The most annoying?
That despite everything, I still wasn’t immune to him.
Bennett Martino was one of those people who probably came out of the womb with a spotlight on him. He had an aura that went way beyond his looks, which meant that it didn’t matter if people knew who he was or not, he was still going to attract attention. He vibrated at a different frequency, especially when he had eyes on him. I’d had a front-row seat to his media-savvy side, but I’d also been lucky enough to meet therealBen.
For one night, at least.
I hadn’t seen him in person since the last Games, and the years had woven a couple of strands of gray in the dark hair at his temples. The gap between us felt even wider when I spied the beginnings of crinkles in the corner of his eyes. He was only nine years older, but it felt like he had an entire lifetime on me.
Ben had one of the most expressive faces I’d ever seen, even when he was just sitting still and staring at me. His thick eyebrows had a life of their own, which meant they telegraphed how he was truly feeling at any moment, despite all the media training he’d been through. They were almost as hypnotic as his black-brown eyes, which never strayed from your face when he was talking to you. He came across as so damnlikable, a mix of mischief and focus that guaranteed a good time.
“Miss Quinn Albright. It’s been too long,” Ben said. He tipped his head winningly, like I’d be as powerless as the rest of the world when he unleashed the charm. “Really good to see you.”
It took all my emotional-regulation practice to keep from freaking the fuck out at him for implying that we were just old friends catching up.
I glanced around the restaurant to make sure no one was close before speaking. “You’re a fucking asshole. Do you know that?”
He jerked his head back, but I could tell he wasn’t shocked. “Whoa. We’re going there already?”
“Do you think I asked to meet you just to hang out?” I hissed, because I noticed that Addie and her mom were now watching the gold medal speed skater and the Olympic hopeful trying to play nice. “I have some things I need to say before I pretend to tolerate you for the next week.”
The teenage waitress sidled up to our table despite not even stopping by to refill my coffee as I’d waited for Ben.
“Ohmygod,hi, Ben!” She gave him a little wave. “Total stan here.”
“Aw, thank you,” he beamed at her. “If you’re a skating fan then I’m guessing you must like this one too?” He pointed at me.
It was just like him to share the spotlight as a way to try to make nice with me.
“Ofcourse, who doesn’t love the Swan?” she replied, glancing at me for two seconds then back at Ben. “I already fangirled over Quinn when she got here. So what are you two doing together? Like, a collab or something?”
He adjusted himself to take up more space in the booth, kicking one leg up and draping his arm over the back of the bench.
“You could say that. Stay tuned.”
He winked at her and she immediately blushed and turned on her heel. She stopped herself after four steps and jogged back to us.
“Duh, I’m sorry, can I get you coffee? And do you need a menu?”
“Definitely,” Ben replied with a winning smile. “One of us needs more than egg whites for breakfast.”
“Because one of us is still competing,” I added in a saccharine voice. “You haven’t been back out on the ice inhowlong, Ben?”
He winced ever so slightly, and I knew my stinger had found its target.
“Not in a while. I’ve been too busy expanding my empire. Which is what brings me to Woodspring to meet with this one.”
The waitress’s eyes jumped between us. “Oh wow, this is so exciting! Can I get a picture with you guys before you go?”
“Of course,” Ben answered for me.
We both knew that a photo of the two of us together would crank the rumor mill into high gear. The single dim photo with us clinched in the background behind the downhill team on that fateful night had been enough to send the internet into two days’ worth of speculation about what exactly was going on between us.
Which was absolutely nothing, thanks to Ben.
And then there was the black-and-white photo thatI’dposted in the desperate weeks after we got home as a bat signal for him. A reminder of what we’d shared. I’d only left it up for a few hours before mortification had set in and I deleted it, but by that time the post had already racked up eight thousand likes and a couple of hundred comments that said some variation of “Is that Ben?????”
I pretended that I had plausible deniability on my side since you couldn’t see his face in the shot, but our joined hands with his ankle tattoo blurry in the background definitely told a story.
