Page 46 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

EXES AND GOATS

Simon

“How did I not know this was here in Athena’s Rest?” I inquire of Bea as I join her beneath a maple tree in a gated-off section beside what is clearly an outdoor drive-in cinema not far from my estate.

There’s a large screen on a wooden frame against a backdrop of trees, though I suspect the screen is less screen material and more likely some kind of painted metal, and speakers on posts at regular intervals amongst the weedy, overgrown ground outside of the fenced-in area for the yoga class.

A shack large enough to house a kitchen is behind our little goat yoga pen, undoubtedly the popcorn stand.

And it’s utterly lovely.

“Because you don’t pay close enough attention?” she replies with a smile.

She’s in tight casual shorts and a pink vest top, with sunglasses on and her curly hair tied up in a messy bun, carrying a bag with a yoga mat sticking out, and I would very much like to kiss her.

I cannot, however, as a goat butts between us before I can come any closer.

She pats it on the rump. “Ryker let you come, hmm? Stay in your own lane during child’s pose, got it?”

“Is this cinema still active?”

“It’s been for sale for probably seven or eight years now.”

“Has it?”

“Yep. I’d come out here all through high school with my friends, but it kinda died out not long after I moved back home.”

Hudson joins us and sets down his bag with a yoga mat in it as well. “Rumor has it Mrs. Camille has been trying to get some investors together to buy it, especially so she can control weekends off when the community theater’s performing.”

“That’s…quite the reason to buy a business.”

“Daph’s biggest regret is that she didn’t buy it before she lost her trust fund.” Bea grins at me. “She would’ve shown old horror flicks every weekend.”

“And had a massive crowd,” Hudson agrees.

The goat participates in the conversation by sticking its nose into Bea’s crotch.

“Cut it out, asshole.” She affectionately pushes him away.

“Does this creature have a name?” I inquire.

“Ryker doesn’t name his goats,” Hudson tells me.

“How does he tell them apart?”

“He numbers them,” Bea replies. “This is number thirteen. See? It’s on his ear tag. And he’s a handful, aren’t you?”

The goat lifts its front hooves onto her stomach and attempts to lick her face.

“Knock it off, Thirteen.” Ryker joins us as well. He grabs the goat by one horn and pushes it back down to all fours.

“It’s not his fault I’m irresistible,” Bea tells her brother while the goat attempts to shove his nose between her legs once again.

Quite understandable.

I, too, should like to have my nose in her pussy.

Both of her brothers peer at me as though they’ve heard my thoughts and now hope that the goat will step on my family jewels during yoga today.

“None of these poses have us on our backs, do they?” I murmur to Bea.

She grins at me, making those dimples pop even more, and shoves the goat away again. “Second thoughts?”

“Certainly not. But I am a fan of self-preservation.”

“Should’ve stayed home then,” Hudson says.

He shakes his black yoga mat out onto the ground. Bea follows his lead and places her soft blue mat next to him.

After pushing the goat aside, of course.

There must be a dozen goats here, most of them smaller than this number thirteen, but only Thirteen seems obsessed with Bea in particular.

“Simon? Simon! I thought that was you.”

Even the goat cringes at the sound of Lucinda Camille’s voice.

Bea recovers first. “Hi, Mrs. Camille. Beautiful day for goat yoga, isn’t it?”

Lucinda’s face suggests she’s just eaten something sour, but she quickly turns a smile to me. “Come, Simon, I saved a spot beside me. I would love your thoughts on managing an unruly cast. And you’ll get more goat time when you’re with me. They love me best.”

“There’s no talking during yoga, Mrs. Camille,” a chipper young woman I haven’t met yet says.

“That’s Molly Taylor,” Bea whispers to me. “She’s the instructor.”

“Ah, Hudson’s crush?” I whisper back.

She smiles at me, dimples dimpling even deeper with the mischief in her eyes. “You remembered. I’m impressed.”

I smile in return, then call out a reply to Lucinda. “I must stay at the back of the class. Easier to escape should my man deem anything a security risk.”

“Dammit, Simon,” Hudson mutters.

“What? Merely stating the truth.”

“And now she’s coming to the back,” Bea says.

We all watch as Lucinda whips her mat off the ground and hustles to the back row.

She’s in bright pink spandex pants and a white sleeveless top not dissimilar to Bea’s shirt.

Thirteen baaah s ominously.

“Are you fucking serious?” Bea mutters.

“Hell, no,” Hudson echoes.

“I shall, erm, put her on my opposite side,” I say to Bea. “And assist with distracting Thirteen.”

But then I realize her issue isn’t with Lucinda, or with any particular goat.

Her issue is that Lucinda’s son, Jake—Bea’s ex-boyfriend—has appeared in yoga attire as well.

And he is also headed in our direction, weaving amongst the attendees and goats alike, pushing aside any that dare linger in his path too long.

Goats and people, though the one person was merely a tap.

But the point remains.

He could have stepped around her instead of insisting that she move herself.

“Oh, dear,” I murmur.

Internally, I’m fighting the urge to introduce his nose to my fist.

How could a man have treated Bea as abysmally as he has?

Although any man who insists everyone else clear a path for him is a particular sort of man who likely doesn’t care how anyone else feels.

Jake scowls at me, then smiles, then scowls, then smiles, and he’s so distracted by apparently deciding if he should still like me or not that he doesn’t see another goat in his way.

He steps on it, and it baah s at him angrily and butts him in the kneecap.

“Does he often come to goat yoga?” I ask Bea as Lucinda begins arranging her mat beside Butch, who has arranged both my and his yoga mats on the grass while I’ve been watching Jake.

By both my and his yoga mats , clearly I actually mean both Pinky’s and his , as I don’t believe I have a yoga mat of my own.

My security men deliver once again.

They’re excellent at everything.

Bea shakes her head at me. “Jake’s never done yoga a day in his life, to the best of my knowledge.”

“Me either, but I assure you, the entire class shall know I’m inept. I don’t intend to fake understanding tree pose or namaste.”

She squints at me. “Didn’t you play a time-traveling knight once who had to do a yoga class in one episode? What was that show called?”

“Beatrice! You know Knight at Night ? How lovely.”

She shoves Thirteen out of her crotch once more. “Like real lovely, or like that’s what the studio makes you say?”

“No, that was quite possibly my favorite television series ever. Cast and crew enjoyable, ratings utterly abysmal.” I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And the yoga consultant was rather angry with me before the filming of the yoga episode was over. Truly, yoga is my worst subject.”

“We’re starting soon.” Hudson bounces on his toes.

“You could do so much better for dating in this town,” Lucinda says to me. “If I had daughters?—”

“No talking,” Butch says.

“Move,” Jake says to Hudson on Bea’s other side.

“Fuck off,” Hudson replies.

Lucinda makes a noise I’ve heard my own mother make time and time again while she bends over and touches her toes, as if demonstrating that she can. “Such a shame their parents didn’t make it. He would’ve been so much better off.”

“Bea, we need to talk,” Jake says.

Lucinda glares at him.

He glares back.

Both of them, glaring at each other across Butch, me, Bea, and Hudson.

And Thirteen.

Who is once again nosing Bea inappropriately.

“Have you hidden snacks in your knickers?” I murmur to her.

She smiles at me. Birds burst into song. The sun shines brighter. Rainbows and wind chimes crash together in a symphony of beauty and joy.

What is this magic in her smile?

It’s unlike any smile I’ve ever had aimed at me before.

“Yes, Simon, I put carrots in my underwear,” she says.

And truly, that answer only makes her more beautiful.

“Bea,” Jake repeats.

“Back. The fuck. Off,” Hudson growls at him.

“Such language,” Lucinda says. “It’s a wonder they all haven’t spent time in jail.”

“Is there a further-back back row?” I murmur to Bea.

“Yes. It’s called the not at yoga anymore row.”

Jake stomps his foot.

A grown man.

Actually stomping his foot. “ Bea . We need to talk.”

She squeezes her eyelids closed briefly while sucking in a large breath through her nose and simultaneously grabbing her little brother, then she shoves the goat away from her once again as she turns to her ex-boyfriend. “What?”

“You know he’s just playing with you.”

“And that’s worse than dating someone to steal their dreams because…?”

Several other people around us suck in their breath or gasp softly, though I’m uncertain if the gasps are because she said it aloud, or that they were unaware of this detail.

“Good morning,” the chipper young woman calls as she faces the front row of yoga participants.

Three smaller goats prance around her. “Two more minutes for stragglers, and then we’ll get started.

Nice to see new faces with us for my favorite class of the week.

And one more reminder, there’s no talking in yoga.

Especially when the goats are here. Unless, of course, a goat steps on you wrong, which is one more reason we need silence.

So that Ryker and I can hear if someone needs help. ”

“We’ll talk later,” Jake says to Bea.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she replies.

“You’re being?—”

Whatever he intended to say is dashed straight out of his mouth as Butch steps between him and Hudson. “The lady said she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Such brutish behavior, Simon,” Lucinda says. “Not that Jake can’t do better too, but truly, I expected better from you and the people who work for you.”

My shoulders bunch.

Bea lightly touches my hand.