Resisting Roots (Lotus House Book 1)

by Audrey Carlan

  “Sounds like a plan to me, gumdrop. And I like the red.” He pursed his lips and focused on my mouth.

  It took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about. My attire didn’t have a speck of red. I’d worn a yellow ribbed tank and a pair of yellow-and-black checkered yoga pants. Then it dawned on me. “Oh! The lipstick.” I shrugged. “It’s kind of my thing.”

  “Yeah, mine too.” His voice was a low rumble.

  Tremors skittered through my body. I flung my hands out, releasing the excess energy. Getting to work right this minute would be the best approach to relieve some of this built up sexual tension.

  For the first thirty minutes, I took Trent through a series of poses while seated on the floor. It was obvious by the lack of flexibility that he needed yoga in his life. The man was strung tighter than a drum.

  “Okay, lie on your back and place your right ankle on your left knee.”

  He followed my instructions precisely.

  “Now lift the leg up, bringing the leg and ankle closer to your chest.”

  The leg didn’t budge too far before a pained expression stole across his face. I leaned toward him and placed the extended foot against my abdomen. I moved my hands to his knees and supported him while I leaned forward, putting pressure on the legs, forcing him to move them closer to his chest.

  “Now lean up toward me.”

  Trent leaned closer, and for a few moments, we were face-to-face. His breath wisped across my lips. I licked them reflexively, and he zeroed in on the movement.

  “Genevieve, has anyone ever told you how ridiculously beautiful you are? It’s almost hard to look at you without reacting inappropriately.”

  I leaned back, trying to hide my response while still feeling a tad shaky. Lust swirled low in my belly, and moisture pooled between my thighs at the mere hint of what he could possibly want to do to me that would be categorized as inappropriate. Just thinking about it again had my sacral chakra reacting with a fiery need to be filled.

  Trent’s slick back slammed to the mat when I bounced backward. Sweat pooled in the creases of his rigid abdomen, bringing additional attention to the perfect mountain range that was his cut abs.

  “Other side,” I said, not giving any credence to his comment and doing my best to get my libido under control. Perhaps Luna was right. Maybe I did need to have sex to take the edge off. My battery-operated boyfriend was obviously not doing the trick.

  Trent inhaled a few breaths, lifted the injured leg to his ankle, and instantly winced. I placed my hand on the back of his thigh. His hand immediately covered mine, and he held it to the injury as if the double amount of pressure provided relief. He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose.

  “Here?” I pressed more firmly into the hamstring, applying a gentle pressure.

  He nodded brusquely.

  “Breathe with me, Trent. Inhale…two, three, four, five. Pause, holding all the air within your chest. Now exhale…two, three, four, five. Repeat.”

  Together we breathed through the pose called threading the needle. Putting my abdomen once again to his bare foot, I leaned over him but not pushing the leg as I had with the other side. With his injury, I needed to be far more cautious.

  “You’re doing great. Keep breathing.”

  His hand left mine, but instead of moving my own away, I ran the heel of my palm lightly up the length of his hamstring. Closing my eyes, I imagined the muscle and the repaired tear, focusing on sending healing energy through my hand chakras. I rubbed up the tight muscle from bum to knee and then back and forth in a consistent rhythm. He groaned, but I kept the massage going until the sound of him grunting broke my concentration. I opened my eyes and met Trent’s gaze. His hazel eyes were blazing hot.

  “Gumdrop, whatever you did, you’re going to keep doing it. For a couple of blissful minutes, I didn’t feel an ounce of pain. You’re like a voodoo healer.” His stare was intense, never wavering from my face. Awe and relief seeped into his features, lightening every pained line around his eyes and mouth so he looked younger, less stressed. Dropping my head, I moved back to my mat. “I don’t practice magic, voodoo, or any of that nonsense. Yoga is about self-discovery, finding balance between the mental and physical world, which in turn brings you peace.”

  He shook his head, his dark hair fluttering into his eyes. I wanted so badly to move that hair to the side so I could see into his eyes unobstructed.

  “What you did just now, with your hands and massage, was incredible. I’ve been to a lot of sports doctors and specialists, and not one of them could give me anything but physical therapy and a bottle of drugs for when it gets so bad I can’t walk.” He grasped my hand.

  His hand felt solid, familiar, like it was meant to be there. But how could that be? We barely knew one another and had only met yesterday. Trent’s gaze as he held my hand was clear as day. Gratitude seemed to permeate his entire being as he sat in front of me with kind eyes, ones I knew I could look into for days on end and never tire of.

  “Thank you, Genevieve. Without even knowing it, you’ve given me hope that I’ll come back from this injury. Heck, I might even come back better than ever.”

  I smiled huge. There was no stopping it. His words were lovely, not a pickup line, and something every yoga teacher on earth wanted to hear from their students. Knowing I’d helped just one person was enough to continue this journey of helping others find their own slice of harmony in the world. And in doing so, perhaps I’d find mine, too.

  “You’re welcome, Trent, but we’re nowhere near done. We’ve got a long way to go before you start swinging a bat again. Now come up onto your knees. Let me reintroduce you to a little thing called cat and cow.”

  * * *

  TRENT

  Turned out cat and cow looked nothing like a cat or a cow. I thought about the routine the blonde with the healing hands and deep, soulful eyes had put me through.

  Why was it that none of the names of the poses looked much like the animal or object they were named after? With the cat pose, I was on my hands and knees, which could loosely relate to most animals, and then when I arched my spine toward the ceiling and tucked my head under, I was contorted into the shape of a cat that was scared, or like the black one on Halloween decorations. Still, it released the knot at the base of my spine and made me feel looser than I had in years. This yoga shit was no joke. If the rest of my sessions were like today, and I could feel the tension ease from overtaxed muscles, I’d stick with it.

  That’s when the thought of my gumdrop entered my mind like a halo of golden light. Christ, the woman was a vision. Small yet so strong. The way her little hands pressed into the rocklike knots in my hammy belied her small stature. It felt like a grown ass man was working my leg, not some pixie of a woman with tiny hands and a sexy body. Her clothing covered more today than yesterday, but something about that red mouth had me dreaming of it wrapped around my cock, leaving an imprint of that red gloss like a mark of ownership. Thinking about it now gave me a semi.

  Criminy, what the hell was wrong with me? I hadn’t even kissed the woman or touched her in any way, and I was aching for it. Maybe I should just find one of my groupies, call the bimbo over to my pad, and work her over the way I wanted to work over Genevieve. Instantly, the thought put a sour taste in my mouth. This did not make sense. I’d never worried about women before, other than what I could get out of them and how quickly I could get them under me. Sure, I wanted that with Genevieve, but I knew from the first that once would not be enough. No, I’d need months of banging her to get her out of my system. And that thought right there was all kinds of screwed up.

  This was not me.

  Women were great, and I made sure they got theirs once or twice before I took mine. However, once it was over, they needed to get to steppin’. I could tell from two meetings with Genevieve that she was not that type of girl. No, seeing her soulful eyes, tight body, and calm nature, I knew that once I had her, it would take more than a quick fuck to
get her out of my system.

  Genevieve Harper was a game changer, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. Maybe it was all the spiritual wackadoo stuff she spoke of that actually played into the connection. Maybe it was the simple fact that she was ridiculously hot and had the hands of a goddess—one that could remove pain with a single touch. That had to be it. Regardless, I was looking forward to my session tomorrow.

  As I left the yoga studio, the California sun shone bright, warming my face while I inhaled the Bay Area air. My stomach growled since I’d skipped breakfast this morning. I could hit the bakery and chat up Dara if she was working the counter like yesterday, but I didn’t want to have to do the extra reps at the gym that a plateful of pastries would demand.

  I checked out the other businesses across the street. The New to You Thrift Store was on the opposite corner from the café. Next to it was a full-on paraphernalia and tobacco store cleverly named Up in Smoke Shop. Man, that movie was a classic.

  Continuing on was Reel Antiques. The display window featured rocking chairs and dressers that held clothes for tiny people. I snickered. That dresser wouldn’t hold a single pair of my folded jeans. Maybe it was children’s furniture. The size of the little old lady sweeping the front walk told me otherwise. Gnarled fingers gripped a broom while she worked. A young-looking fellow interrupted her work. His apron had the same logo as the bakery. To my surprise, the young man took the broom from the old lady’s hands and proceeded to sweep the entire porch as I stood in awe. When he finished, she patted his cheeks and hugged him. I had entered the land that time forgot. Were people really that nice? Not in my experience. Had to be a fluke.

  I scoffed and limped along the street until I stopped in front of Rainy Day Café. Place looked as good as any. When I walked in, I maneuvered around tables where patrons were chatting and chomping away at some seriously large salads and sandwiches. Like the bakery, the place had an L-shape bar-style counter. Next to the register was a glass case with pastries that looked suspiciously like those sold at Sunflower. Instead of a long display case on the other side, it had a single wooden countertop that ran the length of the side of the building to the back. The wood looked as though a log had been flat cut in half and someone slapped some serious glaze on it. I could even see the lines from the tree’s growth rings.

  I felt like I had walked into the heart of a forest. The walls were covered floor to ceiling with wood panels. Potted trees were set in each corner, the branches reaching out into the open space. Vines ran along the ceiling, making me feel like I was in a cocoon. I could easily see why this place was filled with customers. Above the register area was a huge chalkboard where the day’s special was written next to a listing of salads, sandwiches, and soups.

  Reviewing the menu, I went up to the counter and met the eyes of a thin strawberry blonde with pale pink lips and a smattering of freckles along her nose. She wore a gold necklace that said “Corinne.”

  “Hi, I’m Coree. What can I get for you?” She smiled, and her soft blue eyes lit up.

  I glanced at the chalkboard again. “I’m going to go with the turkey and hummus sandwich, a spinach salad, a cup of your potato soup, and a bottle of water.”

  She tapped some numbers into an iPad. That surprised me because everything else was so far removed from technology. I raised my eyebrows, and she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear rather shyly.

  “These things are so fast, and they catalog our orders, the pricing, and do our accounting for us,” she said.

  I snorted. “I feel ya. Don’t go anywhere without my handy dandy all-in-one.” I shook my iPhone.

  She laughed. “My sister Bethany was against the transition to technology at first, wanting to stick with our roots, but the fact that it does the accounting for us swayed her to the dark side.” She chuckled. “Your total is twelve twenty-five.”

  “That’s it? For a sandwich, a salad, soup, and a drink?”

  Her cheeks colored. “We don’t overcharge. That way people come back. We might not make as much as the guy down the street charging sixteen for the same, but our customers become regulars, and that’s worth it to us.” She beamed.

  I shook my head. “I can see that. If your food is as good as the price, I’ll be making regular visits as well.”

  “Even better!” The smile she gave this time was more than confident.

  Sitting down at an open stool at the counter, I people-watched the way I had yesterday. Folks from all walks of life came in and out, some in yoga attire, others in suits picking up to-go orders or eating in. A short brunette with dark eyes and a constant smile worked efficiently, packing up orders.

  Coree set a gargantuan turkey and hummus sandwich on thick slices of soft focaccia bread in front of me. The spinach salad filled the entire remaining half of the plate, and a steaming cup of soup sat next to it. Only the cup was more like a big bowl with a handle. How in the world did these people make any money? I ate my lunch and watched the women work.

  “So did you just get out of a yoga class?” Coree glanced down past my hoodie, T-shirt, and loose pants.

  “Yep, private lesson.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, yeah? Any particular reason, or are you one of those yogis who want to be able to stand on their heads and walk around on their hands?” She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the other side of the counter, and braced her chin in her hands.

  “Nah, I have an injury I’m working on.”

  “Oh? Did you get in an accident?” Her brows furrowed, and a little line appeared above her nose.

  I shook my head. “Work-related injury.”

  She frowned. “What kind of work do you do?”

  The fact that she didn’t recognize me immediately made me relax even further. I enjoyed the fame and fortune but not the loss of privacy. “Professional baseball.”

  She bit her lip. “Like with the Stingers?” Of course she’d choose the rival team.

  Wiping my mouth after taking a bite of the world’s best potato soup—including what my mother makes, and hers is damn good—I said, “No, the Oakland Ports.”

  “Cool,” she said.

  I wasn’t sure if it was a placating gesture. People in the Bay Area usually only liked one team or the other and were fiercely protective over the one they chose.

  “How does someone get hurt playing baseball? Did you get whacked with a bat or a ball?”

  That took the cake. I sat back and laughed, a full-bellied one that felt good down to my toes. It had been a long time since I’d had something truly entertaining to laugh at. “No, I tore a hamstring. Had surgery, and I’m now doing therapy. Yoga is part of my recovery.”

  She nodded, went over to the pastry case, and pulled out a peanut butter cookie before plating it and setting it next to my demolished lunch. “Here, on the house. Nothing like a fresh-baked cookie to make you feel better.”

  “Did you make them?”

  Her head popped back, and she cringed. “No way. Bethany and I stick to all the organic stuff. We make everything fresh, get our veggies every couple days at the local farmers’ market, and buy our bread and treats direct from Sunflower down the way. We want our customers to have the best of everything, and they’re the best. Why try to recreate what they already do perfectly?”

  This street so far had boggled my mind. Everything on it was unique, yet consistent in that they all had the “do unto others vibe” about them. Seeing that guy help out the old lady yesterday, Dara at the bakery talking my ear off like I was her best friend, and now Coree and her café where they charge less yet still give more—unbelievable. I’d have to tell the guys about this. Get them to come down and give the places some fresh business. Not that they needed it. The tables were all full, almost every single seat at the bar taken, and people coming in left and right for pickups.

  I’d sure make a point to come here a couple times a week after my session. Leaving a ten-dollar tip for Coree, I smacked the table and stood up. “Thanks for the food and the cha
t. It was rather enlightening.”

  “Course, see you soon.”

  I smiled. “Yes, I do believe you will. You’ve got a lot of sandwiches to try out.”

  “They change every week, so you’ll be trying them for a long time.” She grinned.

  “That will not be a hardship. Catch you later.”

  I walked out of the café and over to my car. The silver bullet sparkled in the sunlight, its sleek lines shimmering a private hello. Tracing the hood and over its side all the way to the driver’s door, I sighed. This was the life. My body felt like a million bucks compared to the last six weeks. Everything seemed brighter and more colorful. My belly was full, but not laden with the weight of a greasy burger. I’d met some really great people that were nowhere near the world of baseball, and tomorrow I’d wake up and start it all over again.

  There was something to this yoga business. Day two, and I’d already started to understand why so many were committed to the practice.

  Chapter Five

  Downward Facing Dog (Sanskrit: Adho Mukha Svanasana)

  One of the most iconic yoga poses, the downward facing dog stretches out the hamstrings, back, arms, and neck, positively lining up your spine. Place feet and hands hip distance apart, lift the hips into the air, tuck the tailbone in, and relax the neck and shoulders down to rest level with your arms until your body forms a triangle shape.

  * * *

  GENEVIEVE

  “Are you going to sit there and twiddle with my hair or tell me about the hotshot baseball player you’ve been giving private lessons to? Start with how private these lessons are.” My best friend and neighbor, Amber St. James, beamed.

  When Mom and Dad passed, I couldn’t leave the kids for long periods of time, so a couple of my yoga buddies helped me set up a small hair salon in the garage. We only had one car, so the other two spaces were occupied by my mini-salon. The area was complete with a hair-washing bowl and vanity. I stored my hair products in Dad’s shelving system and moved all the tools and things I knew nothing about to the shed out back. Rowan set the shed up as a workout and tool room, which suited me just fine.