Clearly. Thanks for the salt in his wound, sir.
Ben finally seemed to come back to consciousness and let me pull him away from the entrance.
“So fucking weird,” he mumbled. “It doesn’t make sense. I was told that our partnership with Vox and their sponsorship of the Games meant full access. And I’vehadfull access since I got here.”
“Just a hiccup, I’m sure of it,” I said. I glanced around the street and now wished I’d worn a hat, not because of the cold but because our proximity to the Village meant that the people clustered around were starting to recognize us. Fans seemed to understand that waiting near the entrance almost guaranteed athlete drive-bys.
“Let’s walk,” I said, putting a few steps between us to continue the plausible deniability of us being together.
I could see a couple of people in my peripheral vision starting to speed walk toward us. I knew the always affable Ben was processing what the possible credential shift meant, so it was my turn to run front. I steered him toward an alley, then pulled him through a door with red lettering that was either to a private home or the world’s smallest bar.
Thankfully, it was the second option, a windowless brick room that felt subterranean. The walls were crowded with paintings and oddities, so the décor combined with the low, sloped ceiling and dim lighting meant that we’d found the perfect hideaway spot.
“Shall we sit?” I asked him.
He was finally starting to shake out of his trance. “Sure.”
We found two open chairs at the end of the bar, right near the server station. The place was crowded with people wearing shades of black and gray and not a single star-spangled banner tribute among them. No one even looked our way as we settled in.
A bartender with slicked-back black hair nodded his chin toward us.
“Hai qualcosa di analcolico?” Ben said.
“Certo,” the man replied and handed Ben a small menu.
He turned to me. “Do you want a real drink? Because I’m having a mocktail.”
“Mocktail for sure,” I agreed. We were two days out from competition and I was doing my best to stay true to my meal planning despite the upside-downness of my life in the Village.
“What are you thinking? Sharp, or fruity...”
“Bartender’s choice,” I shrugged.
Ben rattled off our order and then started fiddling with the coaster in front of him.
“I’m fine,” he said abruptly. He turned to me with his face arranged in a smile that neither one of us believed. “I’ll figure out the credential bullshit tomorrow. Let’s talk about something else.”
I placed my elbow on the bar and leaned closer to him. “Maybe we should talk about a detour to your hotel after this?”
“Oh, sure.” He barked out a laugh. “My roommate, Barry, would love it.”
I hid my pout. All I could think about was getting him alone again, and we were getting derailed at every attempt.
“Are youserious? They’re making you share rooms?”
“Yeah, a bunch of us are but Kim and the other execs aren’t even in the same hotel as us. They’re in some luxury hotel down the road.”
“What’s she like? Kim? Because her vibe is Business Barbie. And she was sort of cunty to me during the press conference.”
I hadn’t mentioned the tense few minutes to him.
“What?Seriously? What did she say?”
He sounded like a dad hearing his kid had been bullied.
“Don’t worry about it. I handled it. Handledher. But what’s she like to work with?”
His expression pinched as he considered the question with the new information. “We got along great at first. She went to bat for me despite... everything. Now, I’m not so sure. But she knows her shit. She has a vision for the show that can verge on dictatorial.”
