Chapter Seventeen
The predictability of the Chen household never failed to comfort me. It didn’t matter how many years passed, I could always
count on everything staying constant in my surrogate home. Unlike my mother, Mrs. Chen didn’t feel the need to switch out
her perfectly good furniture every three years for a “décor refresh,” which was why the place had a comfortable, well-loved
patina.
The five of us were gathered around the dining-room table, which was reserved for honored guests, pushed back in our chairs
and clutching our overfull stomachs. I’d worried that the mix of vibes would make the dinner awkward, but Ben’s good-guy appeal
and Mr. Chen’s unabashed fangirling over him took the pressure off.
“I found this old interview of you,” he said to Ben as he pulled his phone from his breast pocket. “You were very young. Just
a boy. Maybe eight or nine years old?”
“Oh no,” Ben groaned good-naturedly. “Those old clips are so embarrassing.”
“No, this one is very good,” he insisted. “Your drive was evident, even then.”
Zoey snorted softly. Her father valued ambition and self-discipline over natural gifts, believing that anything could be achieved if you just put in the time. He had enough inspirational quotes to launch his own line of Hallmark cards.
Mr. Chen pushed play and we all leaned closer to watch. The small-town news reporter appeared on-screen talking about a local
skating wunderkind, then the grainy footage cut to a very young Ben out on the ice.
“So cute,” Mrs. Chen giggled when Ben appeared, doing a clumsy version of the glide stride that eventually won him gold.
I watched Ben watch himself, his mouth twisted in a half smile.
“Terrible form,” he laughed. “This is painful.”
“No, shh,” Mr. Chen scolded. “Listen to what your mother and father say.”
The footage cut to Ben standing in front of his parents, and I gasped at the resemblance to his handsome dad.
“This part,” Mr. Chen pointed at the screen.
“We believe in him,” Ben’s pretty mom, Cynthia, beamed as she clutched his shoulder. “This is his dream, and we’ll do everything
possible to support him. When Benny sets his mind to something he achieves it, so we think he’s going to go all the way to
the Olympics, if we’re lucky.”
“Benny,” I giggled and he made a face at me.
“And what happens when he grows a little bigger and decides that girls are more important than speed skating?” the reporter
asked with an eyebrow waggle.
Ugh. I guess none of us were immune from stupid, sexist questions.
“I won’t,” Ben’s little voice squeaked out before she could answer, and they all laughed. “Nothing is better than speed skating!”
I laughed as well, way too hard, because “Benny” grew up and learned how to juggle both.
The clip ended and Mr. Chen rested his phone on the table.
“Did your parents push you?” Zoey asked. She rolled her head to give her dad a pointed look.
Ben considered it. “No, not really. They supported me, but I pushed myself. It was a pretty healthy start, actually. They trusted my coaches, which allowed my parents to just
be my fan club.” He smiled. “They’re still my biggest fans.”
He’d transformed during the conversation about the clip from a regular guy enjoying postdinner conversation to his public
persona. I swore I could see tension behind his smile, which didn’t make sense considering we were discussing something positive.
“Why don’t we go to the TV room and watch some of Zoey’s old performances?” Mrs. Chen suggested. “She had raw talent at a
young age as well.”
“Absolutely not.” Zoey stood up abruptly. “We’re going for a walk. C’mon.”
She stomped out of the room leaving us no choice but to follow behind her.
It was one of those typically weird Colorado weather days, with schizophrenic temps that could convince you that spring was
right around the corner even though the calendar told a different story.
“Your parents are amazing,” Ben said. “And your mom’s cooking? Damn.”
“Right?” Zoey agreed. “I’m pretty lucky.”
“We both are,” I added.
“Yeah, how exactly did you land with the Chens?” Ben asked me.
I kicked a rock out of my path. It was one of the few parts of my backstory that we didn’t get a chance to cover in Switzerland.
“We figured out that Woodspring was the right facility for me when I was eight, and my mom and I moved out to a temporary apartment. She stayed with me for a year, but between her dance studio and my dad being helpless without her, she decided that she needed to split her time between here and Connecticut. Zo and I had become pretty close, so her parents stepped up and offered to let me move in with them, to continue my training.”
Zoey threw her arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a side hug. “And I got the big sister I always wanted!”
Ben watched us for a few moments, like he was cataloging the interaction. “Are you sure your parents don’t want to do a quick
interview, Zoey? It would really help round out the story.”
Which my mom would hate. As much as she appreciated what living with the Chens allowed me to do, she didn’t like sharing the
credit for my ascent.
Zoey shook her head. “They worry about the language barrier. My mom thinks her English is terrible.”
“Are you serious? Your mom quoted a Shakespeare sonnet to me. I think her English is better than mine,” Ben said.
“Not happening, but obviously I’d be thrilled to participate,” she countered with a wink.
“That’s already a given,” Ben replied. “I’m gonna sneak you in for an interview at some point.”
“What about Friday night? We’re having our annual showcase, so you could get some footage of me skating.”
I laughed softly. Not only was Zoey an incredible athlete, her marketing instincts left mine in the dust. She was keenly aware
of how to turn a throwaway moment into her chance to shine, and I loved her for it.
Ben watched me out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll check in with Neil and Hailey to make sure they can do after hours, but
no matter what I’d love to come. Are you going, Quinn?”
I nodded. “Yup, the showcase is a big deal at the rink, plus it’s adorable watching all the beginner skaters.”
“Okay, I guess it’s a date, then,” he replied.
I knew it was just an expression, but a lifetime of watching rom-coms lit a sparkler in my chest, despite not having the inclination
or bandwidth to even consider dating anyone let alone the man who’d ghosted me when I needed him most.
“Speaking of dating,” Zoey gave him a pointed look. “Let’s get into it. I want the scoop on you, Ben.”
“No,” he groaned. “I’m not going there. I’m begging you.”
That made two of us.
“I just want to get it straight from the source,” she said playfully, skipping along beside him. “Because the whole universe
was shipping a reunion with Violetta a few months ago. Is that true?”
He was shaking his head before she finished asking the question. “Nope. And if you swear to keep a secret, I can give you
some insider info.”
I tried to pretend that I was more interested in scanning the mountain range in the distance, not in getting the facts about
who Ben might be fucking now.
“Ohmygod yes!” Zoey squealed and mimed locking her mouth shut. “Spill the tea.”
Ben craned his neck to look around the neighborhood, like there might be paparazzi hiding out behind the Robertsons’ mailbox.
“Okay, this doesn’t leave our little gossip session, got it?”
Zoey nodded while I maintained what I hoped was the right amount of disinterest.
“Violetta and I didn’t date because she’s already dating someone else. From the show.”
“No way,” Zoey replied, starstruck. “Who? Anatoly? Carlos?”
He shook his head.
“Vasily? Brian?”
Ben shook his head again as Zoey named every male cast member.
“Did he leave the show?”
“Nope, they’re both still part of the cast.”
“But I think I named everyone,” Zoe muttered.
“Is he a she?” I asked, since it didn’t seem like Zoey was going to connect the dots.
He touched one finger to his nose and pointed another at me. “Ding, ding, ding.”
“Violetta is gay?” Zoey practically screeched.
“Shhh,” Ben chastised. “Yes, she is. She’s been with Elena since before my season, but they keep it under wraps. The show
loves faking showmances with guests, and the two of them together reduces their options.”
“Damn, you guys were incredible actors,” Zoey’s eyes were wide. “Did you talk about it beforehand? Like, map out how to be
with each other? Because the way you grabbed her ass after you got a perfect thirty for the tango . . . that looked very real.”
I pretended like I had no clue what they were talking about but yeah, I’d seen the photos from “AssGrabGate.”
Ben chuckled. “We didn’t sit down and negotiate which body parts were open for business, but we both agreed to play it up
and make our time together look as hot as possible. And the social media team was obviously in on it as well. Those ‘stolen
moments’ videos in the hallway backstage, where it looked like they were spying on us? Every single one was a set-up.”
“No way! It’s like finding out there’s no Santa,” Zoey said mournfully. “Was anything real?”
“Yeah, a lot of it is. Obviously the dancing can’t be faked.
And the frustration you see in the rehearsal videos is very real.
But the stuff between cast members and guest stars can get the reality TV treatment if the producers think it’ll collect eyeballs.
I get it, though. There’s so much media,” he held up his phone and waved it, “that you need to do whatever it takes to grab attention.”
Ben’s dissection of what went into making the show sticky revealed more to me than he realized. I’d been taking him at his
word so far, that he was looking out for me and would protect me during the shoot, but I knew that he was desperate for the
job at The Score. There was a strong possibility that he could still do something unexpected to turn my episode into must-see TV. Especially
with the sit-down still to come.
Did they have enough footage to fill an episode if I walked out in the middle of it?
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Ben bumped against me with his elbow. “Not a fan of the show?”
I managed a tight smile, because my overactive imagination had just recast him as a potential villain. “I never had the time
to watch. Sorry.”
“Do you still dance?” Zoey asked him.
I thought back to the beautiful moment at the studio with Justin. He definitely still had the skills.
“Not as seriously as when I was doing it every day, but yeah, if I go to a wedding I’ll get out there and show off some moves.”
“She’s a great dancer,” Zoey said, pointing at me.
“Well, she did mention during her first interview that it’s in her blood.”
My heart warmed a little at Ben sticking to the script. It wasn’t my confessional in Switzerland that filled in my dance background,
it was our interview.
But his acknowledgment of chasing ratings by any means necessary made me recalibrate how comfortable I felt with him.
“If I ever get the opportunity I’d love to dance with you, Quinn.”
Ben was watching me, waiting for some sort of confirmation, but I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. I needed to keep my barriers
up.
“Maybe someday,” I finally replied.
A cold wind blew past us.
“Brr. I guess it’s still winter after all,” Ben said.
I started to close up my jacket but the zipper caught. “Damn it,” I muttered as I strained to pull it up. “I can’t . . . get
it . . .”
“Here, let me,” Ben said. He swung around in front of me and bent over to examine the thing, putting his face right at my
crotch level. Zoe wiggled her eyebrows at me as he fussed with it.
“Your shirt is stuck in the zipper,” he said as he tried to free it. “Hold on.”
Before I realized what he was doing Ben had his warm hand beneath my jacket and pressed against the cotton of my T-shirt.
He didn’t seem to notice that he was rapidly heading for second base as he tried to pry the zipper open.
Zoey pulled her phone out of her pocket and snapped a photo, which I’m sure was ruined by my glaring at her.
Meanwhile Ben was totally focused on my zipper, not the fact that his knuckles were resting against my stomach. Of course
today was the day I opted to skip my usual layers.
I forced my muscles from contracting at his touch, because it was nothing more than Ben being helpful.
I was merely imagining that we were sharing a tender moment.
He didn’t wrench at the thing, he finessed it open, and unfortunately my body went along for the ride.
Warmth radiated out from where his fingers kept grazing me, and even though I’d never been ticklish, I had to fight to keep from giggling.
“And she is . . . free,” Ben said. He straightened, met my gaze, and smiled at me as he slowly zipped my coat all the way up to my chin. “Let’s
get you warm.”
“I think she already is,” Zoey gave me a shit-eating grin.
Ben pretended to be oblivious while I shot another glare at her.
It might’ve looked like a shared moment of silliness between friends, but my perimeter was now restored and there was no way
I was letting him in.