Page 9 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
She took a step toward them as an idea sparked. “The power of three!” she exclaimed.
The Derrick on the left cocked his head to the side. “Is that an indie all-girl rock group?”
Oh, boy!
“I’m not sure,” Libby began. “But it’s an important number in the practice of yoga and meditation. The number three holds great spiritual energy. Think of an equilateral triangle or picture the sun, the moon, and the earth. In addition, three signifies harmony, wisdom, and understanding.”
The Derrick in the center frowned. “What?”
She looked down the line of Derricks, then cleared her throat. “There are three of you. Three Derricks.”
“Which one of us is the moon?” the Derrick on the left asked as confusion marred his expression. But before she could respond, the center Derrick perked up.
“I dated a chick named Harmony once. Does that count?” the guy asked.
“Well…” Libby started, but the Derrick to her left clapped his hands.
“I remember Harmony. She was hot. What happened to her?”
The center Derrick shrugged. “She wanted a commitment, so I dumped her ass.”
“Commitments blow, dude!” the Derrick on the left replied, spinning around in the leather chair before sharing a bro-tastic fist bump with the center Derrick. Then the Derrick on the left gasped like he’d solved the climate crisis. “Would you mind if I banged her?”
“Go for it, man. She’s an animal in the sack,” the center Derrick added.
The muscles at the base of Libby’s neck tightened, and the agitation she’d endured for the past seventy-five days grated and clawed, setting her on edge.
She needed a quick fix to release some tension.
Picture a time when you were truly happy. Hold the feeling inside your chest, close to your heart.
She employed this meditation technique in her classes but grimaced when the stupid beefcake’s face popped into her mind.
Blast her crazy chi!
She returned her attention to the Derricks, who were arguing over Harmony’s bra size when a glint of gold caught her attention.
The gong.
Sweet Buddha, send her strength.
Oh, how her off-kilter chi itched to grip the mallet and strike that golden gong so loudly and so forcefully that it pounded the misogynistic talk right out of the glassed-in room.
No, she couldn’t do that.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
She released a shaky breath and regained her bearings. If this were a test, she couldn’t afford to fail. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Have you invested in any other fitness ventures?” She needed to get these guys back on track, and she needed to gauge the room. This wasn’t something new for her. She did this often as an instructor.
Is anyone new to yoga?
Is this your first time in class?
The more she understood about her students, the better the practice. And she needed to understand the Derricks.
The Derrick on the left shared a curious look with the Derrick in the center, then the center Derrick cleared his throat. “This is our first…venture.”
They were new at this. That explained the unorthodox interview.
