Page 7 of Double Standard

It all comes out at once, like it was waiting just below the surface. I take a deep breath, pushing air to the bottom of my lungs and back out through pursed lips. Levi gives me a slow nod.

“Connective tissue, so ligaments and tendons?”

“Ligaments and tendons, yes, but also arteries, skin, cartilage—a lot more than you’d think.” His eyes are soft.He’s listening intently, and that compels me to say more. “All of them contain collagen, and my body, unfortunately, doesn’t produce enough collagen, and what it does make is faulty. This tends to mean everything is a bit floppy.”

Before I can stop myself, I remove my hand from Levi’s and stretch my forearm to him, palm facing up. I straighten at the elbow, my arm extending well beyond the typical range of motion. Like an upside-down V.

“Ah, so you’re double-jointed?” He sets down his phone and shake and brings his thumb to the thin skin covering the crook of my arm. With his fingertips resting on my funny bone, he lifts my forearm up and down, testing. Gently, then rotating. Noticing that I can change my hand from palm up to palm down without my elbow moving at all. He squeezes the joint, massaging the tense muscle just above. I could melt into the pressure, the feeling of his hands on my skin. There’s a reverence there. A curiosity that catches me off guard. I hadn’t considered that this is a man whose job it is to be very in tune with his body, and that that might affect how he engages with mine.

“This is where you make a sex joke.” I force a laugh, pulling my arm from his touch, stepping back from the unexpected intimacy we just fell into. “Something about the benefits of being flexible, or asking if I can lift my leg over my head.” To avoid his gaze, I plop down on the mat, lifting my knees to my chest as I sit.

“Is that what people do? Make a joke about how your condition could benefitthem? I’ve gotta say, that’s not apersonI’dwant to have sex with.” He sits next to me, crossing his legs in a butterfly, and winks.

Hewinks.

Manufacturing levity for my benefit on the heels of this bomb I just dropped and then sitting here, his shorts riding up a bit higher as he does, like this isn’t a big deal—I don’t know what to make of it. Like he heard me say the words, saw my body being weird (that’s another thing people say—that my elbows “weird them out”), stored that information away, and moved on.

As an actress, so much attention is focused on my body. My body is a talking point, a casting decision, a challenge for wardrobe, a bit too much up top, a bit too little in the hips for balance. I’ve been asked to lose weight, look younger, erase my wrinkles, pour my fat into too-small shapewear so a dress “hangs better.” I constantly feel like my body is a product to be consumed, whether by movie audiences or by men I date. Levi’s looking at me like my body is something more, like it is mine. I can’t decide if it makes me want to crawl out of my skin or crawl into his lap.

I hug my knees closer, as if to keep any invasive thoughts out. I clear my throat.

“Let’s do something simple.” Levi seems oblivious to the way this interaction, no more than a few minutes long, has entirely scrambled my brain. “Just some yoga postures. No weights, no hard conditioning.”

“Let’s,” I say with more authority than I feel. I stretch my legs in front of me and fill my lungs with a deep breath.I need to get back on track. More action, less thinking. More joking, less wondering if I could ever find as much peace with my body—the way it works, and the way it looks—as Levi seems to have with his.

He stands and holds out a hand to assist me. He moves into a perfect warrior two position, and I emulate him: I bend my front knee over my ankle, ignoring the way the joint creaks, and keep my back leg straight. I reach my hands in either direction, channeling every yoga teacher who’s instructed me to imagine that there is a line of energy shooting from my fingertips.

“Look at you.” Levi appraises me with a smile. There’s that dimple again.

“Shut up and do another pose.” I give him a gentle shove on his shoulder to knock him off balance, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“Have you ever tried this one?” He moves into downward-facing dog, his fingers stretched and flush on the mat, while his feet shimmy to find the right position. His tank falls, the hem dipping toward his chest to expose a sliver of his abs and the V at his hip bones.

“And there it is, the sex joke I was waiting for.” I roll my eyes but don’t hate the warmth creeping up my neck. Bending over into my own downward dog, I can only hope he’ll assume the redness on my face is from being upside down.

“OK, fair, but not my intention, I swear. How’s this one feeling for you?” I notice that his face is equally flushed.

“Feels good,” I reply. “Sometimes my muscles get tense from trying so hard to stabilize my joints. It’s nice to do some gentle movement like this.”

To my right, Levi’s eye catches on the windows that run the length of the gym. After a double take, he stands, runs a hand through his hair, and then squats next to me to bring his mouth to my ear.

“There’s someone with a camera outside,” he whispers. “They’re trying to film you. Do you want to go?” His protective act is cute because it’snotan act. He genuinely thinks this could be a problem for me.

“Levi, of course they’re trying to take photos. That’s why I chose this place. Let’s try to look comfortable together, yeah?”

“Then... is it all right if I touch you?” He waits for my quiet “yes” before he rises to his feet, settles himself behind me, and plants his hands on my hips. Hips that are still raised in a pike position, with my ass pointing directly at his waist.

Wow. OK.

“So you’re jumping right in, then?” I exhale while pedaling my legs to expend some of the tension that’s building between them. He presses in with his fingertips, stilling me. The touch is both assured and reassuring, his confidence meeting my vulnerability like an offering, asking if I’ll trust him. Beyond my own understanding, I think maybe I could.

“Just helping you get comfortable.” He lifts my hips,adjusting me slightly to shift the angle at which I’m bent, relieving the pressure on my knees. It’s like he knows, without conscious thought, what my body needs. It would feel like more of a revelation if I wasn’t so acutely aware of what this position looks like.

“Comfortable with what, Levi? Acting out doggie-style fully clothed in front of a window?” The words come out in a hoarse whisper. A chuckle cracks out of him, and he steps to my side, dragging a hand from my hip along the line of my spine. It makes me shiver.

He crouches down beside me again. “I feel confident they got their shot.”

With that, I sink to the floor, grinning, happy to let the blood rush back into my extremities. This man is committed to the bit, which is what I want from him. The unexpected humor? I’ll take that too.