Chapter 17
Seventeen
“Patroclus, my heart belongs to you.”
—“Eternity,” The Wooden Horse, Act Two
So began the week of rehearsals. Jonah looked forward to Thursday when the matinee show meant he wouldn’t have to go to the
rehearsal studio. He could relax and enjoy himself onstage for the day, not swelter under unforgiving yellow lights in a room
with no windows. He also didn’t want to see Dexter; he hadn’t replied to his message, and Jonah debated messaging him again.
He ultimately decided against it. If Dexter didn’t have the decency to send him a response when he seemed pretty bloody active
on social media, then Jonah wouldn’t beg for attention. It didn’t matter that the kiss was amazing, or that he’d thought of
the idiot every night since it happened. He didn’t want to like Dexter. He seemed unstable, emotionally stunted, and incapable
of thinking beyond his own nose. Yet Jonah wanted him to want him. He wanted Dexter to yearn for him and want to kiss him
and place his hands on his waist then trail his fingers over his thighs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The infatuation needed to stop.
Jonah looked at himself in the mirror above the sink in the tiny toilet tucked away in the studio in Covent Garden.
He’d looked better; his skin appeared dull, eyes hollow and hair a downright mess.
He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.
His phone rang in the middle of the night, and he answered only to hear his mum rambling on the other end, speaking about chickens and his dad and a car she saw with tinted windows and she wondered if King Charles drove past her house.
Because why wouldn’t King Charles drive past her house in the middle of nowhere at an ungodly hour?
Jonah somehow convinced her to go to bed, her phone still pressed to her ear as she settled beneath the duvet, and he stayed on the line with her until she said she needed to sleep.
After she hung up, he called Penny, waking her, and she sighed down the phone and asked if his mum sounded drunk when they talked.
She didn’t. At least, he didn’t think she did.
Because she wouldn’t have been, because despite the collection of empty wine bottles at the house, he knew she consumed them with friends, not alone.
Penny didn’t seem convinced and left a tiny seed of doubt in the crevices of Jonah’s mind.
After they talked, he looked at the vacant space beside him in his bed and tried not to think about how comforting it would be to have someone there to share his worries with.
Dexter. Edward. Someone else. Anyone.
He made his way out of the bathroom in the rehearsal studio where the cast who were staying on mingled with the new cast.
Memories of his first time in the space almost two years ago now, when rehearsals for The Wooden Horse first started, came flooding back to him. He found the studio charming then, a beautiful space nestled in the heart of Covent
Garden, but now it seemed dull almost, as if Dexter Ellis roughed off the shine from it with a Brillo pad. But this was the
first rehearsal with the new cast, all of them together for the first time, and Jonah couldn’t deny the excitement he felt,
even if it meant having to spend more time with the man who seemed intent on ignoring him. The unfamiliar faces of the new
cast members didn’t seem as strange to him now; he’d seen the amount of content posted on The Wooden Horse’s socials, highlighting each of them, celebrating their induction into the family. He saw Romana, long hair tied back, warm
ochre skin shining beneath the lights. She looked over at Jonah and smiled, then beckoned him to her side.
“Hey,” she said with an accent he couldn’t identify, Irish perhaps, with a hint of an Australian twang. “I feel I know everything
there is to know about you from Sherrie already.”
He desperately wanted to pry, to dig out little nuggets of information about her relationship with Sherrie.
He couldn’t let on just how much he knew about her, or the fact Sherrie texted him the night before saying how much she hated Romana for standing her up for dinner.
“And I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said instead, regretting it immediately when Romana’s eyes widened and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“All bad, I’m sure.”
“No,” he hurried to say. “No. She likes you a lot. But not too much, a normal amount. A totally normal amount.” Fuck. Sherrie
would kill him.
She narrowed her green eyes at him. “Right.”
“I’ve made this awkward,” he said with a grimace. “I’m just gonna . . .” He turned from her, and his eyes fell on Dexter,
blond hair kept back from his face with a black elastic band. He seemed as in need of a haircut as Jonah. He wore the stupid
tight joggers again, but a tank top covered his upper body, revealing his toned arms, and fucking hell, Jonah wanted to lick
his biceps. Dexter’s eyes locked onto Jonah as he spoke with Lennon and Omari, and he kept the smile on his face as he conversed,
but something strange lay behind the way Dexter gazed at him. Jonah decided to ignore him and went to Bastien, who was showing
off his hand to Lilly, the new cast member taking over the role of Helen.
“Isn’t it just gorgeous?” he gushed and smirked at Jonah as he approached, then wiggled his fingers in the air, showing off
a gold band decorated with six tiny diamonds. “Look what Casey gave me.”
Jonah took Bastien’s hand into his and gazed down at the ring. “Holy shit, Bash. It’s stunning.”
“He did so good,” Lilly said, smiling brightly with sparkling white teeth and intense blue eyes. “When do you think you will
get married?”
“I want an April wedding. He wants December, but I know if we get married in December it will end up being Christmas themed,
and don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of Santa rocking around with mince pies, but not for my wedding.”
“April, then.” Jonah laughed. “I hope I’m invited.”
“Only if you bring a date.” Bastien winked, and Jonah stuck his tongue out at him. “And, talking of dates, a rather handsome
bell end is approaching.”
Jonah peered over his shoulder to see Dexter coming over to them. By the time he looked back Bastien had ushered himself and Lilly away to another part of the room, leaving Jonah to stand alone as Dexter bit his bottom lip anxiously.
“Jonah,” he said, fingers twirling around each other as he fiddled with the hem of his top. “Sorry I’ve not been in touch.”
Jonah did his best nonchalant shrug and tried to keep his face looking as unfazed as possible. “It’s fine.” He flicked his
hand in the air, as if brushing away the apology. “I see your Instagram post got the attention you wanted. You being the theatre
villain didn’t last long.”
“Oh, yeah,” Dexter said with a nod. “People think it was just a prank, the Olivier thing, a weird ‘bro thing.’” He used air
quotes as he spoke. “And the fact you’ve been silent on the matter seems to have dulled any flames. So . . . thanks for that?”
“Did you think I would hop online and start slagging you off?”
“No, but I don’t know. I’m just trying to thank you.”
He looked beautiful standing there. Golden hair and hazel eyes singing the song of autumn, with his lips looking absolutely
delightful, lips that dripped words of sarcasm and unwanted critiques, lips Jonah kissed not just onstage but for real now,
and he craved the way they felt against his own.
“Why didn’t you text me back?” He knew he came across as somewhat pathetic, the lonely man clinging to his phone, waiting
for a message from the guy he made out with but who was so out of his league that of course he didn’t text him back.
Dexter rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s complicated.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“What?” Dexter’s nose crinkled. “No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No, it’s not like that. It’s . . . family stuff.”
Well, Jonah knew enough about “family stuff” to last him a lifetime, which meant he knew he didn’t have any right to pry.
“Oh. Well. I hope everything’s okay.”
“Thanks.”
Jonah closed his eyes and swallowed down the lump he didn’t realize had formed in his throat.
“But. You could have sent me a message, right? Like, I know that sounds super needy or whatever, but you just left me hanging. Again. Which is fine, but I’m not just waiting around for you to pick up whenever you feel like it. ”
Dexter gave a small, understanding nod. “I guess that’s fair.” He looked around the room before leaning slightly closer, close
enough Jonah could feel his breath on his cheeks. “I kind of like you sounding needy.”
Jonah blinked. “You do?”
“Yeah.” He delivered his signature Dexter Ellis shit-eating grin. “Shows how much you want me.”
“I don’t want anyone who wears one of these.” Jonah reached for the elastic band keeping back Dexter’s hair and pinged it
against his scalp. “You’re not David Beckham circa 2003.”
“Did you . . . did you just make a sports reference?”
“No. I made a fashion reference.”
Dexter laughed then and adjusted the band on his head. “Whatever.” He deliberately made a show of looking Jonah up and down.
“I’m hardly going to take fashion advice from someone so passé.”
“You need to shut your face, because I’m not the one who goes to a fucking club wearing an embroidered Labrador on my jumper.”
Dexter’s face fell. “Shit. I forgot I lost that, thanks for reminding me, you twat. And, I’ll have you know, that jumper has
got me a lot of attention.”
“Sure, you keep telling yourself that.” Jonah brushed past him and made his way over to the other side of the studio, where
Peter stood talking with a couple of members of the ensemble. Jonah didn’t need to look to know Dexter still had his eyes
on him.