“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 probablylikedit.
“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.
Chapter Eleven
The two places where I felt most at home were on the ice and in front of a mirror in a dance studio. Today, though, my studio was way less hospitable than usual thanks to the camera crouched in the corner and mic wires tucked into my leotard.
And Ben getting ready to watch my every move, notepad in hand.
Andmy teacher Justin’s focus on the trespasser and not his student.
We were supposed to start fifteen minutes ago but Justin couldn’t stop fawning over Ben. Everyone was set up and ready, with Neil on the camera and Hailey poised to do whatever her job was—so far it had involved feeling me up so she could get the mic attached to my thin leotard—yet Ben was still fielding eager questions from Justin.
“I swear, that waltz you and Violetta did onDancing with the Starswas revolutionary,” he said. “I think it rewired my brain.”
Ben threw his head back and laughed at Justin’s hyperbole. “Why, thank you. We had fun with that one.”
“Seems like you two had alotof fun,” Justin answered, wiggling his eyebrows. “Was that a showmance, or...”
“A gentleman never tells,” Ben said with a wink that did all the telling for him.
I’d seen a second or two of videos from the show that I couldn’t swipe away fast enough and heard all sorts of commentary about their partnership as I scrolled, but I never paused to watch any footage of them. At least not for more than a few seconds, and yes, the little that I saw proved that he was fucking phenomenal, and that there was real heat between Ben and his smoke show Russian partner.
But whodidn’tBen have chemistry with?
“You looked so smooth, but that was some complicated choreo,” Justin said.
“You think?” Ben frowned at him. “You could totally do it. Let me show you.”
He reached out his hand and my lanky, six foot four, redheaded dance teacher went concave, like Ben had shot a lightning bolt at his chest.
“Seriously? The show was like three years ago. You still remember it?”
“Every second is etched in my brain,” Ben answered, tapping the side of his head. “Put me in front of the judges and I’ll score another perfect thirty right now, even without practicing.”
I couldn’t frown any harder at him.
“C’mon, let’s do it,” Ben continued. “Can someone play ‘Love Story’ by Indila? If not I can count it out.”
Ofcoursehe could count it like a dance teacher. Ben could do everything.
He was still standing in the center of the studio with his arm outstretched, in perfect dance posture. The familiar one-two-three waltz rhythm filled the room, probably thanks to Hailey, and eventhough I was a few seconds away from getting pissed off at the time wasting, I sort of wanted to see what the two of them could do together.
“You don’t mind a quick detour?” Ben asked me.
I shook my head. I was an excellent fibber.
Justin stepped over to him and took his hand tentatively.
