Page 2 of Your Pace or Mine (Running for the Romance #1)
Jamie
T he end of a show always left Jamie feeling a bit empty inside, like there was this hollow sort of gnawing in his chest, because that thing that had consumed his time and thoughts so completely for months was over.
You spend all of this time with your castmates, every waking hour, until one day it’s just…
done. You all go your separate ways. On to the next one.
They called it the post-show blues, but he’d come to realise it was just loneliness.
Sure, he’d done the perfunctory ‘Oh, we have to keep in touch!’ and ‘Let’s do brunch!
’ but he’d been around long enough to know that every one of these people would stab him in the back for a chance at a West End lead.
Yes, even you, Cressida, he thought to himself as the twenty-two-year-old swing bounced over to him.
As Dance Captain, Jamie had spent a lot of time with the swings on this show.
They had to be prepared to step into any role if the need arose, and that meant learning everyone’s choreography.
He liked Cressida and thought maybe she’d be the one person he’d keep from this run.
That’s how it had always worked for him—he’d keep one friend from each show, slowly growing his social circle.
At least it had until he’d lost them all last year, but that was his own fault.
“Joining us for the after party, Jamie? I could make it worth your while,” she said with a wink. He shook his head in response, earning a pout in return. She was pretty, in that ingenue way that was equal parts heartbreaking and alluring.
“Cress, sweetheart. You know I shop exclusively in the men’s department,” he replied.
Cressida sighed dramatically. “A girl can dream.”
He could appreciate her beauty, though it did absolutely nothing for him.
She was fun and flirty and so posh in that slightly out-of-touch way that just let every problem of the world roll off her.
Jamie generally tried to keep a professional distance from his fellow cast members these days, but Cress still had the sort of sweet naivety about her that he knew would be quashed within just a couple of years, if that, and somehow, she’d weaselled her way into his heart.
At the ripe old age of twenty-five, Jamie sometimes felt more like a mentor than a friend to her, though he wasn’t sure anyone should really be following his example.
It wasn’t long ago that he’d have been doing the exact same thing he knew she was planning.
That is, if he’d thought their current director had even a passing interest in anyone other than blonde ingenues with massive tits and flexible standards.
Anything for a leg up in the industry. That had been his motto until things got too real. Now he could barely force himself to put in the bare minimum amount of effort to keep a job, much less find a new one.
“Cressid’ sweetheart, you’re gorgeous,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “But even if I were interested, I’ve got to be up at 5 a.m. for marathon training. The London Marathon is only four months away, and it won’t impress anyone if I collapse mid-course.”
She flushed slightly, but just rolled her eyes at him and laughed her tinkling laugh. “Gross, there are a lot of things I’d do for a job, but running 26.2 miles is not one of them.”
He sighed. “Got to keep people interested somehow, babe. I’m not a star in the making like you.
” He was only half-joking. Maybe once he’d thought he had what it took, now he knew better.
When you turned off the stage lights and took off the makeup, Jamie was one fumbled audition away from being a has-been, and he bloody well knew it.
He’d long since accepted that he needed an angle to keep people interested in him, and now that angle was going to be marathon running, because his old schtick…
well, he’d rather not think about it, actually.
“Please, that is such bullshit.” She waved him off, making a beeline for their director, who had just exited the dressing room of the female lead, straightening his tie in about the least inconspicuous manner Jamie had ever witnessed.
“Message me, Jamie! We’ll get brunch!” she shouted as she disappeared down the corridor. Jamie waved goodbye to her enthusiastically before allowing his shoulders to slump.
Doing one last sweep of the dressing room, he tossed the remaining few items floating around his space into his backpack: a few pairs of socks, a highlighter, three dulled pencils, and his little box of safety pins.
Then he exited the theatre for the last time, already wondering where his next job would come from.
For the first time in ages, he had nothing lined up; it had been quieter lately, the curse of the mid-20s they called it in musical theatre circles.
Not old enough for the meaty roles but ageing out of the smaller parts.
He didn’t want to complain too much; he really hadn’t been putting in the effort he used to.
Besides, he knew women had it much worse in this industry.
But fuck if it didn’t get him down sometimes.
A text came through, his phone buzzing in the pocket of his denim jacket. A casting assistant he’d hooked up with a couple of times was clearly looking for another go.
Hey, heard your run’s over, wanna meet up? ;) I’ve got some stuff on the books you’d be great for .
The presumption was obvious, and it made him cringe. He left him on read. He really did need to get an early night tonight.
Besides, Jamie didn’t do that anymore.
Who could have predicted that one showmance gone wrong would impact his career to this degree? But the fallout from his relationship with Stephen—if you could even call it that—was a wake-up call.
After bailing on the biggest role of his career when that relationship soured, Jamie couldn’t stand to be with anyone connected to the theatre world.
The thing was, he quickly learned that without his apparent reputation getting him in the room, he needed another angle.
Jamie knew he was good; once he could get in front of the decision-makers, his talent could carry him, but he wasn’t a household name, and without a name, even getting an audition in the first place was a battle.
So with one door closed, on mostly his own accord, he’d thrown himself into finding out everything about everyone casting in the West End.
It had felt like he’d hit the jackpot when he found a producer fundraising for a local LGBTQ+ youth centre and re-tweeting their calls for charity runners in the London Marathon.
Easy, right? Just raise some money for a charity, run a little race and boom, perfect networking anecdote.
His best friend, Reggie, had encouraged him, keen for him to do something that he insisted would be life-changing .
So he’d signed up.
Then he’d plastered it all over his marketing, in his monthly newsletter and socials, and it had been fine. Until it had sunk in just how far he’d have to run, and just how much money he’d have to raise.
He’d ended up with a handful of casting directors who were actually invested in his marathon journey, replying to his posts, and cheering him on…
so now he was stuck. There was no backing down, but with the marathon suddenly not feeling quite so far away, he needed to start taking it seriously or he’d risk embarrassing himself at best, a career-ending injury at worst. Managing training alongside teaching dance and staying audition-ready was going to be a nightmare.
Jamie’s first serious training run would be tomorrow morning, early enough that he’d have time to make it to the studio to teach beginner’s tap by 7am.
It all sounded exhausting and like a terrible idea, but maybe he had a secret talent for running that he’d uncover and leave the stress and backstabbing of the theatre world behind for a career as a professional athlete.
That would be less drama, right?
Jamie did not have a secret hidden talent for running.
He’d dug out his trainers and gone out for a jog, thinking an easy five-mile run would be a reasonable place to start. By the third mile, he was gasping for breath, and his legs were screaming. This was ridiculous. He had excellent cardio, thank you very much.
How dare this pavement defeat him?
Jamie spent hours of his day dancing and ran on the treadmill sometimes, as a warmup at the gym, but this kind of running seemed to be a completely different beast. It wasn’t like anyone in his circle was hanging out at run clubs; who had time for that when there were bills to pay and auditions to prep for?
Jamie did know one serious runner, and the idiot was at least partially to blame for getting him into this mess in the first place, his best friend, Reggie.
He hadn’t met up with Reggie for a while, often finding himself losing touch with his real friends, few and far between though they were these days, during the intense and insular period of a major West End show, but Reggie was one of the best people Jamie knew.
Devastatingly, Reggie was very straight.
Teenage Jamie truly had been destroyed by the revelation that they would never be a thing.
With his dark curls and bright green eyes, Reggie was a unique brand of gorgeous that he’d noticed right from the moment they met.
Despite being just nine and ten years old, respectively, when Reg’s family moved in next door.
They’d grown up together, in South Liverpool, where Jamie had lived his whole life within walking distance of most of his relatives until moving to London for Drama School to chase his West End dreams. Recently, though, Reggie had turned into one of those people who thought running a 100 km mountain trail was a fun day out.
Jamie could never handle that level of intensity in a partner, so it was all for the best.