Page 136 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
She might be all about love and light ninety-nine percent of the time, but a part of her lit up when faced with a challenge. Not to mention, it was great fun to toss around the saucy British barbs.
The Brits could really craft an insult.
“Don’t exert yourself too much,Mibby,” Raz chided, going big bad boxer. “You’ve got to save some energy for our noisy yoga session tonight. You know how demanding the practice can be.”
Her cheeks, already warm from running, now burned.
Yep, it didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. Noisy yoga was the codeword for knocking boots.
If the daylight hours were for training time, the night was for like cures like benchmark maintenance, otherwise known as hot and dirty, noisy yoga.
Forget about red rooms with whips. They had nothing on the delights of crow figurines and shades of blue and violet.
It was safe to say that her O was back. And little Miss O had returned with a vengeance.
Now, the gal who’d fallen prey to an O hiatus was living on the apex of ecstasy and banging out Os almost as fast as Erasmus Cress could knock out a set of one-handed push-ups.
But fantasizing about what Raz had up his sleeve for tonight’s noisy yoga sesh wouldn’t get her through this training run. She lengthened her stride and sized up her beefcake.
It was time to throw a little shade his way.
“When it comes to exertion, we both know which one of us is spent at the end of a noisy yoga session. News flash, it’s not this plum,” she tossed back.
And there it was, the back and forth—the playful banter that had her grateful she could go toe to toe with this beefcake of a boxer.
“It’s almost time to cross,” Sebastian cried as the creek came into view, and they began the descent down the trail’s steep grade.
“Take it slow,” Raz called. “We’ve got the Spar with the British Beast charity event in town. You’ll get to see your old man dance around the ring, and you don’t want to be soaked when you see your friends.”
Her stomach did a little flip-flop. Raz’s PR people had coordinated with Rickety Rock, and their friends were coming to town to check it out. Of course, she was happy to support the town and visit with her friends. But tonight was also a reminder that this time was quickly coming to an end.
“Got it, Dad.”
Libby took a second to take in her fresh-from-the-trail mud-speckled legs. Luckily, Rickety Rock wasn’t ritzy like its neighbor city, Aspen. Showing up on Main Street in muddied running gear was par for the course around here.
She kept an eye on Sebastian as they passed a mile marker. This stretch was the final leg of the Crooked Mine Loop. Once they crossed the creek, it was less than a mile to downtown Rickety Rock, which would serve as the start and the finish of the big race.
“Hup-hup,” she called, signaling for Plum to pick up the pace, when anotherhup-huprang out from behind. She looked over her shoulder as Doug, and his donkey racing partner, Ace, sprinted their way.
Oh no!
She glanced at Raz, but she didn’t have to see the man to read his reaction. She could feel the agitation rolling off him in crashing waves.
Raz hadn’t exactly warmed to the guy.
“Bloody Dougie,” he muttered under his breath.
“Namaste,” Doug called, coming up alongside them. “Can you feel the pull of the vortex? It’s giving Ace a little spring in his step.” The man gave Raz and Beefcake a once-over. “Is everything okay with your burro? Did he get into the alfalfa?” Doug continued as his blond, flowing hair bounced like a shampoo commercial with each stride.
“Beefcake’s fine, and we haven’t given him any alfalfa. Why?” Raz grouched.
“He looks a little sluggish, that’s all. Donkeys can pick up on your energy and mirror it. Just a little tip from your local donkey whisperer.”
“More like donkey wanker,” Raz grunted.
“What’s that?” Doug called.
“I said—” Raz began when Plum emitted a well-placed whinny and cut him off.
