This just made them laugh harder, Ryan spewing beer out his nose.
Gash settled, taking another gulp of his drink. “He ain’t wrong though.”
Eagan squinted through tears. “Huh? What are you talking about? You into yoga too?”
“Say it ain’t so,” Owyn murmured, sobering.
Gash raised a daring eyebrow. “You ever watched ‘em?”
All the guys went quiet, their laughter drying up like a puddle in the Sahara. Mason chuckled, abandoning the pennies game altogether.
“You mean… like… watch the girls while they do yoga?” Magic asked.
Gash grinned slowly.
“No. No, I haven’t.” Magic frowned, turning to Eagan. “Have you?”
A crease formed between Eagan’s eyebrows. “No. Renner? Owyn? Ry?”
The cats just frowned at one another like the idea had never occurred to them.
“Well,” Gash said, bringing the bottle to his lips. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve seen it.”
They stared, slack-jawed, until their beer drenched minds caught up. Then it was, who could get out the door and down the hall to the spa fastest. Mason and Gash followed behind at a slower pace, knowing full well the guys would stall once they reached the glass wall separating the studio from the spa.
Strolling in, the seasoned yoga veterans, laughed out loud at the gaping mouths drooling at the window.
“Oh. Damn.” Owyn murmured. “I mean, I knew she could move like that. But I didn’t know why she could move like that.”
Each male’s gaze followed their mate as they twisted and pretzel-ed through the routine.
“Holy shit,” Eagan murmured, angling his head for a better view.
“Holy yoga,” Renner corrected, his nose inches from the glass.
Ryan brushed a hand over his chin. No doubt checking for drool. “Methinks we have not been taking proper advantage of this yoga thing.”
Mason crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, and let out a knowing cackle. “Told you, assholes.”
Gash’s gaze was riveted on Bailey as she bent and twisted in obscene ways that made him dizzy with desire. And even now, with his mind chin deep in the carnality gutter, he was so overtaken with gratitude his fucking chest hurt.
Bailey—and he assumed the other mates as well—moved into the boner-generating dolphin pose, and Mason strolled away, whistling a victory.
“Yoga for president,” Gash murmured, holding his fist out for a bump.
Magic hit it. “Goddamn. Got my vote.”
“Namaste,” they said in unison.
And then toasted it with a raising of their beers.