Page 2 of Crazy Love

“Addy.”

The path opens up and there’s a secluded section of the beach that wasn’t visible before, and a group of people are stretching.

“What—” I gasp when a group of flamingos move between the people. Some might think they’re beautiful, and I guess they are in an odd, gangly,terrifyingway.

“Yoga with flamingos,” Addy announces, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do…ever. “This will help you relax for sure.”

“I assure you it will not,” I say under my breath. Louder, I say, “Yoga with that?” I point to a flamingo that has locked eyes with me, its head tilted as if to say,You lookin’ at me?

She laughs, and fuck me, if my dick doesn’t respond in spite of the flamingo staring me down like a mob boss.

“You’re not scared of flamingos, are you?” she asks.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I back up a step. “That one is looking at me funny.”

She glances at the bird, her grin widening. “You’ll be fine. Look, they’re used to people.” She points at another bird being petted by a guest. That one does look sweeter, far less Al Capone. “Besides, don’t you want to try something new? Live a little?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a cocktail I haven’t tried before…with a gorgeous woman…whose name starts with an A.”

One of her shoulders lifts and she bats her eyelashes. “Aw, thank you.” Her smile deepens and she gives me a pointed look. “Maybe we can have that cocktail after the yoga.”

“Fine,” I mutter. “But if I get pecked to death, I’m haunting you.”

She laughs and I’d appreciate that it sounds like music if I wasn’t worried for my life.

We join the group and I do my best to focus on the instructor’s overly serene voice instead of Capone the flamingo, who seemsveryinterested in my mat. It begins innocently enough—stretching, deep breaths, the usual yoga stuff. But then, as I’m stretched into what the instructor calls Warrior II, Capone decides to move in closer. As in, absolutely no respect for my personal boundaries whatsoever.

“Hey, dude. Back off,” I say between my teeth.

He waddles closer and pecks at my foot.

“Hey!” I yelp.

The bastard stands on my mat, staring me down like I owe him something.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, trying to give it the evil eye.

Addy bursts out laughing. “I think she likes you!”

“There’s no way this one is a female. He’s sizing me up for dinner,” I mutter. When it steps closer, I try to shoo it away. The flamingo responds by flapping its wings and letting out an ear-splitting squawk that startles me so much, I trip over my own feet and fall flat on my back.

The instructor gasps and hurries over when the flamingo’s face dips closer to mine. I hear a camera click from a person nearby and cover my face to avoid being pecked to death. It’s not fun to be under a pileup on the football field by a three-hundred-pound freight train, but this flamingo right now with that sharp, hooked beak that’s deceptively precise and those beady little eyes that scream chaos? That’s a fucking horror show.

Instead of the peck of death, I feel a soft hand on my arm and peek between my hands. Addy is laughing so hard, she’s clutching her side, but with the other hand, she tries to pull me up.

“Okay,” she says between laughing. “Maybe yoga with flamingos isn’t your thing.”

“It’s so not,” I tell her, scrambling to my feet. “Let’s get out of here before he calls for backup.”

We bolt from the beach, and now that I have some distance from the claws of Satan, I can see a little bit of the humor in the situation. We end up at the tiki bar. Addy leans into me, still laughing, her eyes sparkling in the sunset.

I put my arms around her, leaning in to whisper, “We survived. Barely.”

“I’ll buy you a drink to make up for it,” she says softly.

“Oh no. I’m buying you a drink. I need to make sure you stick around long enough for me to recover my dignity.”

She giggles. “It will be hard to get that image of you dominated by the flamingo out of my head, Preacher Man.”

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