“I don’t have the right temperament,” Ben answered. “I don’t want to create stars, I want tobethe star. And realizing that has been the most humbling part of my comedown.”
It was so self-aware that I had zero doubt that Ben had gone through therapy at some point.
We both went silent as “A Million Dreams” fromThe Greatest Showmanbegan. I glanced at Ben out of the corner of my eye as Nathan skated, and I could tell he was trying to gauge how Nathan’s power strokes and weight shifts would translate in speed skates.
Ben leaned closer to me, and the haze of his warm, earthy scent made me realize that he’d worn cologne for our nondate.
“I almost feel bad about stealing him, because he’sreallygood.”
“If it’s what he truly wants then you’re not poaching,” I replied. “The decision is up to him.”
Nathan finished his performance, and it felt like half of the people in the stands jumped up for a standing ovation.
“Quite a fan club,” Ben whispered to me. “They’re going to hate me if they find out I played a part in his decision to quit.”
A hand reached between us to tap Ben on the shoulder. We both turned to find a mother and her preteen daughter seated behind us, grinning.
“Itoldyou it was him,” the girl said under her breath.
They both glanced at me and I saw their eyes go wide in unison. “And Quinn too? Oh my gosh,” the girl said excitedly. “Bailey was right!”
We smiled back in the practiced way we’d cultivated when stopped by fans.
“Hi there,” Ben said in his Prince Charming voice. “Are you enjoying the show?”
The little girl seemed nervous but her mom looked ready to jump on top of Ben. “We are,” she replied. “My niece is the one who skated toBolero. Wasn’t she amazing?”
“Sogood,” I answered.
The skater had put on a competent performance, but I could tell that her skating career would probably flame out in a couple of years. She acted like there was a checklist in her head, and each move she completed brought her closer to being finished. Her technique was decent but the passion just wasn’t there.
“I’m sorry but I have to ask,” the woman said as she glanced between us. “Are the rumors true?”
I tensed, but managed to keep my expression neutral. “Rumors?”
“Tell them, Julia,” the woman urged.
The girl cleared her throat as she fussed with her phone, like she was nervous to suddenly be the center of attention. “So, I follow Bailey Harlow on YouTube, and she posted about how you guys got a flat tire while you were on a date and she and her dad basically rescued you two. Pictures and everything.”
It was a struggle not to react to the revisionist history.
Ben laughed good-naturedly. “Picturesplural? Because I can only recall taking one.”
“Yeah, look.” Julia pushed play and thrust her phone out to us.
“Hey guys,” the young girl we’d met spoke to the camera. “I wanted to hop on here because I’ve got a story time for you that you’renotgoing to believe. Look who I ran into!”
The picture of the three of us flashed on-screen, then Bailey proceeded to talk about how her dad had helped us change our tire, and how we couldn’t keep our hands off each other while we waited. She included a few photos that she probably took as they were driving away, including one where itdidlook like we were sharing a moment, with us standing close and staring into each other’s eyes.
I choked when I saw that the views of the video were over two million. Who the hell was Bailey Harlow?
“So you’re dating, right?” Julia asked excitedly.
The PA system screeched, making everyone flinch. It meant that they were getting ready for the next performer, which would end the teenage interrogation.
I opened my mouth to shoot her down but Ben beat me to it.
“I’m sorry to tell you that the influencer padded the story. Quinn and I arenotdating,” he said with a smile, to soften the blow. “We’re working on a segment forThe Score. I’m a new correspondent for the show.”
