Resisting Roots (Lotus House Book 1)

by Audrey Carlan

  I shrugged. “Kind of.” Laughing, I shook my head. “Maybe. I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Well, he’s beautiful, and you’ve been alone far too long. If anything, he looks like the type of man who could ride a girl all night long and wake up wanting thirds, fourths, and fifths.”

  Shoving her through the door, I wagged a finger. “Don’t you have a class to teach?”

  Luna grinned. “Don’t you have a man to hunt down?”

  “No! Besides, I’m doing private lessons with him tomorrow.”

  Her eyes widened as we walked to the platform. I gathered my things while she laid hers out.

  “He booked a weekly private appointment with you?”

  “Technically, he booked private appointments for five days a week.”

  Those moons went from full to ginormous in a second flat. “Oh, my! He wants you!” Luna shimmied her shoulders and swayed from side to side in a mini victory dance.

  “He does not! He wants me to help him recuperate.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay. That’s logical. He’s already paid for a three-month membership where he could come to any class. So instead of taking advantage of what he’s already paid for—something that’s not cheap, I might add—he books five appointments a week with you for an additional fee?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re reading too much into this. He liked the class but said it was hard. Wanted me to help him with the pain.”

  “Oh, I bet he does want your help.” She snorted, but the sound was lost when she flapped out her mat. “Look, Viv, just let it be what it’s gonna be. You know? If the universe wants you to have some fun with this man, have some fun with him. Goodness knows, you could use it. When was the last time you had a boyfriend, anyway?”

  “He’s not going to be my boyfriend,” I said with absolutely no hint of laughter.

  “Fine! But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun. I’d bet money your sacral chakra is closed up so tight it will take a man of his size to knock that sucker wide open.” She held her hands about nine inches apart.

  I’m pretty sure my eyes were so big anyone in the vicinity could see straight through to my brain. “Naughty girl, you’re terrible!” I shoved her. A wave of heat singed my cheeks as I put my head down, neck burrowing toward my chest.

  She chuckled, and it sounded like a song. Her mother, Jewel, had the very same laugh. Lovely and infectious. “Just don’t be so closed off to the more carnal pleasures in life. When was the last time you…you know…” She shimmied her hips from side to side in a rather vulgar display.

  I placed my hands on her hips to stop them from gyrating and checked if the clients setting out their mats were watching us. They weren’t, thank God.

  “Cut it out,” I whispered. “Jeez. I don’t know. Since my parents, okay?”

  “No way! Three years? You haven’t gotten…” She looked around and leaned closer. “You haven’t had sex in three years? How are you even functioning?”

  I laughed hard at that. “Day by day. I know. It’s such a hardship.”

  “Girl, that is a hardship. This just proves my point. If that client, Mr. Baseball Hottie himself, makes a move on you, don’t pass it up. Take it, and take it good.”

  “But I’m not looking for a relationship. You know how much I work, and taking care of the kids…” I sighed.

  “That’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with a little casual sex, is there?” Her cheeks pinked, and her eyes sparked with mischief.

  I shrugged and bit my bottom lip. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever been with Brian, and he couldn’t handle me being unavailable due to working and raising my brother and sister.”

  “That’s because he wasn’t worthy of you. If he couldn’t cut it, honey, he was the wrong man. Be glad he’s gone. For now, though, you need to live a little. Will you promise me you’ll think about it?”

  Pulling her into my arms, I gave her a hug. The smell of fresh jasmine surrounded me. “I will. Promise. Have a good class. See you tomorrow.” I waved and left her to finish prepping for her Prenatal Yoga class.

  As I passed, I smiled at the glowing pregnant women and their rounded bellies. For a single moment, I allowed myself to wonder if I’d ever have that—a family of my own, one that I’d created.

  Sure, I was only twenty-four, but my baby sister was eight. I had a solid ten years of raising her until she went off to college. By then I’d be closing in on thirty-five and trying to start over. Maybe then I could have the big family I’d always dreamed of. Maybe own a hair salon and teach yoga classes once or twice a week because I wanted to and loved the practice, not because I needed the money. For now, those dreams were just that—dreams.

  * * *

  TRENT

  My poor teeth had been ground down to nothing from the amount of times I’d held back the things I wanted to say to Genevieve Harper. With her, all my usual lines sounded wrong, lacked creativity. What the hell was wrong with me?

  Jesus Christ, that woman with her sexy little body, toned in all the right places, curves for days in the ultimate mouth-watering areas could bring even a priest to his knees for worship. Nothing but tits and a fine, hard ass on that one, and I’d be looking at it for seven-and-a-half hours a week for the next month. I wanted to blow on my knuckles and pat myself on the back for coming up with that. Please my agent, get on the right path to recovery, and bed a damn fine woman in the process. I could hardly wait to get her under me.

  First thing on my list—those sugary sweet lips. It took inhuman self-restraint not to back her up against the wall and use some serious power of persuasion on the dynamite platinum blonde. She had this Gwen Stefani look about her—unique, pristine in her beauty, without even trying. Effortless.

  With a slight spring in my otherwise busted step, I felt good about this new path to recovery. Now for some time hitting the weights, and then I’d be solid as a rock—literally and figuratively.

  Once I stepped outside the Lotus House Yoga Center, the scent of cinnamon hit me again. I moseyed into Sunflower Bakery, stood in line, and inspected the options. Two large curved glass cases held a wide variety of delectable treats. One side promoted fresh loaves of bread, bagels, and muffins. The other curved into an L shape and went down the length of the store to the back where all the real fatty items were displayed—cakes, cookies, donuts, pastries, bite-size things, cupcakes, and pies. I was rather impressed with the selection. The fresh-baked cinnamon rolls were calling my name even though eating one would set me back several hundred calories. I couldn’t afford to get soft during my recovery, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to scarf back a couple of those loaded doughy swirls.

  I had high hopes for the pastry. If the number of customers in the place was an indication of quality, I’d likely struck gold. Several of the people who had been in my hatha class with Genevieve sat around a table, picking at a gooey dessert. A couple of the women would glance up, flirt a little, and look away. I smiled but didn’t put the effort into the act that I normally would. Probably because some white-hot blonde had my nuts in a twist. No one but her would do.

  The line crawled forward at a snail’s pace. I sighed, worried that I might not get a couple of the sugary treats until I saw the young man hoof it back from the kitchen carrying a full steaming-hot tray.

  Once I got to the counter, I was starving. Two cinnamon rolls would no longer cut it.

  “What can I get for you?” a stunning young woman asked. Her coloring matched the perfectly golden-brown loaves of rye bread in the case next to us. Her honey skin tone was not what caught my attention. It was her eyes. They were straight magical. Unlike anything I’d ever seen on a woman of her coloring. They were a tropical ocean blue. Reminded me of my time in Cancun last summer. Nothing but clear aqua-blue waters as far as the eye could see.

  She assessed me calmly with no hint of irritation at my stunned silence. Yeah, I checked her out, and was hit with an instant sensation of guilt cutting through my chest as I remembe
red Genevieve. Definitely a new response, and not one I appreciated. I couldn’t be blamed for noticing this woman. I looked down at her name tag—“Dara” in block lettering.

  I cleared my throat and took a breath.

  “Just finish a class? Was it Mila or Genevieve?”

  The second she said my girl’s name, I sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Aw, Viv.” Her smile widened. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Dara said as if we were old friends having a regular everyday conversation about the weather. She gave off this vibe that I wasn’t the only one here that she did that with. If I were a betting man, I’d have a benji on every person who came in contact with her felt like a friend. Apparently, the ease loosened my tongue because the second she asked the question, I answered on autopilot.

  “Fuckin’ beautiful is more like it,” I grumbled and placed my palms on the counter, taking the load off my sore leg that throbbed along with my heartbeat. After a ninety-minute class and standing in line for thirty minutes, the leg had seen better days. I needed to take a load off, badly.

  She smiled huge, and if anything, got prettier in the process. “I’m Dara. I teach the meditation class every morning at seven if you ever want to connect with your higher self.”

  I snorted and glanced at the line behind me. She didn’t rush me at all, which was probably why it had taken so damn long to get up here in the first place. When Dara served me, not only did I get baked goods, I got to chat with a hottie who baked and taught meditation.

  “So what are you doing behind the counter?” I asked, making polite conversation.

  “Everyone has to make a living, and my mom and dad own the bakery.”

  “Is it ‘bring your daughter to work day’ all down this block?” I thought back to Luna, the redhead chick, telling me that she was the daughter of one of the Lotus House owners.

  Dara laughed with a cute little snort. “There does seem to be a theme along the block. Most of these businesses are owned by families, and a lot of us work at a couple of the places.” She shrugged. “It’s our home. Why not work where we’re happiest?”

  She made an excellent point. “Which is why I play baseball. Nothing like it. I feel at home every time I approach the plate.”

  “Oooh, Viv’s little bro is going to love you.”

  Dara said it as if there would be a reason for me to meet the boy. I found it interesting that this was not the first time Genevieve’s brother had been mentioned. She must be tight with the kid.

  I nodded. “Okay, I’ll take two cinnamon rolls and three of those baby-sized chocolate milks. Those should come in adult size, by the way.”

  Dara snickered, moving around to get the items. “Eating here or taking them to go?”

  Looking around, I really had no reason to go to my empty apartment. The laughter was plenty, and a bunch of hot, young yoga chicks wearing tight clothing, sitting around and chatting it up, made for a nice view. “I’ll stay here.”

  “Bet that was a hard choice.” She snort-laughed again while rolling her eyes. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, how about a couple of those chocolate-dipped cookies?”

  “You got it.”

  Dara was efficient when she wasn’t talking up the patrons. After I paid, the items were all laid out along with a stack of napkins and my three tiny milks. I swore they were the same size as the milk cartons I got back in grammar school, basically a sip for a guy my size.

  “Keep it real,” she said.

  I stepped away, and she tended to the hippie standing behind me.

  “Hey, Jonas, how’s the paraphernalia business treating you this fine morning?” she asked.

  I glanced to the side to find a thin dude with a mop of curly brown hair wearing a tie-dye shirt, loose jeans, complete with a hole in both knees, and Birkenstocks. The outfit screamed throwback to the seventies. Since Dara mentioned paraphernalia, I’d wager a guess that he worked at or ran the smoke shop across the street.

  I found a spot dead center in the bakery eatery section. It took ridiculous effort not to drool when the cinnamon aroma wafted up as I got settled.

  Plowing through my first cinnamon roll was like the first dunk in a steaming hot whirlpool bath after a hellish practice—beyond heaven. Licking the sticky mess off my fingers, I checked out all the people in line and the folks that had stayed. Every single person in the entire bakery was smiling. Hell, I was smiling. The happiness surrounding the place was contagious. I huffed and pulled out my phone.

  To: Ross Holmes

  From: Trent Fox

  Did yoga today. Signed up for private lessons to work the hamstring. Scheduled every morning from 10:30 to noon, starting tomorrow. Don’t book any meetings during that slot.

  While I finished my second chocolate milk, admiring the view of the new round of yoga chicks who bustled in to get the vegan wares, my cell phone signaled I had a message.

  From: Ross Holmes

  To: Trent Fox

  Roger that. Don’t skip out.

  I thought about Genevieve and her eyes as dark as night, flawless skin, and a body that wouldn’t quit. Those full glossy lips… Damn, my dick started hardening. Yeah, there was no way in hell I wasn’t showing up for my private time with my own personal yoga hottie.

  Finishing up, I waved at Dara while limping toward the door. She tipped her chin in a quick gesture toward my bum leg.

  “Don’t worry about it. Nothing my new private yoga trainer, Genevieve, won’t help me fix.”

  Her eyes widened, and she smiled so big her white teeth sparkled against the contrast of her skin tone. This street was filled with beautiful women. I needed to invite some of my brothers from other mothers on my team to this side of the Bay.

  While exiting the bakery, I decided to hit the gym and burn off some of the massive calories I’d just taken in. Whistling, I thought about Genevieve, Luna, Mila, and Dara. Four fine-assed women in the span of two hours. Genevieve led the pack by a mile. In baseball terms, that chick was a grand slam. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Four

  The official Sanskrit name of the root or base chakra is Muladhara. It is located at the bottom of the spine at the point where you sit. This chakra symbol is the most earth-centered of all the chakras. It stands for our inherited beliefs through our formative years, self-preservation, and personal survival. Our identification with the physical world centers on this first of the seven primary chakras.

  * * *

  GENEVIEVE

  I knew the instant Trent Fox entered the small private yoga room. All the air in the room thickened, pressing against my skin, making the already low lighting seem more intimate. The room was softly lit with several mood-altering candles, sari fabric tapestries hung from floor to ceiling, and toss pillows were strategically stacked for comfort and ease of assisting with deep relaxation. Peppermint oil misted from the spa diffuser set in one corner, adding to the serenity. I’d placed my best mats down side by side in the center of the space. The goal for this type of session was to make the client feel at home and connect with him on all levels so he’d relax, and become more at peace with the asanas—or poses—and yoga practice as a whole.

  I’d been sitting in lotus pose, hands at heart center, running through a few meditative chants Dara had taught me to center and ground myself before teaching a class. Grounding into the earth, or in this case the yoga mat, was necessary to ensure I didn’t bring in any lingering mumbo jumbo from my day-to-day life as I prepared to offer a spiritual and physical connection of my energy to each of my clients. In this instance, I’d be transferring my healing energy to man candy Trent Fox.

  “Hey, gumdrop,” he said, his enormous muscled body heaving through the space and breaking every ounce of concentration I’d achieved through mediation.

  I opened one eye and watched as he toed off each tennis shoe. He wore a pair of loose black cotton pants, perfectly appropriate for yoga. He lifted up his T-shirt, pulled it off, tossed it on top of his shoes,
and faced me with an obscenely sexy, bare chest. I opened both eyes and took in the magnificence that was Trent Fox. He stood before me, looking like the standing version of Auguste Rodin’s The Thinker. He must spend hours in the gym to have a body that toned.

  “Wow,” I whispered, not realizing that I’d said it out loud.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Finally!” He rubbed his hands together. “Was worried you might be into chicks.” He chuckled.

  I frowned. “Whatever would give you that impression?”

  He moved over to the mat and did a hilarious series of twists and turns until he was able to sit down. I snickered but shouldn’t have. His limitations were not funny, but the way he went about dealing with them was.

  He didn’t say anything about my response to his movement but did respond to the question. “Yesterday, I worked the mat like a madman in spring training, and you didn’t even bat an eyelash.”

  A flush of heat spread across my face. “Ah, I see. Your pride got hurt a little?” I grasped his wrists and moved his hands to his heart center. “Hold them here. Allow the energy within your hands to circulate through your chest.”

  His eyebrow quirked, but he did what he was told. “My pride? Nah, just made me wonder if I was wasting my time. Seeing you looking at me like I was the best thing since the invention of the microwave a minute ago put that curiosity to rest.” He smirked.

  I wanted to kiss that smug expression right off his handsome face. My cheeks heated again. “Perhaps you just caught me off guard. It’s not every day a man undresses in front of me.” Total lie.

  Every single day, male clients came to class wearing only pants. T-shirts were restrictive, and it was best for males to be bare-chested. Less restriction made for stronger focus on the practice and less on dangling bits of fabric.

  Chancing a glance at Trent, I noticed he smiled, but didn’t respond with anything other than a hum.

  “Today we’re going to focus on range of motion. I want to see where you are now, catalog it, and determine a routine that will loosen your limbs, give you an overall mental and physical workout, and not put too much strain on the injured hamstring.”