Page 6 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
Jonah shook his head. “No, I just... I come here every week and I’ve never seen you.”
“Are new students not allowed or something?”
“I mean, yeah, of course, I was just... I guess it’s just a surprise to see you here, like, what are the chances?” Jonah rubbed the back of his neck as the words fell from his mouth. Rotten words. Rubbish littering the gleaming floorboards.
Dexter looked around the room, his eyes clearly searching for someone or something to remove him from the situation he’d found himself in.
“YouareDexter Ellis, right?” Jonah pressed, suddenly fearing he’d mistaken this poor man for his theatrical nemesis. It wasn’t like they’d ever met before, after all, but surely this guy was Dexter, unless the man had a twin. Two of him. Great. “Shit, I’m sorry, you just look so much like him.”
“Oh,” he said with a laugh, the smile returning to his face. “I mean, yes, that’s me, sorry, I forget sometimes that people recognize me. The theatre world can feel so insular sometimes.” He rubbed his hand over his face, then blew a strand of blond hair away from his eyes. “Do you like the theatre?”
Jonah laughed, somewhat confused, but mostly dumbfounded. “Would be weird if I didn’t, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know, would it? Do you work in the industry?”
Holy shit. Dexter didn’t know who he was. The dramatic and frankly outraged part of him wanted to tell him that yes he worked in the bloody industry—not only that, he’d won an Olivier Award only a month ago and was the lead in the show Dexter was about to perform in. But the calmer, more mature side of him that was only present because of the lavender air humidifier in the room bit his tongue and forced the smile to remain on his face.
“Yes,” he said simply, and reminded himself to relax his eyes as he tried his hardest not to let them twitch.
“Okay, can everyone get onto their mats, please? We will begin,” the instructor, Shan, said from the front of the class. Jonah looked over at her as she tied her braids back into a loose ponytail, a couple of them still hanging around the front of her face, elongating her slender neck in the process. She turned on the speaker on the wall beside her spot at the front and a tranquil melody floated throughout the room, a melody Jonah couldn’t focus on because Dexter fucking Ellis stood right beside him and had the audacity to imply he didn’t know who he was.
It must have been impossible, a strange power play Jonah didn’t understand. How could Dexter not know Jonah, the guy who took the role he originated and molded it into something else entirely in the West End? How could he not have seen his face on the posters dotted around the Underground, or the gorgeous trailers playing on the large screens at the end of Regent Street? Or had he gone for a toilet break during Jonah’s win at the Oliviers? More importantly, had Dexter really not been to see the show he apparently loved so much (if his social media posts waxing lyrical about it were to be believed?). The guy had been rehearsing in a studio somewhere for the past three weeks, and would have absolutely been shown pictures of Jonah, even recordings of him performing, yet he had apparently erased him from his memory entirely. Jonah took position on his mat, feet firm in the center, and turned his head slightly to see Dexter doing the same thing but staring ahead, as if Jonah didn’t exist.
The bastard.
They all inhaled deeply and turned to face the wall with the door before leaning forward and into the downward dog position. Jonah held his breath as Dexter bent in front of him, his arse clad in too-tight joggers as he did the most fabulous downward dog the world ever witnessed. He couldn’t look at him, not from that angle. He couldn’t look at his bare arms bracing his stance or his remarkably unflushed face hanging between them, eyes closed, pouty lips inhaling and exhaling visible breaths. Jonah couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss or punch him, but the thought of kissing him made his stomach turn and he did his best not to gag as he tried to hold his composure.
No one could deny the sheer beauty of the man; he radiated like thesun, his skin tanned, far too tanned for London in the spring. Seeing him in real life instead of pixels on a screen or frozen in a photograph pulled at something in Jonah’s chest; the man he’d heard about for so long painfully real, and there he stood, arse in the air, while Jonah did his best not to look at it. His mind flitted to an image of Edward, of him standing in the living room, hands wrapped around his waist as he doubled over with laughter while Jonah tried to get him to learn yoga with him at home. No. He couldn’t think of him, he needed to keep him stuffed away in the kitchen drawer with his key.
“Brilliant, well done everyone. We will do some partner work now. Try to work with someone who is a similar build to you,” Shan said, straightening her posture and falling effortlessly into the mountain pose. Strong. Sturdy. “I know we haven’t done partner poses before, and this is more to help with your stretches,” she explained as Jonah followed her lead and stood only to find Dexter already standing as tall as Mount Everest beside him.
“Would you mind if we—” Dexter looked at him and pointed at Jonah then at himself with a smile. “Similar builds? Both work in the theatre industry? We’re the perfect match.”
Before Jonah could protest, and protest he would, Shan took the hands of a woman from the front row and guided her to her mat.
“Everyone, please watch me and the lovely Linda here.” She smiled at the woman as they both sat down and faced each other. Shan inhaled deeply, her chest expanding as her shoulders relaxed. “Keep your backs straight, then stretch out your legs. Keep them wide apart,” she said as she performed the move and Linda mirrored her. “Place the soles of your feet against your partner’s and hold hands, then one person slowly relaxes and lets the other person pull them forward.” The women moved effortlessly together, Linda’s body slumping slightly as Shan carefully pulled her closer. “Take deep breaths then straighten and swap. You will feel a stretch in your hamstrings.” Shan nodded at the rest of the group, and within seconds everyone took their positions on the floor.
Jonah didn’t have an issue with feet. He didn’t have a strange fetish forthem, but they didn’t repulse him either. Touching his soles against someone else’s, however, seemed oddly intimate. Edward had lovely feet. No, God, he needed to stop thinking of Edward with his perfectly formed toes and beautiful ankles. He shook his head slightly as he got to the floor and did his best not to blush as Dexter spread his legs in front of him and Jonah reluctantly did the same. Dexter held no reservations as he pressed the soles of his feet against Jonah’s, his toes poking higher, his feet bigger. Of course. His hands reached out to him, his fingers slender, like that of a pianist, and Jonah held them in his and hoped Dexter wouldn’t notice just how sweaty his palms were. A tension settled between their arms and Jonah could already feel the pull in his hamstrings before they’d even begun stretching.
“You go first,” Dexter said with an encouraging nod. Jonah swallowed thickly and let his body relax. Breathe in. And out. And in again. Then he felt Dexter pulling him, his arms stretching, his legs even more so.
“How’s that?” Dexter asked. “I can do it harder, if you like.”
“No,” Jonah said far too quickly to sound even remotely normal. “It’s fine.” He sat himself back only to see Dexter with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Your turn.”
The blond folded in on himself like a flower closing its petals as the sun hid from the sky. Jonah waited a moment before pulling him forward. As he did, Dexter’s body shifted and his right foot slipped from Jonah’s and slid rapidly down the inside of Jonah’s leg right to his crotch. The pain took a moment to register.
Foot. Penis. Pain.
An inhuman squeak escaped Jonah’s mouth, a high-pitched thing that made Shan’s head snap over to them. Dexter moved quickly to his knees, hands flying out to grasp Jonah’s shoulders and apologies spilling out of his stupidly pink lips.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”
Jonah didn’t want Dexter’s hands on him, their proximity dizzying and ridiculously painful. He’d been kicked in the balls before, but not since primary school when girls thought it funny to run up to the boysin the playground and casually assault them. No such attacks happened in adulthood; Jonah did a good job of not offending anyone enough to warrant an attack on his private parts. Though Bastien once elbowed him dangerously close to his balls during the show and apologized profusely afterward. Heck, he’d even forgive Bastien if he were the one to harm him now, but it wasn’t Bastien. It was Dexter bloody Ellis: penis killer.
Jonah shifted from him, finding his way to his feet somehow so he could turn from the class. He hoped the corner of the room would swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to look at the people now worried about his dick and whether he was still capable of fathering children.
“Oh Christ,” Shan said, coming to his side as she gestured for the others to carry on with the exercise. “Want me to get some ice?” she murmured, her voice filled with the same lightness that danced with the lavender in the air. “Remember to breathe.”
