Chapter 14
Fourteen
“Hera. Poseidon. Athena. We feel your feet behind us. We move with your army. You spread our arms and raise our weapons.”
—“We Build,” The Wooden Horse, Act Two
The messages came in from Edward each day, and then on Sunday Jonah finally replied. Each text said the same thing: he missed
him; he wanted to chat; he regretted the way things turned out. They came between calls to nursing homes and endless scrolling
online to find out every single little detail he could about the place his father might end up living, and, despite the heartbreak
Jonah experienced from Edward leaving, the communication became an annoyance. Even more so when Jonah allowed himself to scope
out his ex’s Instagram only to see he’d posted a photo of him and Wes an hour after sending his last message begging Jonah
to talk to him. The bastard.
You have a boyfriend, Edward. Go talk to him and leave me alone.
Sending it terrified him. His hands trembled so much his phone practically shook out of his grip as he typed out the words and pressed send.
He knew he should block Edward’s number, but the self-destructive devil sitting on his shoulder told him not to; the messages, no matter how inappropriate, boosted his almost nonexistent self-esteem.
And he needed self-esteem. Now more than ever.
He didn’t have time to dwell on Edward and his stupid infidelity.
His life was more than full with work and combat rehearsals where he definitely wasn’t enjoying straddling Dexter each day and certainly not thinking about him at random moments and wondering why he liked it when Dexter’s skin touched his.
He tried to busy his mind with other things. He listened to Sherrie talk about Romana and their topsy-turvy relationship,
if they could even call it that. Sherrie told him about the birthmark on the inside of Romana’s thigh and how she liked her
toast slightly burnt in the mornings. She also told him how much she didn’t actually like Romana and was totally fine when she didn’t text her back or stood her up on dates. Jonah listened and nodded
at the appropriate times and showed outrage when required. But, it didn’t matter how much he tried to focus on the confusing
love life of his friend, his mind constantly went back to Dexter Ellis and his toned arms and gorgeously defined cheekbones.
And he couldn’t help but think about how nice it was when, during certain moves at rehearsals, Dexter’s breath tickled his
neck, the sensation dizzying, and Jonah half wondered if he should go back to completely disliking the guy rather than feeling
sorry for him so he could fold away the unwanted and unwarranted attraction he was slowly beginning to feel for him. The messages
didn’t help either. They’d somehow settled into casually messaging throughout the day, to the point where Jonah found himself
texting back and forth with Dexter more than he did with Bastien. The texts were nothing important, of no real substance,
but Jonah still found ways to look at them and wonder if Dexter did hide a meaning behind his playful words, or if this was just their friendship now, sarcasm and slightly fond insults galore.
The Penis Destroyer: Saw a dog today. It looked like you.
Jonah: What a coincidence. Saw a pigeon today that looked like you.
The Penis Destroyer: You’ve totally made me realize who you remind me of. The old pigeon lady in Mary Poppins.
Jonah: I’m quite the tourist attraction out there with all my pigeons.
The Penis Destroyer: And so very attractive.
Jonah: Stop flirting with me.
If anything, Jonah felt as if he were in some kind of Dexter Ellis montage, where his mind played clips of him on repeat intercepted by stupid texts.
Then there were the social media posts. Dexter snapped pictures of them during combat rehearsals then incessantly posted them online and tagged Jonah in every single one, which he made him repost while looming over his shoulder.
It was mildly infuriating because he never thought he would let Dexter take up so much of his time, and he let him do it willingly.
In fact, he rather enjoyed it. But he would never admit to anyone that he liked it when Dexter’s shirt, drenched in sweat, clung to his arms, and he certainly wouldn’t tell anyone that sometimes, when Dexter was beneath him, he thought about what might happen if he were to lean down and kiss—
“Your harmony was off,” Dexter said, turning to Jonah when they’d finished rehearsing. “You made me question my last note,
but it was you, not me.”
Jonah offered a condescending smile. “If you weren’t hollering in my ear, then maybe I could hear what notes I’m hitting.”
Their vocal rehearsals often turned into a tit-for-tat exploration of annoyances. It was always only a matter of time before
one of them found an issue with the other.
“I do not holler.”
“Yes. You do.”
“If I do, it’s only to drown out your nasal tone.”
“Oh, fuck off with the nasal tone.” Jonah nudged him with his elbow in the ribs as Omari shuffled about behind them, guzzling
yet another bottle of water.
“You need to be softer,” Dexter said, rubbing his side where Jonah touched him. “Maybe I should give you some one-on-one vocal
sessions. I bet I could make you sound better.”
“That sounds very erotic,” Omari said from behind them, and, really, thank God he was there, otherwise Jonah might have not
been able to resist the urge to flick Dexter in the eye after the suggestion.
“There is nothing erotic about vocal sessions,” Dexter tutted and grabbed his own bottle of water but offered Omari a smile
as he did so. “Unless Jonah wants them to be?” He looked back over his shoulder at Jonah, who could feel his cheeks turning
a deep shade of red.
“Not with you,” he managed to say, keeping a shred of whatever dignity he had left.
“No?” Dexter smirked, and God, how Jonah despised the smirk. Oddly seductive. Far too attractive.
“Stop flirting,” Omari complained as he shrugged his coat over his shoulders. “Sickening, the both of you.”
“We’re not flirting,” Jonah protested, just as Dexter said the same thing.
Omari looked between them, an amused look on his permanently refreshed-looking face. “Is this where I say, suuuure, and we
all know you’re both talking crap?”
Jonah opened his mouth to speak, but Omari raised a finger, hushing him. “I’m going to go, but if I hear you two have been
having sex in the rehearsal studio, I will not be pleased. Think of the germs.” He didn’t wait for either of them to answer
before turning on his heel and flicking his wrist dramatically as he left the room.
Jonah could feel Dexter’s eyes on him, and he slowly turned his head to meet his gaze.
“I can’t think of anything worse than having sex with you,” Dexter said.
“Me neither. I’m repulsed.”
“Totally repulsed.”
The roar of the crowd from West End LIVE boomed across the theatre district, jolting Jonah from his forbidden Dexter thoughts
and reminding him that a looming army of theatre fans braving the stuffy June heat in the middle of Trafalgar Square were
just beyond the safety barrier. The event, spread across two days, saw performances from a plethora of shows to an audience
of thousands, all for free. Sparkling costumes found their way out of the theatres, and backstage casts brimmed with excitement.
The event was a brilliant source of promotion, even for the longest-running shows. A red flag currently waved around on the
stage, the cast of Les Mis rallying the crowd in a moving rendition of “Do You Hear the People Sing?” and Jonah smiled from the sidelines as he watched
in his Grecian armor.
Dexter stood in the wings, stage left, a microphone in his hand because of course he was hosting the event, alongside Penelope Crossings, another darling of the West End.
They made a strange double act, bouncing off each other effortlessly, but there was also an obvious tension between them with false smiles and overly friendly touches.
Jonah decided not to pay attention to Dexter and instead looked at Bastien, who paced beside him as they waited for their time onstage.
Sherrie stood to the side, staring down at her phone.
“What’s wrong?” Jonah asked, noticing the way the other man chewed his thumbnails absently.
“I’m nervous.”
“Why? You’re fabulous.”
Bastien stopped pacing to look at Jonah. “I know I’m fabulous, but I read that over the course of the weekend last year over
four hundred thousand people came to watch this. That’s insane.”
Jonah hummed, then shrugged. “But there’s not that many people out there all at once, is there? Evie said about twenty thousand
can fit into Trafalgar Square.”
“That’s still an insane amount of people!” Bastien exclaimed. “I’m going to watch cat videos to calm myself down.” He produced
his phone from somewhere in his costume, and Jonah cocked an eyebrow as he watched him.
“Where were you keeping that?”
“I have my secrets, Jonah.” Jonah shook his head and grinned fondly at him. He could see the sound technicians by the side
of the stage, setting up the next performers who would be on before him and Bastien, adjusting their microphones and talking
to the cast with precise instructions. Jonah could barely contain his excitement; he’d always wanted to perform at West End
LIVE. The event was one of the most important in the theatre social calendar, so to be there, backstage, readying himself
to go on, felt completely surreal.
“Oh shit,” Bastien murmured and shot a quick, guilt-ridden look at Jonah. “Um, Jonah, my darling, have you seen the video
circulating online . . . about you and Mr. Ellis?” As he spoke, Sherrie glanced up from her phone, interest piqued.
Jonah let out a breath. “Colbie wants people to be making videos and posting stuff. We are totally best friends, didn’t you know that?”
Bastien slowly shook his head with a frown. “Well, your best friend may have tried to humiliate you at the Oliviers.”
“What?”