Lexi Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 25), стр. 15

Chapter Ten

LEXI

K  ept company by the calming scent of lavender, sandalwood and eucalyptus, I’m deep in the quarter financials of Om This yoga studios, owned by my cousin’s wife, Paige Cocker — one super laid-back boss.

Gabriel’s merely a silent partner who helped her expand with the awareness that she’d be paying it back — and she has — since he knows nothing about running anything except his legs away from fans screaming his name.

I’m listening to one of his songs right now on my hits-playlist via earbuds. Can’t interrupt the Yin Stretch class taking place in one of Paige’s warmly-lit rooms of bamboo flooring.

It’s not just for them that I’m listening to this.

There’s music playing on the other side of that wall to my right so relaxing I fall asleep whenever I hear it.

Snoozing is not at all conducive to number crunching and problem solving so I can ensure we rise out of the red and remain in the black. I’m here to support Paige’s dream, even though it’s not my own, because I believe in her.

I haven’t found my dream yet. It might be just to support others. Who knows? I’m perfectly happy where I am, surrounded by boxes of candles, a stack of new and colorful rubber mats ready to supplement the ones we have ready for newcomers who don’t know to bring them.

A yoga studio isn’t always the most profitable enterprise. You’re relying on people overcoming their own innate resistance to bettering themselves and that’s a bitch of a struggle. They’ve gotta squeeze into workout clothes, climb in their car, and get over here.

After every single class we hear the same announcements: “I’m so glad I came,” “I feel so much better,” and “God, I needed that!”

It’s the getting here that’s the problem.

Paige has read a lot of personal development books on her spiritual quest to help the world — or at least all of Atlanta — and she says it’s part of the human condition, having to make a choice. That’s what free will really is: choosing.

“Unfortunately, the dark side is very seductive,” she’d sighed.

I made a joke about Star Wars and she laughed, but it was tainted by her battle with everyone’s darkness. Paige’s personal mission is spread through the classes and community of Om This.

Om is the word chanted to achieve nothingness, peace, Zen, and it’s called Om This as a play on words, like Fuck This, only its opposite which is caring and changing in order to achieve the ultimate dream — happiness.

My thing isn’t that I have a problem getting here. I love coming to work. She’s an awesome boss. I’m always treated with respect. We laugh a lot together. We weren’t born blood, but she’s family by marriage and more than that, since we spend so much time together, Paige has become my friend.

Gabriel chose a great one.

We all think so.

Ben sure did.

I also don’t fit in with normal work environments, probably from being raised by parents in the shiny music industry where authority isn’t part of its make-up. Bosses are artists with eccentric ways who don’t just think outside the box, they don’t know there ever was one!

Even though I’m not into yoga, personally, being in this ultra-feminine space feels good and that’s my driving force in all decisions.

There are men who come here but, for the most part, they’re super chill. They get down with their evolved selves.

We have a no meat-market policy — flagrant hitting on members of either sex — which frankly we’ve never had to enforce since I’ve been here.

Any meathead who’d come to leer at women in spandex stretched into crazy sexy positions like Downward Facing Dog and Happy Baby Pose, don’t come back a second time once they realize the price they have to pay. Their hard-earned muscles aren’t flexible, the music is peaceful rather than badass, and sweating just from holding a stretched pose longer than their bodies want them to makes their dicks shrink.

The men who do return multiple times usually want to stretch not only their bodies but the impact this spiritual practice has on their cluttered minds. They’re not thrill seekers.

Like I am.

Yep, I’m not into yoga.

I’m into dance.

I didn’t go pro like Samantha did. Because I didn’t like the competitive nature and it wasn’t in my blood to go far in that field, I left classes long ago.

I don’t do it to perform for other people. I do it alone, in the morning. And if I’m alone at night, then, too. I’ll shove earbuds into my excited ears and dance in my room with nobody knowing I’m doing it.

Total abandon.

Feels awesome. Working up a sweat. That sweet heat in my veins. Catching my breath. Smile coming up from my soul.

Sure, going to bed with newly showered hair makes straightening it in the morning difficult but, so what?

It’s worth the high!

And if I don’t wanna wrestle my curls come sunrise, I simply take another short shower to rinse off and start from scratch, water hot on my skin and…

Oh no.

I’m thinking about Gage again.

Why can’t I get that guy out of my head?!! He was just some dude I dragged off his barstool and had my way with and…he’s a