Libby peered at Sebastian, grinning and whooping. “Yeah, okay,” she answered, still dazed as she handed over her cell and took in the surreal situation.
What choice did she have?
She glanced at the array of people with their phones out, snapping pictures and taking videos. Her gaze bounced between Raz and the winded Derrick Dawson. Wide-eyed and still sipping shallow breaths, he couldn’t speak a word.
Raz leaned in toward Derrick again. “What’s that, Derrick? You and my coach Libby Lamb are old chums?”
Old chums? Raz was laying it on thick.
The boxer turned to the crowd. “Let’s give Libby a nice welcome. Libby, Pun-chi, Libby, Pun-chi!” the man chanted. And sweet Buddha’s belly, everyone in the square joined in.
“Go on, Libby,” Bob called, his white beard twitching as he waved his hat in the air.
“Okay,” she answered nervously as Raz slipped out from under the ropes. He took her hand and helped her into the ring.
“You can thank me later. Let’s see some wham, bam, Libby Lamb fireworks,” he whispered.
This man.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered.
He shrugged. “You know how Madelyn calls herself a facilitator of fate?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight, I’m keen on being a facilitator of karma,” he answered, that rolling British accent massaging the hell out of the words and sending a bona fide zing through her body.
“Karma,” she echoed. She stared at Derrick, who glowered at her.
“She’s the yoga bitch who cursed me and my friends,” the guy rasped. It was faint, but she’d heard it loud and clear.
Even gasping for breath, the guy was a certified spoiled brat.
However, this nugget of knowledge ushered in a dose of divine insight.
Like a haze dissolving into the night air, Derrick Dawson’s wellbeing no longer took center stage. If anyone on the planet could use a dose of his own medicine, it was this entitled jerk.
A heady sensation took over. It was time to join Raz and get in on facilitating a karma whiplash.
The universe was all in for unleashing her off-the-cuff power of three curse.
And who was she to argue with the metaphysical?
Like a yogi with a grudge, she inhaled serenity and exhaled sweet revenge.
Sensing her shift in energy from meek yogi to conniving super villain, Raz puffed up and manufactured his signature cocksure smirk. “Our Derrick Dawson is in for a treat,” he began, addressing the crowd. “As practitioners of Pun-chi yoga, it’s our sacred duty to assist this fine gentleman in achieving inner balance and harnessing his chi. It’s the least we could do after the man donated so generously to the donkey rescue ranch.”
The crowd roared, eating it up.
Raz circled the ring, then stopped behind her. The palpable pulse of energy between them and the heat coming off his body lit a fire in hers.
“We’re doing him a favor, plum,” he whispered. “You can give him a chakra tune-up or a cosmic kick in the balls. It’s your choice.”
A cosmic kick in the balls?
This man was speaking her love language.
With her chi balanced and her energy centers purring, she’d never felt freer and more deliciously devious in her life. But she had to play to the audience and maintain the appearance of the consummate yoga professional.
“I agree. It’s the least we can do.” She tapped her chin theatrically. “Derrick’s energy is quite off-balance. Pun-chi yoga to the rescue,” she announced, then waved in her boxer. “And you, Mr. Beefcake, get bonus points for using that fancy yoga lingo.”
“You can show your appreciation during our noisy yoga session tonight,” he tossed back.
That heady sensation working its way through her bloodstream morphed into a naughty tingle.
“Now, Miss Pun-chi Yoga, you’ve got a demo to do,” Raz said, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “And you need to get moving, plum. Derrick will be able to catch his breath soon, and I have a sneaky suspicion, he’ll be a runner once he can get a little more oxygen.”
It was payback Pun-chi or bust time.
She took a knee, looked Derrick straight in the eyes, then channeled her inner beefcake, flashing the winded bro her best shit-eating grin. “Namaste, venture capitalist. I’ve come to deliver on that curse.”
Twenty-Three
Libby
Call in the four corners and hold on to your hat. Miss Wham, Bam, Libby Lamb, the gong banging, donkey racing, spiritual guru was about to conjure up a karma cleansing.
Derrick Dawson groaned, his eyes relaying what his mouth couldn’t.
He was completely and utterly mortified.
And even better than that. He was the one on display this time.
She turned to the crowd. “Since Derrick was so kind to donate to Maud and Bob’s donkey rescue ranch. I’d like to demonstrate a Pun-chi yoga movement inspired by our dear donkeys, Plum and Beefcake.”
Raz leaned toward Derrick, his hand to his ear, pretending to listen. “Derrick says, let ’er rip!”
Libby came to her feet, positioned herself in front of the winded man, and pressed her hands into a prayer position. “This Pun-chi yoga move is one of my favorites,” she began, eyeing the two Derricks in the crowd. The bros stared up at her, completely gobsmacked. “It incorporates balance as well as an array of punches and even packs a special donkey surprise.”
She glanced over her shoulder and looked Derrick Dawson dead in the eyes. Before he could protest, she hinged forward, executing a round of sharp jabs. She lifted one leg, bent her knee to a ninety-degree angle, then shot her foot into the air. Leading with her ankle, she executed a quick donkey kick movement—a movement that had her heel rocketing through Derrick’s open stance and grazing his Rocky Mountain oysters.
“Oops!” she remarked as Derrick attempted to suck in a breath, his eyes bulging and his cheeks blooming scarlet.
“Oy, mate! You’re supposed to move out of the way,” Raz coached, slapping the guy on his back. “Dodge and evade, bro. And protect those Dawson family jewels. Don’t you know anything about survival in the ring?”
Libby scanned the throng of onlookers. Penny and Charlotte held on to each other, shaking with laughter as Rowen and Mitch gave her two thumbs-up. The crowd whistled, clapped, and roared their appreciation. Even the donkeys took notice, braying and calling out. Raz raised her arm into the air—the victor. She hollered a hearty hee-haw, channeling her inner badass. Grinning like a psychic psycho, joy permeated every cell in her body. She caught Sebastian and Phoebe waving their hot dogs in the air as Oscar pointed his Polaroid camera her way and snapped pictures.
“How about your buddies?” Raz asked, waving for the two Derricks to come up as the cheers died down. But the men didn’t move. Raz pointed to his ear again and pretended to listen to Derrick speak. “What’s that? Your friends’ daddies want to donate ten thousand apiece to the donkey rescue?”
The crowd went wild as a beaming Maud entered the ring. “What a demonstration. And what a night for jackasses. Rickety Rock Donkey Rescue thanks you, Derrick Dawson and your friends for your kind donations,” the woman exclaimed for everyone to hear.