Click.
Click.
The flash bounced off the mirrors. Holly’s spine stayed straight, her arms at her sides, fists clenched to keep from grabbing his shirt and doing something very unsafe for the brand.
“You good?” Nate murmured, voice low, meant only for her.
“No,” she said sweetly through her teeth. “You’re too close, and I’m going to do something stupid on camera.”
He grinned. Didn’t move. “Like what?”
“Like kneeing you in the balls. Nowshut up.”
Kendall gasped like she’d just discovered the holy grail of thirst content. “This isgold. Okay, now Nate, lower your hand to her waist. Just a whisperYes.And Holly, can you lift your chin just atouch? Like you’re about to say something devastating.”
Oh, she fucking was.She just didn’t know what language it was going to come out in.
Click.
“Okay!” Kendall beamed. “We’re good! These’ll break the internet by lunch tomorrow. Thanks, sexpots!” She vanished out the door before Holly could demand a delete pass.
Nate finally stepped back, butslowly, like peeling off a second skin. Holly didn’t move until the door shut again. Then she shoved both hands into her hair and groaned at the ceiling.
“I hate this show,” she muttered.
“Youlovethis show,” Nate said, smug as sin.
“I love mypaycheck.”
He looked at her like he could read the fine print in her sweat. “That all you love?”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t dare. Because she hated him, or at least she had to. There was no version of her life where getting entangled with a rage-fueled, hypersexualized hockey delinquent ended well. Nate Eriksson was the kind of man who came with warning labels and trauma flashbacks. The kind who fucked like a sin and left like a storm.
And she was here to dance. To win. To pay bills, not ride dick. She didn’t need temptation in six-foot-four form with a stupid jawline and hands made for ruining lives. She needed boundaries. Ice. Maybe a taser.
God help her, she was in trouble.
But trouble didn’t matter when your mother was choosing between chemo and rent. When the hospital bills stacked higher than the choreography notes, and every bonus check meant another week of care. Holly couldn’t afford feelings. Or distractions. Or Nate Fucking Eriksson and his abs of mass destruction. What she needed was the win. The money. The control. Everything else? It could burn.
@ttftokupdates on TikTok:
JUST IN: These were taken through a cracked door on the TTF studio lot today If this is what Holly and Nate are like OFF camera… y’all. We might be looking atour winnersandour next PR couple to soft launch via thirst trap.
#hate2hot #stepballchangemyass #quickstepgate
@glitterballtea on Threads:
OK but did anyone ELSE see the way Natelookedat her in that mirror shot??? That's not fake-dating energy. That’s “I’ve memorized the taste of your skin” energy. Holly, give us a sign if you need rescuing. Or don’t. We get it.
#rumbareckoning #hotstepbrothervibes #helpmeidied
@badboyicebrawls on Instagram:
This promo drop isillegal.Nate’s hand on the mirror. Holly’s FACE. Theheatradiating off them!! I don’t care if it’s acting or PR or whatever. This is the first time since season 6 that I’vebelievedin chemistry again.
#takethefloor #hollyerrikssontruthers #dirtydancingenergy
Mamá
