“Violetta isgay?” 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. “Wasanythingreal?”
“Yeah, a lot of it is. Obviously the dancing can’t be faked. Andthe 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 atThe 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’sa 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.
