Chapter 3 Ben
three
Ben
Two weeks later
“I’ve got a class to teach tonight, James. What are you up to?”
Not like I really need to ask. He already has his laptop set up on the coffee table.
“Same as any night. Writing the next great Canadian novel on my couch while watching reruns of The X-Files.”
Is there anything more inspiring for a romance author than Mulder when he’s in full-on nerd mode? I think not.
Flopping next to him with my dish of steamed vegetables and rice, I bump his shoulder. “Keep at it, James. I believe in you.” James grins and peeks into my bowl. He tries to steal a chunk of broccoli, and after smacking his hand, I let him take it.
“So, a yoga class tonight. Have any men signed up yet? I still think if you do a men’s class, it would be the easiest way to get to know someone without actually dating them.
” He reaches for my bowl again, and this time I let him take the whole thing.
“You still haven’t told me about your guy from the bar.
The huge dude with the full sleeve of tattoos.
You said you hooked up, but since then, all you seem to do is bounce around the furniture like a restless cat, and you’ve not said one word. What’s up with you?”
No, I didn’t tell my best friend and roommate about the best sex I’ve ever had. Because he was too busy snuggling with the most perfect gentleman on the couch when I got home every night. Something I don’t quite want to admit that I’m jealous of.
“Well… I’m meeting with the gal about the beaver gig after class. Hopefully, I’m coming home to tell you I’ve got a new job involving playing with wood a few nights a week.”
I snort a laugh at my joke, but James doesn’t bite.
He raises an eyebrow. “And? What about the man with the tats and the cute floppy hair?”
James keeps eating from my bowl, and I sag back against the couch with a groan.
“I didn’t get his number. What else do you want me to say?”
James pauses, his fork suspended midway from the bowl to his mouth. “Was it that bad?”
His voice carries a tone of disbelief that I could ever have bad sex.
Which, to be fair, I’ve not. I’ve had some mediocre sex and a lot of hot, spontaneous sex.
But never anything I’d call bad. But Lukas didn’t fall into either of those categories.
There was nothing mediocre about him. Sure, it was hot and spontaneous, but it was also…
next level. Life-altering might be a bit of a stretch, but perhaps I need to just share it with James to set the record straight and not because I’ve been bursting to talk about it.
“James, it was epic,” I sigh like a teenager crushing on a celebrity, and I honestly don’t care.
“Like, hear the angels singing and I can’t feel my legs, kind of epic.
And… I’m an idiot for not sticking around and asking him for a number or anything.
He was staying at the motel on Main Street, but when I walked by yesterday, I saw a woman with a child leaving, and they definitely aren’t with him. ”
“So you’ve already tried to find him, then? Interesting.”
Yeah, it’s not my usual post-hook-up action, I admit. But I’d be a fool not to attempt to find him again. Angels singing, remember?
“Well, it’s not like I need to find him because he fathered my child. I just… it’d be nice to do it again, is all.”
James’ eyes light up, and he punches my shoulder.
“You like him. After one night, you like him. You really do have a romantic side,” James gushes, clearly thrilled I might want more than just sex occasionally.
Scowling, I grab my now-empty bowl from him and walk to the kitchen for a refill. This time I’m not sharing.
“No, I have a dick, and my dick really likes him. Don’t make it out bigger than what it really is.”
James cackles. “Your dick or your crush?”
“Oh, shut up,” I grumble. I don’t have a crush. It’s great sex, and I want it again. Nothing more than that. It’s…what do they call it? Sexually symbiotic or something. Magnetism? Whatever. I want to do it again. No other reason.
James laughs and heads to the kitchen. After filling the sink to wash the supper dishes, he changes the topic. “So…the gig with the beaver. Do you actually have the job?”
“Sounds like tonight is a formality and to sign the papers. The woman who offered me the job, Christine, looked me up on an old circus video. She knows what I’m capable of that way. She says she needs to ask me some questions and then sign papers if I want it.”
Hell, unless they want me to do something completely off the wall, the pay is worth it.
Work from October to April, two to three nights a week.
They pay me to entertain people, which is what I love to do.
Teaching yoga and aerial is all well and good, but I love to perform for an audience.
I want to do it just to fill the void in my life that the circus left behind. The money is a welcome bonus.
“If anyone can play a grouchy critter with big teeth and a tail, it’s you, Ben.”
“I’m not grouchy,” I sniff. “I’m selectively friendly.”
He laughs as I place my dish on the counter.
“Whatever you say, beaver guy.”
“I’ve gotta run. Call me whatever you want, but beaver guy makes good coin. He might give good wood, too. Only time will tell.”
James flicks soap suds at me, booing my joke as I snort out of the kitchen.
“Breathe in through your nose and sigh it out through your mouth. Let everything relax and turn your brain off. Stop thinking about what to make for supper tomorrow.”
A few of the women on their mats chuckle, and one snores softly off in the corner. The end of a yoga class is always full of mixed reactions. Sometimes they don’t want to leave and chat on their mats for a while. Other times, they can’t leave fast enough.
But this time, when they unwind in corpse pose, spread over their mats and completely boneless, are the minutes they savour. Quietly, I move around the studio, picking up a few things while the soothing music floats through the room.
“When you’re ready, roll up on your mat and open your eyes.”
Most of the women do, except Sandy, who’s still snoring, and the woman next to her pokes her gently. She giggles and stretches, sitting up and licking her lips like she’s been asleep for hours.
“Ben, I get the best ten-minute naps here. You should just offer nap classes. Hell, nap time only. I’d be here every day.”
“Well, there’s a business plan. Adult napping $5 for thirty minutes. Bring your own pillow.”
The women chatter, and it’s actually not a bad idea, and I make a mental note to see if it’s something to add to the calendar. If they need a quiet space to nap and want to pay me for it, I’m not opposed.
The women fold their blankets and murmur together as they file out.
In the months since I moved back, I’ve built a strong regular base of clients for evening yoga classes.
They laugh and joke with me and wish me a goodnight as they leave.
Most of these women are friendly, and I think back to James’s suggestion of a men’s yoga class.
Maybe I should try it. Sure beats dating apps and bar outings. Plus, we’d already be wearing revealing clothing. If only I could stop thinking about the tattooed man named Lukas, maybe I’d actually do it.
Sandy squeezes my shoulder on the way out and tells me the nap times would be a winner. I assure her I’ll consider it, and once they’re all out of the studio, I flick the lock on the door and return to the main studio space.
Since I rented this studio space and started my business, I’ve not had time to practice the routines I loved in the circus.
James was right when he said I needed to fill the hole performing left.
Yoga is popular here, and it’s what I teach mostly, but my heart is with the silks.
Or anything aerial. Suspended hoops and even trapeze would do, but give me a song that speaks to the heart and a soft silk, and you’ll lose me for hours.
My rainbow tie-dyed silk flutters from the rafters after I pull the release cord.
“Hello, gorgeous. It’s been a while.” I pass the material through my fingers and release a breath.
It’s my fault I don’t do this regularly anymore, and while that doesn’t normally bother me, tonight I feel…
out of sorts. It’s hard to put a finger on exactly what bothers me.
I’ve always been a free spirit, sexually and with my life.
I joined the circus because I loved acrobatic performances. From a trampoline in the backyard, to gymnastics and eventually to aerial silks and hoops, I didn’t just bloom into who I am. I fucking exploded. Performing wasn’t just a means to an income; it was, and still is, a part of who I am.
After finding the music on my playlist, I connect it to the Bluetooth speakers in the studio and pull myself effortlessly into the fabric.
Looping and twisting my body with the silk, I welcome the feel of my muscles working through my routine.
Silk in my palms calms me, and with that comes the quieting of my mind, and I lose myself in the routine.
Focusing on the movements and feeling the silk on my skin takes me away from the reality that I’m starting over after losing my dream job. That part is gone, but I’m coming back stronger than ever. New leaf and all that.
Aerial performances are like a dance in the air with the most intimate of partners.
Maybe that’s what I love most about it. Intimacy without another person.
Just me and the music, with no fear of rejection or judgment.
Certainly, there are no worries about losing my job because I let a boss get a little too close.
My muscles burn, my stamina is pushed to the brink, but sometimes the burn grounds me. That sharp pain reminds me I’m alive and awesome. No matter what life throws at me.
The music crests, and my routine nears the end. My favourite part.