Regrettably, I’d also forgotten—or somehow blocked out—that this episode was big important character development for Blade Mendoza, who finally confronts his manipulative father and then skates away angrily (everyone is always skating everywhere; in an interview I read with him, he said that since joining the show, he’d felt as though his calves had been Frankensteined from another person’s body) and then at a park meets a girl from the rival team known as the Enemy, and they have sex on the merry-go-round while leaving their roller skates on.

Double regrettably, this was exactly when the real-life Blade Mendoza, also known as Oliver Teller, walked in.

Triple regrettably—and contrary to what Ros had assured me—he 100 percent remembered me.

“Oh, Jesus” is what he said when he saw me—just how everyone longs to be greeted. As if that weren’t bad enough, his expression of exasperation quickly morphed into one of shock and horror as he realized what was playing on the monitor. The volume was up tragically high, blasting some extremely embarrassing knockoff Rihanna song that went something like “It’s good to be bad, yeah, yeah, yeah” while Blade and the Enemy made out. I managed to turn off the monitor, but the sound still persisted, which meant that I banged at the computer like a full-on ape for another minute or two before finally finding the switch to the speakers that were hooked up to the computer.

“Seriously?” he said. There may have been a trace of a smile on his face, but I was busy figuring out how to draw the blood down from my face, because if I blushed any harder my skin would probably melt off.

I remembered an interview Oliver had given in which someone asked him what quality he found most attractive, and Oliver had replied, “Confidence.” I’d rolled my eyes at it then—next you’d tell me you loved women who took risks and who weren’t afraid to be vulnerable with you—but although it was unoriginal, it seemed actually helpful now.

I tried to straighten my spine and pull my shoulders back, make my body project confidence I didn’t feel. “Fittings ended at four,” I said crisply, like a woman who was utterly in control of her life, not someone who’d just been caught watching soft-core roller porn by the star himself.

“Sorry,” he said. “There was—I had to—”

He was stammering now. I sort of liked it, honestly.

“I forgot,” he said finally.