“I’m leading,” Ben joked.
Justin had about two inches on him, but he somehow managed to compress his body enough to look like a convincing follower as they began moving together. It was a fast Viennese waltz with a woman singing in French over dreamy piano and strings. I half expected the two of them to ham it up as they danced, but Ben was deadly serious, staring at Justin with the same intensity he’d had when he danced with Violetta.
It might’ve been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. Ben had chemistry witheveryone.
The pilot light in my heart flickered on yet again, and it wasn’t just because the song moved me. I was awestruck that sporty-guys’-guy Ben had zero qualms about gracefully spinning Justin across the floor. They moved perfectly in sync, Justin thanks to his years and years of training, and Ben because he seemed to have a natural gift for movement and the muscle memory to recall the choreography.
Unlike Justin in his black tank top, dance pants, and bare feet, Ben wasn’t dressed to move. His button-down shirt, jeans, and dress sneakers should’ve handicapped him a little, or at least left him squeaking his way across the floor, but Ben still glided like he was on skates.
He made it impossible to look anywhere but at him.
I glanced over to Neil and Hailey and they were equally mesmerized by the show. Justin was a trained ex-Broadway dancer, soit was no surprise that he could fake his way through it, but Ben was obviously a good enough leader that they even nailed all the little flourishes.
I swear I caught Justin’s fair skin going pink every time he whipped his head from the awkward side-angle dance position to gaze at Ben. Ben beamed back at him.
They finished and they bowed in tandem. We applauded so long that they both took a second bow.
“Holyshit,” Neil called out. “That was insane, you guys. Glad I turned the camera on.”
Justin hugged Ben quickly. “Oh my god, that was so fun. Thank you!” He turned to me. “Youneed a turn with this one next. He’s amazing.”
The thought of Ben’s hands on my body, expertly leading me through choreography, was enough to make me hold my breath for a moment. I definitely hadn’t agreed to touching him.
Thankfully, I had an ally on my side. I pointed to the clock mounted above the mirrors. “We need to watch the time.”
“Aw, crap, sorry.” Ben’s forehead furrowed. “We’ll disappear into the background now and leave you to it.”
The lesson went well despite the unblinking eye in the corner recording my every move, along with Ben taking notes. But dance was my safe space, my original obsession before I ever touched a skate. Ballet, jazz, tap, ballroom... my skating foundation was strong thanks to everything I’d learned on a parquet floor as a child.
It felt like Justin worked me harder than normal, partly because February was speeding toward us and probably also because he wanted to impress Ben. We ran through a ballet warm-up, then some free-movement exercises, a couple of dry-land run-throughs of both my performance pieces, and then we finished with somenew hip-hop choreography, just for fun. I’d never danced better, and by the time I finished I was a sweaty mess.
And now I was going to have to be on camera. Perfect. I wasn’t my mother’s daughter in that respect, because I never even considered asking to do the interviewbeforeI sweated my face off.
“Do you have another class right after or can we stay in here for a bit, just to finish up with a couple of quick interviews?” Ben asked Justin. “First you, then Quinn. No problem if not. We can find another space.”
“We’re good for the next hour,” Justin answered. “And I would be honored to say nice things about Miss Albright on the record.”
“Fantastic, appreciate it. Hey Quinn, do you mind stepping out for a few minutes? It’s a more candid conversation when the subject isn’t watching.”
I was grateful for the chance to do a quick touch-up in the bathroom while they chatted. I wasn’t concerned about what Justin would say about me because we were each other’s biggest fans. Ididn’tlove not getting to watch Ben in action before sitting down with him for our first official interview.
I was used to quick blot-and-brush primp sessions thanks to the interviews that usually happened right after finishing a performance. My sweaty hair was fine in a topknot, and a little mascara and lipstick made me look human again. I threw my fuzzy white shrug over my gray leotard since the sweat wasn’t drying fast enough.
Hailey walked into the bathroom. “They’re ready if you are.”
I turned around to face her. “Do I look okay?”
I was surprised that I even cared, but the specter of my mom would always haunt me, especially with a trip home on the horizon. Plus, I knew she’d scrutinize every second of the show to find negatives to point out to me and anyone else who’d listen—alwaysdisguised as concern, of course. If I looked too pale, she “worried” about me getting sick. If my smile was anything less than neon white, she scolded me about the negative health effects of drinking too much coffee.
“Gorgeous, as usual.” Hailey smiled at me. “Let’s go.”
“This’ll be quick,” Ben explained to me as I walked into the studio. “It’s supplemental.”
“Okay,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure what he meant.
Hailey tested my mic again, and we were off.
“We’re not doing an intro or anything since this’ll be slotted into the piece,” Ben continued.
