Chapter 12
The most gender-affirming athletic wear Puck could find in their backpack ahead of this excursion to Asheville was a pair of basketball shorts and a Boygenius tee, which makes them stick out even more than they already do during this “bridal yoga” class.
But being the group’s queer duckling today comes with a consolation prize: They were assigned the yoga mat directly behind Robyn, which means they have spent much of the last forty minutes looking directly at her ass.
The group has gone through the same Vinyasa flow at least four times now, and Puck is finding the transition from downward dog to cobra to be especially suggestive when Robyn does it.
“Now lower your belly button all the way to the ground,” the instructor says in the sort of soothing whisper that must have destined her to either work in a yoga studio or host a public radio show. “Lift your chest up. Breathe in. Now exhale.”
Robyn breathes out like she’s trying to prove something, forcing a loud “ahh” out of her lungs. Puck should have known she’d be a teacher’s pet, even as an adult.
“Good, Robyn,” the instructor compliments her—then, with a slight frown, she tiptoes between the rows of mats to correct Puck’s form.
Puck feels the woman pressing down on their lower back.
It doesn’t feel like their spine should be able to make this shape.
Right now, they’re regretting not raising their hand at the start of class to signal they don’t want personal touch.
They’ve got more important things to worry about than doing cobra right—namely, looking at the way Robyn’s red leggings hug her ass.
“Just like that,” the instructor says, squatting in front of them now and gently pushing their shoulders backward.
“Perfect, Puck.” Of the many things Puck finds annoying about this woman—who definitely smells like she only uses natural deodorant—the worst is that she will not stop showing off her recall of everyone’s names.
After the instructor moves on, leaving a trail of body odor in her wake, Puck looks around to see how the others are faring with the final minutes of this class.
Anya’s eyes are closed as she loses herself in the flow.
Lena is constantly looking back and forth at the instructor, then at the other bridesmaids, making sure she’s doing everything precisely correct.
Willa, meanwhile, has taken up the instructor’s not entirely serious offer to spend as much time in child’s pose as they’d like; she’s wearing a black set with skulls all over, her face pressed to the mat, her body unmoving, just like she’s been for the last ten minutes.
Mia looks the most pristine despite the temperature, and weirdly comfortable in this environment, but she’s still wearing the tacky plastic “Bride-to-Be” tiara from the party bus as a joke, which gives Puck hope.
The irreverence hasn’t been exorcised from her body just yet.
Puck wishes they had found time to connect with Mia during the remainder of the bus ride, but she was always flanked by a bridesmaid or a groomsman. A debrief of Lena’s revelation will have to wait until later.
Mia shifts into downward dog, which reminds Puck to turn their head back toward Robyn so they don’t miss a second of what comes next.
This part—the part during cobra when this girl’s butt forms a perfect dome on the mat—makes Puck wish their eyes were video cameras so they could rewind and rewatch this again and again.
They swear this girl looks more naked in her yoga clothes than when she’s actually naked. The whole flow restarts for the final time, and Puck savors every last one of Robyn’s movements, lagging a few seconds behind the transition to tabletop so they can sneak the best views.
If no one else were here, and Puck were the yoga instructor, they’d tell Robyn to stay in tabletop and the rest would follow naturally.
But instead, the class ends in three minutes of child’s pose, and Puck reluctantly whispers “Namaste” back with the bridesmaids before being dismissed to the relative cool of the changing area.
“Whoa, that class ran a little long,” Willa observes as they regroup and retrieve their phones from their lockers. “We still have time to shower, right?”
“How are the showers?” Anya asks. “I forgot to bring my sandals.”
Lena joins in on the anxiety-fest too. “Yeah, we still have time, right?”
It’s bad enough that Puck is usually bundled in with women by default.
But it’s infuriating to have to endure situations like these, when girls just endlessly ask each other questions about what they should do instead of ever making a decision.
Even trap shooting with Peter would be more appealing than this.
“We have time,” Robyn announces on Mia’s behalf. “I built a half-hour of wiggle room into the itinerary. And Anya, they’re floor-to-ceiling waterfall showers that are cleaned before every class. You’re fine. You won’t get athlete’s foot.”
Robyn’s hyper-preparedness is finally serving a good purpose. If she weren’t here, the girls probably would have agonized about it until they had to leave anyway.
“When the maid of honor speaks, we listen,” Mia says, giving Robyn’s command the imprimatur of bridal authority, and the women begin collecting towels and washcloths from the baskets near the sinks.
Puck follows behind them before retreating into one of the shower booths at the far end of the changing room.
Already they’re thinking about how to pass the time when they’re done; ever since cutting off their hair, their bathing time has been dramatically reduced.
A quick lather and rinse is all they need.
The shower is as pristine as Robyn promised it would be.
The expensive soaps and shampoos have scent names that are all three words too long.
What, exactly, is bergamot? Shouldn’t lavender and honeysuckle be enough for one shampoo?
But just as Puck squirts some gel on their hands, the shower door opens to reveal Robyn standing there in nothing but her towel.
Before they can utter a word of protest, she steps inside and pulls the door shut behind her.
Startled, Puck manages to stop themself from speaking louder than the sound of the running water. “Excuse me?” they hiss, immediately turned on, but terrified of being found out. “I’m naked.”
“I’d hope so,” Robyn whispers back, undeterred. “You’re in the shower.”
Among all the bossy bottoms Puck has encountered in their life, this girl might be the most demanding.
They have not known a moment’s peace since meeting her, and they suspect they won’t as long as they’re within spitting distance of her.
Has she already forgotten her annoyance over the bus icebreaker—or is she just really good at compartmentalizing her sex drive?
“Can we do this later?” Puck asks through clenched teeth. “Back at the hotel?”
Robyn stays put. “But you look hot right now,” she insists, and Puck feels every movement of her greedy eyes from their fuzzy head to their tattooed arms to their hairy legs, with more than a few pit stops along the way.
She is insatiable, even more so than Puck, which unfortunately only makes them want to rise to the occasion.
But they’ll have to be quiet in these showers, and they’d rather do things to Robyn that make a lot of noise.
“We’re going to get caught,” they whisper, and Robyn, who seems to always be scowling at them in public, has the audacity to break into an actual fucking pout.
She takes a step toward the water stream, loosening the knot in her towel. “I saw you looking at me during class,” she coos, lips still turned down. “You always stayed in downward dog a bit too long after I moved to cobra. But I get it. You want to wait until later.”
If she thinks she’s going to mope and tease her way into making Puck fuck her in a shower ten feet away from their best friend, then, well, unfortunately she’s right. But they can’t let her know that yet.
“Can’t you be a good girl and wait?” Puck pointedly turns away from Robyn after asking the question and continues soaping up. They’re not going to make the same mistake they did yesterday and let themself lose the upper hand so soon. This brat can’t get everything she wants the moment she wants it.
“Who said I wanted to be good?” Robyn says, and then Puck hears the towel come off, and feels the woman’s body press into their back, followed by her searching hands reaching around Puck’s midsection. “Don’t you want to turn around?”
“If I do that, I’m going to have to fuck you,” Puck says, a little too loudly, in their most serious voice.
“Finally.” All the coyness is drained from her voice. She turned on her charms to get what she wanted and now that Puck has given in, they can get down to business.
“I’m not sure there’s enough time in your itinerary for me to do that as thoroughly as I’d like,” Puck says, as Robyn keeps exploring their body with her fingers.
“Oh, I’ll make room,” she whispers in Puck’s ear, and they nearly have to reach out to the wet tile wall for stability because of how weak their knees go at that.
They turn around to find Robyn, lithe body loaded like a spring, her now-damp hair slicked back against her head.
Puck looks down to confirm that their little barb about Robyn’s bikini area was indeed true before pulling her closer into the stream.
For a moment, they savor the feeling of warm water flowing off the shelf of Robyn’s breasts onto their own body, and then they reach a hand down between her legs. They’re not going to have long.
“You need to stay quiet,” Puck warns, and Robyn only nods in response, taking the instruction in an infuriatingly literal fashion. Even when she’s getting what she asked for, she still manages to be a fucking pain.