I watch him leave. Feeling awkward, I turn my attention to my folded hands in my lap.
“That shade of green looks really good on you,” Pravat says, indicating my shirt.
“Thanks.” I try to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.
After a drawn-out moment of silence during which I make a futile effort at searching my brain for something to say, Pravat asks, “Do you dance?”
“Sure, at clubs,” I say, finally turning my gaze to him.
“Great. You’ll have to help me out with that. One of the first scenes we’ll be filming takes place at a club, and I’m not very good at dancing.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“I need to finish reading this chapter. Scoot a little closer to me.”
I glance down. Our legs are already brushing. How much closer can we get? But I obediently move nearer until our thighs are pressed together. Normally, I don’t like people in my space, but when Pravat returns to his book and see that everyone around us is doing their own thing and not paying us any attention, I relax. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I scroll through it. I have several messages on LINE from women I’ve met recently, but I ignore those. I don’t have time for hook-ups—I need to focus on this job. I open Twitter and follow the cast members. Pravat’s profile is filled with pictures of him on the beach, at parties, and goofing around with friends. One heavily muscled guy is prominent in many of them, and I wonder who he is.
When Pravat puts down his textbook and turns to face me, I tuck my phone away.
“Okay. Let’s start with a staring exercise.”
“Staring?” I ask, confused.
“There will be many times where we will be required to look into each other’s eyes for long periods of time as the cameramen get shots from all angles,” Pravat explains. “Staring exercises get us accustomed to that.” Fixing his gaze on mine, he proceeds to stare into my eyes.
Heat washing through me, I meet his gaze, refusing to let mine waver. Little by little, my discomfort of eases, and I start to notice little things like how thick his eyelashes are and the tiny flecks of amber that mingle with the dark brown of his irises. Gradually, I begin to relax, eventually sinking into a daze until Pravat blinks several times and leans back, ending our session.
“Wow,” I murmur.
“It’s very helpful, isn’t it?” Pravat grins. Getting to his feet, he does a few stretches, and I can’t help but notice how fit he is, particularly when his shirt rides up in the front, revealing a washboard stomach. Turning to another cast member nearby, he calls, “Hey, Aran. Can you find some dance music on your phone?”
Aran nods and begins scrolling.
“Show me some moves,” Pravat says, putting his hand out to help me up from the floor.
“You want to practice dancing now?”
“Sure. We’re free until after lunch. Besides, it’s going to take me a while to learn.”
Pravat’s hand is warm in mine, and I suddenly realize I’ve been holding it since he helped me up. I let it go.
Aran starts a remix, leaning back against Tait to watch. I look at Pravat, and, just as had happened when we did the staring exercise, I feel suddenly calm. Letting the beat of the music move upward from the soles of my feet, I begin to move. Pravat tries to copy me, his efforts stilted.
“You can’t make fun of me,” he warns, pouting slightly.
“Loosen up a little.” Moving behind him and placing my hands on his hips, I guide them to rock with mine.
Looking over his shoulder at me, Pravat smiles. “You’re blushing.”
“Stop.” Face hot, I slap his hip playfully, but I don’t stop dancing with him.
I don’t recognize myself. Who is this man dancing with a near stranger in front of a room full of people? And I’m not even acting.
CHAPTER FOUR: Pravat
The lovely man dancing with me, teasing me about my lack of rhythm while moving his lithe body gracefully to the beat of the music, doesn’t look anything like the person who arrived at the workshop, standing rigidly while looking at everyone with a guarded expression.
I’m not the only one struck by the transformation—the rest of the cast watches Rama with bemused expressions. The look in Tait’s eyes when I briefly meet them tells me he’s fully aware of what I’m doing. He should be. He’s been to clubs enough with me in the past to know I’m a decent dancer.