Chapter 8
Lexi
“All right, now I need you to slowly relax your muscles,” I tell Mrs. Bateman. “We’re going to do the cow pose, bitilasana. We did this one last time, do you remember?” I keep my voice smooth and level and as sweet as I can make it, because I’m officially in saccharine mode during classes.
“No,” Mrs. Bateman tells me. “Is that the one where I’m a mountain?” She claps her hands and slaps them to her sides like she’s on drill team or something.
My mouth twitches and it takes everything I have not to laugh, because she wouldn’t appreciate that. Mrs. Bateman is ninety if she’s a day, not very flexible, and cranky as fuck. Her doctor suggested yoga for her, though, and so she shows up at every class and argues with me.
She’s my favorite.
“No, the one where you’re a mountain is called mountain pose,” I say. “Cow pose is where we get on all fours and work the muscles of our core and back. We’re going to alternate it with cat pose so we can open our chest and strengthen our spines. How does that sound?” I get down on my hands and knees on the mat.
“I think my doctor said no to this pose,” she tells me, surly. “None of this cat or cow shit.”
“Really? We did it last week.” I keep my voice mild. “Let me show you.”
I get down on my hands and knees and demonstrate the pose to her, instructing as I move my body. It’s one of the simplest to do, just hands and knees on the floor and flexing the back, but she looks at me as if I’m asking her to do a handstand of some kind.
“I’m pretty sure my doctor said no,” she repeats again. “Let’s do the resting pose. I like that one.”
Of course she does. You don’t do anything but rest. I bite back my amusement and keep my serene yogi smile on my face. “Of course.”
I sit down on the mat and she follows me, as if she doesn’t know how to lie down on her own. We both get into the corpse pose, savasana, lying flat on our backs on our respective mats with our hands at our sides. “All right,” I tell her. “Close your eyes. Take one deep, cleansing breath and then we’re going to breathe naturally and just relax. Let all your stresses go away. Clear your mind.”
Mrs. Bateman doesn’t respond. I’m pretty sure I’m going to hear her snoring in a minute. She always falls asleep in savasana. I love this cranky old coot. She gives no fucks. I want to be her when I get old.
Sure enough, she starts to lightly snore. I hold back my smile and focus on clearing my own mind, but it’s not that easy. I keep thinking about babies and what the hell I’m going to do about mine. How am I going to run a business when I’ve got a baby underfoot? I could send him or her off to day care, but that’ll pretty much drain any money I make running my studio. More than that, how much will diapers and formula cost? Health care? Will I breastfeed? My breasts are already so sore I feel like amputating them. I was expecting to get sick to my stomach or have weird food cravings that would alert me to pregnancy, but so far all I have are really, really sensitive nipples. This is not how I pictured it going.
Then again, none of this is how I pictured it going.
My mind is so lost in a whirling dervish of stressed thoughts that I’m not enjoying the savasana. I can’t relax. I can’t clear my damn head. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to clear it again. There’s too much baby in there, and I wonder if Knox got my note. Does he even remember who I am or was I just another hookup to him? For some reason, I feel like I should matter to him. I hope I do. It’s silly, because I’m the one that ghosted him, but I don’t want him to resent me. I want him to think of our night together fondly. I know I’m still thinking about it, after all.
The door chimes, signaling that someone’s entering, and I open my eyes and glance over from my spot on the mat.
Holy shit.
I jerk upright, forgetting all about corpse pose. I jump to my feet and rush forward, padding across the floor of my studio toward Knox Price, who’s just shown up looking like a gorgeous daydream. Did I forget how incredible he looks in person? Because my brain is frying at the sight of him. That big, scruffy beard. The slightly too-long hair that curls over his brow and begs to be pushed off his forehead. The dark eyes and broad shoulders and tanned skin. Oh my god. I’m practically getting wet just looking at him.
I’m going to blame it on pregnancy hormones, because I’m freaking out even as I’m aroused at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice down to not disturb Mrs. Bateman. Savasana works best when you have several long minutes to clear your mind, and she needs more time. Plus, she still has another twenty minutes of class booked with me.
He devours me with a look, saying nothing. My entire body tingles in awareness, and I feel his gaze skating down my body, outlined by the formfitting sports bra and leggings I’m wearing. My hair’s pulled up in a tight bun, and I kind of wish it was down so I could look like the girl he remembered from that night. Why that matters, I don’t know. I’m going to blame that on pregnancy hormones, too.
“We need to talk,” he tells me in a low voice, glancing over at Mrs. Bateman over on the mat. “Cancel your appointments.”
I start to bristle at that, because who comes in and demands that I clear my schedule like that? Clearly someone with no money problems, that’s who. “You’ve never run a small business, have you? If I cancel on my clients, they get offended. Not just for today, but for future bookings, and I don’t think—”
“Just cancel them,” Knox says, tone gentle. He leans in even more, as if he wants to touch me but can’t. “You know as well as I do that we have things to discuss.”
My pulse is fluttering, and I’m acutely aware of how close he’s standing and the soap he uses. The way that the T-shirt he’s wearing is so worn the screen-printed logo on the breast is cracked and there’s a tiny hole at the collar and he doesn’t care. That there are little curls of his hair sticking out from under his trucker cap, just begging for my fingers to reach up and tuck them back under. Why do I find this man so ultimately touchable? What is wrong with me?
Hormones, I remind myself again. It all goes back to hormones. “I can’t just cancel on my clients—”
“I’m done,” Mrs. Bateman calls out from behind me. “I’m finished corpsing and I need to go. I’m getting my hair done for bingo tonight.”
Now she’s working against me, too. I turn to Mrs. Bateman and give her my sweetest smile. “All right, then. Did you want to discuss payment for this week?”
She moves to the cubby where she has her things and pulls out her wallet. “I’m only going to pay you for two-thirds of a session today, since your boyfriend is here and that corpse pose shit doesn’t count as yoga. If I wanted to lie down all afternoon I’d do that at home. Next time try teaching me some damn yoga like I pay you to.”
Such a salty woman. I adore her. “Pay me what you think is appropriate,” I tell her, just because I’m fond of the old bitch. “And let’s schedule your next few sessions.”
Mrs. Bateman gives me a crisp five-dollar bill and allows me to schedule her for twice more in the upcoming week. “Let’s not cut those short because you need to spend time with your boyfriend.” She gives me a prim look.
“Why do you think he’s my boyfriend?” I ask, curious. I glance over at Knox, who’s still by the doorway, gazing at my yoga pose posters and a flow chart of aligning chakras and some other karmic bullshit I hung on the walls so they’d look appropriately yoga-ey.
“Honey,” she says with a shake of her head. “I am old but I am not senile. I have eyes. He looks at you like he wants to tap that.”
And now I’m really fighting back a laugh, because hearing something like that out of wizened Mrs. Bateman is probably the greatest thing ever. “Gotcha.”
“I’ll see you Wednesday,” she tells me, and gets her things, sliding on her shoes and then heading out the front door. She giggles as Knox holds the door open for her and waves.
He waits until she’s in her car and then strides forward, toward where I’m hiding behind the checkout counter of my studio. “Did she just pay you five dollars? How much do you charge for a class?”
“Twenty for a one-on-one session, but Mrs. Bateman likes to haggle. She’s fun.” I slide the five into my nearly empty till. “I can only imagine the hell she’ll give them at the nursing home when she deigns to go.”
Knox just shakes his head. “How are you supposed to run a business if your customers ain’t payin’ you properly?”
I can’t decide if that’s sweet of him to be concerned, or intrusive. “I’m just waiting for a life-threatening injury so I can spend my days lounging on worker’s comp and living the good life,” I tell him drily. “Maybe if I get lucky, I’ll rupture something vital and then the big bucks roll in. Ka-ching.”
He snorts. “I’m just sayin’, she’s using you.”
“Yeah, but I love her sour ass, so it’s all good. I consider it an entertainment discount. My favorite part’s when she cusses at me for making her stretch.” I mock-shiver. “I learn new words every time.”
“Can you break for lunch?” he asks.
“It’s four.”
“Yeah, but don’t pregnant ladies wanna eat all the time?”
I just eye him. He’s not wrong, though. I’m starving. “There’s a diner next door. But you have to promise not to talk very loud. This is a small town and I’d prefer not to be the town pariah because I’m unmarried and pregnant. I like to be the town pariah because I’m weird, and that would ruin my cred.”
“Whatever you want. I have my truck. We can go someplace else if you’d like. Just tell me where.”
I glance down at my planner. “I can’t go anywhere for long. I have a five thirty.” I’m totally fucking lying, because my five thirty permanently canceled on me a month ago and I just haven’t updated my books. Truth is, I’m a little wary of going somewhere else with him. If we’re local and someplace small, he can’t yell at me. At least, that’s my theory.
“Next door it is, then. But you’re lettin’ me buy.”
I shrug. “That’s fine.” I grab my cell phone and slide on a pair of flip-flops, then lead the way out. My heart is hammering as he exits my studio and I flip the BACK SOON sign on the door. I’m not expecting drop-ins, but going out in public with Knox like this makes me worry that Keith is going to see me with him and flip his lid. Maybe we should leave town after all.
Then again, it might be worse if Keith sees me in Knox’s truck than if he sees me sitting publicly in the diner with him. Jesus, I can’t win for losing. I debate this for a moment and then decide it’s safest in town. It’ll show I have nothing to hide, whereas if I drive off with a stranger and it gets back to him, he’s sure to go nuts about it.
We head down the little strip mall into the Luka Diner, and I keep my steps brisk so he can’t put a hand on my shoulder or my back or anything like that. Much as I’d love that small touch, it’s not a good idea. The moment we enter the diner, Laura looks up from her spot behind the counter. We’re the only customers in the tiny diner. Of course we are. It’s early for the dinner rush. The place is a bit dated and cheap, as far as eateries go. There’s still wood paneling from the seventies on the walls, and popcorn ceilings. The chairs are orange molded plastic, and the tables are tiny laminate squares that manage to always be a little bit dirty from the last customers that sat there. But the place has great coffee and it’s close by, so it gets a lot of traffic from the locals.
“Hey, Laura,” I call out, doing my best to be cheerful and act like nothing about this is weird.
She just looks at me as if I’ve grown another head. Okay, maybe that’s a little overly chirpy for me, since I normally get coffee from the diner in the morning with a few monosyllabic grunts. Well, whatever. I pick a table close to the door and sit down, grabbing a sticky menu before Knox can do something gallant like pull my chair out.
He sits across from me as Laura hustles over. “New boyfriend, honey?” She drawls her words and gives me a curious look.
“Please,” I say drily. “You know I’m a lesbian and holding my heart out for you.”
Her expression puckers and her mouth presses in a thin line. I figured that’d shut her up. They’re not fond of alternative lifestyles in this backward little town.
Knox just gives me an amused look. “Coffee, please,” he says to Laura.
“Me too,” I say immediately, and then pause. I shouldn’t drink caffeine. But if I don’t, she might wonder what’s up. I guess I’ll order it and just hold my mug. “And a water, too. Super, super thirsty.”
Laura scribbles a note down on her order pad and studies Knox a moment longer before turning back to me. “I’ll give y’all a moment to look over the menu and I’ll be back with your drinks.”
I sit back in the plastic diner chair and cross my arms, gazing at Knox. I’m silently praying for Laura to leave the room so we can talk in private, but she lingers nearby, adjusting ketchup bottles. Wasn’t she supposed to get our damn drinks? I drum my fingers on my arm, waiting.
Knox glances over his shoulder at Laura, his mouth crooking with a hint of amusement. He clasps his hands on the table and leans forward, talking in a loud whisper that Laura’s sure to overhear. “So, like I told my brother, the best way to get rid of bedbugs is with incense.”
“You don’t say.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at how quickly Laura jerks upright, her back to us.
“Yes. He said it was bullshit, but I told him it worked for me.” As Laura turns away, he makes sure to scratch really hard at his chest, then takes his trucker cap off and shakes it out.
I can practically feel her horror. God, I’m dying inside with laughter, but I manage to keep a poker face. “I have some incense you can borrow.”
“That’d be great. Patchouli? They really hate patchouli.”
“Oh yes. Patchouli’s the best.”
He glances back toward Laura, but she’s disappeared behind the swinging door into the kitchen. “Nosy around here, aren’t they?” Knox murmurs to me.
“You can say that again.” I nudge him with my flip-flop under the table, because I don’t know how to react to his presence. “Why are you here?”
“Well, I tried calling but someone never answered. Phone calls or texts.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.” He says nothing else, just waits.
I trace someone’s carved initials on the linoleum table. “So, right after you and I, ah, met”—I glance back at the kitchen, but Laura’s still hiding, no doubt telling everyone about my “filthy” lunch companion—“I lost my phone. They wouldn’t let me keep my number, so I had to get a new one.”
“Nat mentioned something about that,” he says agreeably. “And I asked Nat to get me your number.”
I nod slowly. “I know. I told her to give me your number instead. But then your brother passed and . . .” I shrug. “I’m sorry. I should have said more or done something, but I’m not good with that.”
“It’s all right.” He looks at me with understanding, and I feel like a jerk because I imagine it’s been harder for him than it was for me.
I hide how flustered I am. “So yeah . . . it’s just been an awkward time.”
“Until . . .” He gives me a leading look.
“Yeah.” Until I got pregnant. We leave it left unsaid, though.
He studies my face, and then picks up one of the Luka Diner printed coasters, flipping it back and forth between his fingers. Before he can respond, Laura comes out with our coffees and my water. Neither of us speaks while she hovers, but I notice after a moment that she puts down a new coaster for Knox. The one that was in his hands a moment ago is gone.
When Laura leaves again, I nod at him. “Souvenir?”
It’s like I just gave him a compliment. A slow smile curves his mouth and he looks at me with so much heat in his eyes that I feel like my vagina just caught on fire. Holy fucking Christ, but this guy is amazingly hot. “You noticed that, did you?”
“I notice what you do.” And then I feel a flush coming on because that sounds incredibly sexual and now I’m thinking about his beard as it scratched between my thighs and oh god, I really, really want to get out of here and ride his face for hours. For some reason, I am incredibly horny today. But I can’t do that. I just cross my legs and clamp my thighs tightly together.
Knox just grins at me. “That’s one of the things I like about you. I . . .” He pauses and straightens, studying his menu, and I realize Laura’s swinging by again. Damn, it’s like she’s never had a fucking customer in her life the way she’s hovering. I hope Knox gives her the shittiest tip ever. I glance at the menu and then put it aside.
“Y’all ready?” she asks, all chirpy attitude.
“Pancakes,” I tell her.
Knox make a big show of scratching. Chest, neck, then arm. “Chicken-fried steak good?” he asks, leaning toward Laura.
She subtly leans away from him, frozen smile on her face. “Yep, it’s great. It’ll take about twenty to make it, though. That okay?”
“Fine with me.”
“You can bring out my pancakes with his,” I tell her, holding up my menu and giving her a go-away glare. She gets the hint, takes the menus, and hightails it back to the kitchen.
Knox looks over at me again. “Think she’ll be gone for longer than a minute?”
“Fingers crossed,” I say, and make the accompanying gesture.
He studies me for a long moment. “You don’t look it, you know.”
I’m not sure how to take that, exactly. On one hand, I’m grateful he’s not blurting out about how pregnant I am. On the other hand, does he think I’m going to grow a beach ball in my stomach overnight? Surely not. “Explain?”
He shrugs and leans back in his chair, scratching at his heavenly beard. God, it’s so arousing to watch him move. “I dunno. I kinda thought something would look different, you know? Like it would tell me for sure, yeah, there it is. But everything looks the same.” His mouth quirks, just a little. “You’re just as sexy as ever.”
“Well, yeah,” I say lamely. “But nothing visual happens for a while. Still in the early stages here.” I keep my voice low so Laura doesn’t overhear. “Only symptom I have is . . . well, it’s not a big one.”
“And you’re sure?” His casual demeanor is gone, replaced by an odd sort of tension. He cups his mug with both hands, but I could swear he’s on the edge of his seat.
“Went to my doctor this week. I’m sure. I have a due date and everything.”
His hands clench tight on the coffee mug, and I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. He’s going to ask me to get rid of it, I realize. He’s not happy. He’s going to yell at me or bitch about me ruining his life or—
“Marry me,” Knox says quietly.
I look up from studying his hands, surprised. “Um, what?”
“I don’t want our kid to be raised without two parents in his life. Let me marry you.”
Get married? Again? I think of my first husband from when I was eighteen and stupid, and how miserable I was. No fucking thank you. “Pass.”
His brows go down and a thunderous frown crosses his face. “Is this just a bid for child support, then?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustrated. “You would think that, wouldn’t you? It’s okay, I can see how you’re getting there. Okay, let me make this clear. I don’t want child support. I don’t want anything from you. In fact, if it’ll make you feel better, we can sign some paperwork absolving you of any sort of parental responsibility. I don’t have to put your name on the birth certificate. Whatever it takes to extricate you from this. I didn’t send you flowers because I wanted you to come and open your wallet. I sent that because I felt like you should know.” I pick up my water and take a sip. “Now you know. Congratulations. You can go home now.”
He stares at me. Really, really stares at me. He’s quiet for so long that I wonder if he’s ever going to speak again, but he finally does. “This isn’t a bid for child support.”
“Nope. I’m happy to sign off on whatever you need to ensure that.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the money, Lexi. I don’t want our kid growing up being a bastard. I don’t want him to feel a moment of shame.” He glances around to make sure no one’s listening to our conversation and leans in. “Or her. Or whatever gender the baby comes out as or chooses. I don’t care what it is. I just know it’s our kid and I want him to have everything. Including two parents.”
“That’s sweet,” I tell him softly. It is. It really is. He’s trying, I’ll give him credit for that. “But while I appreciate the offer, I’m not ready to lock myself down to anyone or anything. A marriage between us might be what you feel is best for the baby, but I don’t think it’s the best for me. And you’re overlooking the fact that we can always hyphenate if you’re stuck on names.” I take a sip of water.
His jaw clenches, mouth hardening. “Did I do something wrong? Was the sex bad?”
I immediately choke on my water. Jesus. Talk about not preparing a girl. “Um, no, it was fine.”
“Then why’d you ignore me? I kinda enjoyed our night together.” The look on his face is intense, all teasing gone. His hands are tight on that coffee mug again. “Wanted to get to know you better. But after you ignored my texts, I kinda felt like I’d done something to piss ya off and didn’t know what. Then I wondered if you had a boyfriend already. That the case?”
I shake my head, toying with my own coffee mug. “No boyfriend. No problems with the sex. It’s just all me.” I glance up at him. “If I tell you that it’s not you, it’s me, would you believe me?”
“Gotta admit it sounds fake.”
“You’re not wrong.” I want to sniff my coffee, because I’m already craving caffeine, but I can’t. I won’t. I pick up my water and sip it instead, hating every tasteless mouthful. “I’m really not looking for a steady thing. I had that once. Didn’t like it.”
“That was someone else,” he says confidently. “I’m different. I want to be there for you and my kid.”
“Yeah, well, the more you push, the less I want it,” I snap back at him.
Knox stiffens, the look on his face one of pure betrayal and hurt. “The baby?”
“What? No, you and your money, ding-dong.” I put a hand to my stomach, already weirdly protective of the little parasite. “I knew right away I was keeping this.”
He pushes back from the table, his expression downright thunderous, and storms out of the diner.
Well, that went well. He might be upset at me, or at the fact I called him “ding-dong,” or my refusal of his help. I have to admit I’m not being the most helpful right now. I just feel . . . a little cornered. And when I’m cornered, I get difficult. Either way, I already know I’ll be calling him to apologize soon. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.
I’m honestly a little surprised at how violently he acted at the thought of me terminating the pregnancy. Don’t most guys want their side pieces to get rid of any unnecessary problems? He acted as if I’d slapped him. Maybe he does want to be a daddy.
Just as quickly as he stormed out of the diner, Knox pushes his way back in, his mouth set in a determined line. Uh-oh.
I sip my water, watching as he sits back down across from me at the table. He’s a little twitchy, but it looks like he’s doing his best to remain calm and cool. I wonder if this is the part where he threatens to take the baby from me even though it’s only a zygote at this point. I immediately tense inwardly. If he thinks he can do that, he’s got another thing coming to him.
Knox puts his palms together, almost like he’s about to do yoga, and gives me a patient expression. “What would it take for you to go out with me?”
Go out with him? He wants to woo me despite all this? I don’t understand. “Blackmail?”
Instead of being insulted, he looks thoughtful. “That’d work?”
I shrug. What else am I supposed to say? Yes, please blackmail me?
“That’s not a no.” His eyes narrow. “How come you won’t go out with me? I thought we got along.”
“We did.” And I can’t stop thinking about his beard. “But right now you’re too young and feeling too obligated at the moment.”
“Too obligated?”
“Yes. If you wanted to be with me, you’d have shown up earlier, before you knew there was a baby.”
He blinks at me. “You mean I should have skipped my brother’s funeral to come and beg you to go out?”
I flinch. Shit, I forgot about that. “Okay, that was crappy of me. Look, when I said it was me and not you, I meant it. You haven’t done anything wrong. Our timelines have not exactly meshed, I realize that. But listen, Knox. This is a kid that deserves two invested parents, not two assholes that can’t figure their own heads out.” When he continues to give me that watchful look, as if waiting for me to make an argument that he agrees with, I continue. “We aren’t even dating.”
“That’s not my fault. I want to date you.”
“No.”
He doesn’t look intimidated by my surly expression. “I can show you a good time.”
Fuck, now I’m thinking of his beard between my thighs again. I know he can show me a good time. That was never the problem. But I’m determined to hold him at arm’s length. “Prove it.”
Leaning back in his chair, Knox crosses his arms over his chest and watches me. “Fancy dinner and a movie?”
Ugh. “That sounds like hell to me.”
That gets a chuckle out of him. “Kinda does to me, too. What do you want to do, then?”
What do I want to do? My hormones want his mouth between my thighs again. My brain is screaming for me to run, run far away because me and relationships don’t work out. I’m conflicted. Part of me wants to launch myself into his lap and wrap my arms around him, but I see Laura peeking out of the kitchen, spying on us.
And I think of Keith. Ugh. What do I want? I want to be left alone, I think. I put my water down and stand up, giving Knox my sweetest smile. “You think of something. You’re the one that wants to get in my pants. If I give you all of the answers, I make it too easy on you.”
The look he gives me is downright predatory. “So you want this to be a challenge? Game on, baby girl.”
I’m pretty sure he can’t call me “baby girl,” since I’m five years older than him. I’m also pretty sure my nipples perked up at hearing that, though. Dear god, I am in so much trouble.