Dirty Bastard

“Exciting. You’re just in time to paint.” I open the door wider, indicating he should come in.

He eyes the guest house as he walks in, sizing it up. “This is nice.”

“It is,” I agree, really pleased with my new digs. I forgot to ask Natalie to send me pictures before I moved, so I came into things a little blind. The guest house itself is roomy, the “main” room as big as my old apartment, and windows line the walls to let in a lot of light. There’s a stone fireplace angled in one corner, a small kitchen, and a separate room for my bed, with a bathroom in the hallway. It’s absolutely wonderful, and I’m so thankful Natalie’s such a good friend. I couldn’t even afford something like this on my regular budget, so for her to graciously allow me to live here for a hundred bucks a month seems practically criminal.

It feels like I’m using my friend, and my mood plummets a little. Combined with my confusion over where Knox and I are at, I’m a frustrated mess within a few seconds flat. Thanks, hormones.

He enters the guesthouse, and his eyes gleam with pleasure as he sizes me up. “You’re lookin’ mighty fine today.”

I glance down at the shorts and old T-shirt I’m wearing. My hair’s pulled into a messy knot and I’m sweaty and covered in paint drippings. “I see we’re going to have to recalibrate what ‘mighty fine’ means if this is your idea of hot.”

“Sweetheart, you could be wearing a paper bag and I’d think you were the sexiest creature alive.” He moves toward me immediately and puts his arms around me and gives me a light kiss. “Been too long since I looked at you. Now show me where all this furniture is so I can help you set up your new place.”

I should be melting under such flattery, but all I can think about is how I’m using him, in a way. He didn’t ask to be a dad, or to have a ready-made girlfriend. Our hookup was supposed to be a one-time-only thing, and here I am bringing all my problems to his lap. I’m even moving closer, and he won’t be able to get away from me even if he wants to. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m like a tornado, ripping up lives wherever I land. Jesus.

I have to wonder how fucked up my kid is going to be with me as a parent. I didn’t have the best examples myself. Last I heard, they were living in a religious commune and waiting daily for Armageddon.

“Hey,” Knox says, and brushes his fingers over my cheek before tilting my chin up so I can meet his gaze. “That’s not the Lexi I know. What’s wrong?”

“You sure about that? Depressing, moody Lexi might be the true Lexi.”

“Moody, maybe. But depressing, no. Even when you’re at your darkest and finest, there’s a hint of glee in those eyes. It’s gone today. What’s bothering you?” He moves to the only chair in the house, a folding metal one, and sits down, then pats his knee. “Want to come tell Daddy about it?”

“I can’t decide if that’s creepy or a turn-on.”

“Little of both?”

I can’t help the smile that curves my mouth despite my shitty mood. Hard to stay upset around him. “You can’t do daddy play very well, considering you’re half toddler yourself.”

“Five years younger, not twenty-five,” he says in that patient voice, and reaches for my hand, tugging me over to him. “And if daddy play’s not your thing, you can be my babysitter. Either way, come sit in my lap and tell me who or what’s bothering you so I can beat it up.”

He’s serious, too. The look on his face is deadly earnest. I rub his jaw, feeling the wiry bristles of his beard against my skin. “You can’t beat up the world.”

“Watch me try.”

I shake my head. “You can’t beat up depression and anxiety. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

He wraps his arms around me and hugs me closer to him, until I’m cuddled in his lap, my legs curled up and my entire body pressing up against him. I put my head on his shoulder and he strokes my hair, quiet. God, this feels far too good. I shouldn’t be so comfortable with someone so fast but . . . I can’t help it.

It’s really going to break me when things go south this time. They always do.

I bury my nose against his neck, my face hidden by his beard. He slides a hand up and down my back, not saying much. Eventually, he says, “Is it the ex? Do I need to rearrange his face?”

“So violent,” I murmur. “Stop, you’re turning me on.”

“I don’t like the way he treated you.” I can feel him shrug. “Makes me a little punchy.”

“If you’re going to punch out everyone in my past that treated me badly, you might want to brace yourself for the long haul, because that’s going to be a lot of punching.”

“I’m ready for it.”

So stubborn. It’s like he’s unwilling to admit I might be the problem. He’s not willing to accept that my poor life choices might be the cause of my problems. That’s . . . really kind of sweet. It makes me ache inside with how good he is. I don’t deserve his confidence in me. “I’m just stressed.”

Knox rubs my back, and I hate how good it feels. “Why are you stressed, sweetheart?”

“Oh, you know, a little thing like giving up on my business and moving somewhere that I’m basically depending on the goodness of friends, having no income, and being knocked up. Those little things are known to be stressors in a girl’s life.”

“You hate the loss of control,” he guesses. “I don’t blame you. So what are you going to do to fix it?”

Strangely enough, just hearing him ask that makes me feel better. He’s not offering to fix it for me. He’s just wanting to listen while I vomit out my feelings. It’s exactly what I needed to hear. “Well, I can’t fix being pregnant, but I can fix having no income and giving up on my business, I guess.”

“All right. How?”

“Another studio?” Of course, the moment I say it, I grimace. “Except that didn’t work so well for me last time. I’m not a big people person, and the rent for a studio will just drain whatever income I make. I’d need an exceptional location to launch well, and exceptional locations aren’t cheap.”

“You’d need an investor,” he guesses. “You want one?”

“Not sure I do,” I admit. “Because when things inevitably fail, I’m going to be on the hook to them and feel even more guilty. Let’s not even discuss all the credit cards I have maxed out and lingering over my head from trying to keep my last studio afloat. I could apply to some local studios, I guess.”

“Would they hire you?”

“Depends on how perky I pretend to be.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Exactly. No one wants a dark yoga teacher who’d rather quote Lovecraft and Poe than Maharishi.” His neck smells so good and the skin underneath looks so tempting I can’t help but flick my tongue against it, tasting him. “And they probably won’t let me be cruel to them by making them do really hard poses.”

Knox chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Exactly. They’ll stick me with all the newbies and I’ll be doing basic asanas all day long instead of the really tricky things that make people hurt in all the right ways.”

“Maybe you need to do truth in advertising,” he tells me, his hand caressing my butt cheek. “Cruel Yoga. You can have a business only for the truly masochistic.”

I freeze.

Oh my god. That’s perfect. “Cruel Yoga,” I whisper. “God, I love it.” I can even see the advertising now. Something dark, with skulls. Ultra-challenging workout plans designed for the hard-core who need to push themselves and want that delicious, tormenting burn. Maybe not a studio, then. Maybe one-on-one sessions. Or better yet, online classes. Instruction videos. I clench my hands in his shirt because my brain’s firing with a million different concepts on how I could go about it. Rock music instead of Enya. No beginner shit. Black clothing.

I can still be my own boss. I can still do yoga the way I want to. I’ve been going about this all wrong. I’ve been trying to make myself fit the brand when I should have made the brand for me. It’s perfect. “I . . . might have some ideas for Cruel Yoga. But I’d need some advisors on how to do websites and marketing. I’m not sure I have the money for that.”

“I might know an investor who’s willing to take a chance on that sort of thing.”

I rub my nose against his neck. “You do, huh?”

“Yeah, an oil guy. Heard he’s into bendy women.”

I snort and then move up to nip at his ear. “He’s just horny and likes to be punished.”

“Also true.” He squeezes my flank. “I know you don’t like to be dependent on me, though. We can write things up as a typical investment scenario and you can set up guidelines for paying me back. If you’re able to do that, I won’t keep a share in things. It’ll be all you.”

And with that, he’s taken care of all of my worries. It’ll be more like a start-up loan. I’m not crazy about the idea of borrowing from him, but I don’t want to borrow from Natalie, either, and I know a bank would laugh in my face. I’m kind of energized about the idea of Cruel Yoga, though. I can do local classes, too. If hot yoga’s a thing, ultra-challenging yoga can be, too. And San Antonio’s not so far away. Neither is Austin. Both of them would be bigger markets for the occasional class than Luka was. I can do an online video channel. With the right marketing, there’s tons of possibility.

I’m . . . actually excited. I press a kiss to Knox’s cheek and then nip his ear again, just because I can’t help it. He smells good and it’s making me all turned-on. “How is everything so easy with you?”

“Because all I want is your happiness? All I want to do is take care of you?” His mouth quirks. “Gage says I’m going about you and me all wrong, by the way.”