Chapter 14
Lexi
Three Days Later
“You have no idea what a good friend you are, Nat,” I tell my bestie as I run a roller up and down the wall. I’ve just moved in to Natalie’s guesthouse with most of my stuff still in boxes, and we’re giving the place a quick paint job before I unpack.
Well, I’m giving it a quick paint job. Poor Natalie’s lying on the couch with a cold cloth pressed to her forehead and a barf bucket at her side. She has morning sickness something awful. It makes me feel a little guilty that I’m doing amazing, without a hint of any sort of nausea. If anything, I’ve needed to nap and I eat like a horse, but I don’t see those as problems.
“I’m selfishly glad you’re here,” Nat tells me from her spot on the couch. “I missed having a friend nearby. I mean, Clay’s here and he’s wonderful, but I can’t complain about girl stuff to him.”
I grin and give the wall another swipe of cheery yellow. Even though I love my dark and forbidding color palette when I wear clothing, I like a bright and airy room. The ceiling here has been scraped of popcorn and painted a pale pink, and the walls are going to be a pale yellow. Instead of curtains, I’ve opted to use some of the sheer Indian scarves from my studio. I abandoned most of my furniture, since I figured I could buy new stuff at the nearest superstore.
Mostly, I’d just wanted to get out of Luka fast. I waited for a weekday so Keith would be working, packed up my studio, packed up my apartment, and shoved it all in my car and got the hell out of there. I talked to my landlord and paid the rest of my apartment rent, even though it cleaned out my savings. I’m still figuring out what to do about the studio rent, since I’m technically on the hook for it at the beginning of the month, but I’ll figure that out.
For now, I’m going to concentrate on the fact that I’m here with friends and grabbing at my fresh start. “I really appreciate this,” I tell Natalie again for the billionth time. “Are you sure Clay doesn’t mind me paying you just a hundred a month until I figure out what to do about my business?”
She snorts and presses the towel tighter against her brows. “Lexi, you dork. Clay wouldn’t care if I paid you to live here. He just wants me happy, and if having you nearby makes me happy, he is all for it. I’m just surprised you decided to pull up roots.”
I shrug and dip my roller into the paint again, then slap it on the wall. “I thought it was time for a change. All my clients have been kind of wandering away, and the writing was on the wall, so to speak.”
“Why were you losing clients?” she asks, sympathy in her voice. “Because Luka’s so small?”
“Maybe,” I tell her. I don’t elaborate. She doesn’t know that Keith was causing me problems. I’ve always been really good at hiding my issues. Heck, it was hard enough confessing to Knox that I was married once. I haven’t told Nat that. There’s something about my inability to handle my personal life that embarrasses me. My yoga studio failing? That sucks, and it happens. I can talk about that. But my ridiculous first marriage? My problems with Keith?
The baby in my belly?
I can’t say a thing about them. It’s not that I don’t trust Natalie. It’s that everything inside me locks up and fills with shame at the thought of sharing all my fuckups.
Sorry, baby, I mentally apologize to my stomach as I run the roller down the wall. You’re a fuckup, but a good kind, I promise.
To change subjects on Nat, I glance back at her as I paint. “So tell me about the parasite. How far along are you?”
She groans. “Almost three months.”
“Considering you bought this house and married Clay after that, I can math up that prim Natalie Weston has been a very, very naughty girl.”
Her laugh is pained. “Just don’t tell my father. I’m going to ‘have the baby early,’ as far as he knows.”
Nat’s father is a whole other mess of worms. I don’t comment that she’d be lucky if he remembered the baby at all, but that’s just cruel, and I won’t be that way to Natalie. She’s a damn angel and deserves every bit of happiness she can get. “I won’t say a thing. You hoping for a boy or a girl?”
“It feels disloyal to pick one,” she admits from her spot on the couch. “Like if I say one thing, I’m going to destroy my kid if it’s not that. I’d be happy with either one.”
“That’s a total cop-out answer and you know it. You have to have an idea of what you want.” I know I do. It came to me about a week ago, maybe when I last saw Knox looking at me with those dark brows and that gorgeous smile. I want a boy. I want a boy that looks just like him with his beautiful eyes and strong build. He’s so good-looking that something like that deserves to be passed along in the world. I like to think his son would have his father’s same watchful, clever mind. How wonderful would that be?
Behind me, Natalie sighs. “Well, if I had to pick something, I guess I’d pick a girl? Just because of the sweet little dresses you can put them in. But I really would be happy with anything. I’m just thrilled that it feels like everything’s finally coming together. I have Clay and we’re having a baby. Everything else is just gravy.”
I glance back at her and she’s got the most beatific smile on her face. Aw. “You’re lucky. I’m so glad everything’s worked out for you.”
“I really am happy,” Natalie says softly. “I want the same for you, too. I want you to be as happy as I am.”
With a man and a baby on the way? She has no idea how close to the mark she’s hitting with that.
Natalie bails out on me a short time later, the paint fumes only aggravating her nausea. That’s all right. I don’t mind painting the rest by myself. I get it done quickly enough, but I can’t stop thinking about Natalie and her happiness. All she’s ever wanted was Clay, and she has him and the baby to boot. I have the baby, but I don’t know how I feel about Knox.
Scratch that. I know how I feel about Knox. I like him—far too much. I don’t know how to process that, because everything in my mind is screaming danger when it comes to settling down in a relationship. It turned out bad with Jonas. It turned out worse than bad with Keith. What if things go sour with Knox? Not only will there be a baby in the mix, but my best friend (and the holder of my rent) is married into that family. It’d be smarter not to get involved at all.
If Knox and I have an ugly breakup like I did with Jonas, I could lose everything. Again. Just the thought makes me break out into a cold sweat.
Someone knocks at the door to the guesthouse. “We don’t want any,” I call out.
There’s a laugh. I recognize it immediately. Knox. My body flushes with awareness, and I feel feverish. Going from terror to arousal will do that to a girl, I suppose. I put down my roller and head to the door. The windows are open to let in air, but I didn’t like the idea of the door hanging open, so I flip the lock and open it a crack.
Knox gives me a devilish smile on the other side of the door. He’s got a basket of flowers under one arm and what looks like a champagne bottle. “Housewarming celebration incoming. Before you ask,” he says, pointing at the bottle, “this is apple cider.”
“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.”
“Oh? What’d he say?” For a moment, I kind of want to punch Gage. I’m the only one that should have doubts about us, not Knox’s flirty brother.
“He says I’m not makin’ you chase me enough. That I need to make you thirsty.”
“Mmm. Well, that’s where he’s all wrong,” I say, and lean in to lick Knox’s earlobe again. “I’m already thirsty.”
I love his delicious little groan, and he puts his arms around me and carries me to my bed—a mattress on the floor. Painting can wait.