Chapter 7

'So, when did you decide you wanted to be a dancer?' She asked, sipping her coffee frappe and watching him with interest. She wanted to know more about his past, about what made him, him. Maybe this was why she never got a date. She asked too many questions.

'Well, back when I was a boy, not many people really considered dancing a real profession. My three brothers always mocked me for it. They found it silly that I wanted to do something so...girly. It was my dream to be up on stage, as early as four years old. But my parents wanted me to be a doctor, one of the jobs I wouldn't have minded doing. Anyway, graduated, got my doctorate, started out a practitioner but when I got to the age of 23 I decided it just wasn't me. So I took lessons, enrolled into a school, and did dancing full time. Managed a book business in the meantime more or less, and started touring with my company at 27. I'd fulfilled every dream I had ever wanted. I didn't need any other sort of domestic life, like my family expected of me. You know the drill, get married, have kids, blah blah blah. I couldn't be bothered with any of that.'

'I admire that. I was the same, really. Mother found it impractical, my grandma was the only one who told me to go for it. I had struggles doing it at first, most dance academies didn't want or need me but I finally got into one. Ballet was just my dream, and at 25 I started touring, like you.'

He nodded, downing his coffee cup and running his hands through his hair.

'I think I might need another drink.'

'I'm with you on that.'

They got another round of coffee, whiling away time with conversation. The more he talked, the more she liked him. He wasn't all bite and no grin like she had first perceived.

The next day and John greeted her with a smile, which gave her a little more confidence. However, she noticed that he was actually grinning too wickedly to be considered normal. He was also wearing sweatbands round his wrists.

She looked him up and down, an expression of 'what the hell are you doing' clear on her face.

'Come on, Clara.' He encouraged, leading the way out of the studio.

'Woah, where are you going?'

'Clara...don't get pissed.'

'Why not?' She asked, this time a tad menacing.

'We're hitting the gym.' He smiled. She wanted to slap that grin straight off his face. So many emotions he emanated, so many confused feelings toward him from one moment to the next. He could be a caring, even gentle, soul, but the next second he could be an insufferable twat.

'What?'

'Clara, the next dance is the salsa and you're going to need a workout. The amount of hip action you have to deal with is laughable,' he actually chuckled at his mirth, 'so glad I'm not a woman.'

He strode out the doors, Clara following strictly at his heels.

'You're kidding.' She groaned.

'Why would I joke about something as serious as this? Clara, I don't want your body hurting for the rest of the week.' he wiggled his eyebrows at her, which earned a smack round the arm.

'Alright, alright,' he surrendered, still giggling.

'Ugh, I can't believe I have to do a workout for my hips.' She said, disgusted.

'Agh, you're hips a fine, you're built like a man.'

That was it. John's outburst of irrepressible laughter at his comment caused her to chase him down the corridor until she landed a deserving punch to his shoulder.

'Say that again, I'll detach something from you.'

He stared down at her, arching one eyebrow and smiling politely.

'Yes, ma'am.'

There was still laughter in his eyes, which she appreciated. But his layabout mood was confusing her tenfold.

Once she saw John on the treadmill, her mind was completely side-tracked from what she was supposed to he doing. They had been there an hour already, but Clara still hadn't moved on from the rowing machine. She sat on the uncomfortable plastic seat, her hands on the chain yet not concerned with actually moving herself along. John was running at full speed, his legs almost invisible as they bounded back and forth like bullets. She could faintly hear him panting and she smiled at his exertion. John rarely grew out of breath while dancing, yet it was a full spectacle to observe here to her amusement. He finally slowed to a stop, sweat patches on his shirt and glistening on his arms.

'Age catching you up?' She asked, still watching him breathe heavily.

He gave her a glare and the obscene gesture of his finger, to which she laughed at in reply.

He stepped off the machine and raked a hand through his hair, smiling at her. For once she thought, he didn't know he was subconsciously drawing her attention to his attractive state.

'Try that too.' He told her, jerking a thumb backward to the dreaded machine itself, 'gets your heart racing.'

She rolled her eyes but proceeded toward the conveyor belt. He leaned relaxedly on the handle in front of her as she began a jogging pace.

'Come on, you can do better than that.' He teased.

She gave him a trying smile, pushing the button so the belt accelerated. Her legs went faster, heart pounding as John tested her further by repeatedly pushing the button until she swatted his hand away irritably. He almost doubled up in laughter at her attempt to keep running. She started to grow hotter and knew her cheeks were burning up, cursing mentally at him as she could hardly speak from the pace she was going. Finally, after keeping it up for as long as John was impressed, she stopped, almost collapsing at the sharp, ragged intake of breath after her workout. His arms enclosed round her stomach and he lifted her in between the equipment, legs bouncing up and down and their laughter and Clara's protests drowning out the rest of the gym. He set her down after glares from other people and she looked up at him, shaking her head.

'Why are you in such a funny mood today? Did the coffee and chips from last night go to your head?' She giggled.

'This is just another side to my persona, Clara. I'm not always annoying and strict. You know that, right?'

'Depends. I tend not to listen when you're grouchy.' She said, taking hold of his shoulders.

'Wise idea.'