurant staring at them.
I watched as Ben did his thing. A few regular photos of him with his arms draped around the women, saying stuff that had to be compliments based on the way they giggled in response.
One of them filled a glass of wine and handed it to him so they could all toast, but he put it down before anyone could take a photo.
“Hey Ben, help me make my ex jealous,” a woman in a sparkly sweater cackled.
“Okay, let’s do this,” he laughed.
She jumped out of her chair and Ben waited as she hitched her skirt down her thighs.
“Hug me,” she commanded as she swung herself against him like she was Tarzan and he was the vine.
She wound up in his arms, probably too drunk to realize that everyone could still see her butt cheeks despite her skirt wrestling.
Ben seemed to sense it immediately so he angled her privates away from the camera and the rest of the restaurant.
I watched him dividing his attention as the other women pawed at him. I’d had my share of uncomfortable fan interactions over
the years, particularly when I was younger and didn’t feel like I was allowed to assert myself. Even now, when a kindly looking
grandpa insisted on hugging me, I had a hard time maintaining my boundaries. Part of it was the innate desire to please everyone
all the time, and the other was the weight of being a public figure who couldn’t afford to piss off a fan.
“One more,” the woman drunkenly pleaded as she clung to Ben. “But this time kiss me!”
A chant started. “On the mouth! On the mouth!”
Ben smiled like the pro that he was. Hell, he probably liked it.
“Ready?” the unofficial group photographer asked. “Kiss countdown! Three . . . two . . .”
Ben demurred and glanced over at me. It looked like he was trying to gracefully get the woman off him, but she turned into a python.
“One!”
The last thing I saw was his pained expression as the woman grabbed his face and kissed him square on the mouth, as dozens
of cameras flashed.