Yoga Studio 1 seems to be empty, with no movement behind the frosted glass, and I hear an instructor counting off “Hold one, two, three, four. Good, release,” from inside the second. That’s where Astrid must be.
I pull open the door slowly, quietly, so I don’t interrupt everyone who is currently trying to do a headstand on their yoga mat. A few are using the wall to keep their balance, while others attempt to do it in the middle of the big open room that is sweltering as I step inside, the door closing behind me. The instructor sees me and lifts a hand in greeting, and I wave and point to the wall, indicating I’m just going to watch.
She nods and says through her headset, “I’ll give you a few more seconds to try to hit your pose. For those of you who aren’t necessarily feeling a headstand for your practice, you have the option to just rest in child’s pose, and then we’ll meet you there.”
Through all the bodies, some giggling, some serious as they attempt the seemingly difficult position, I spot Astrid on a black yoga mat near the center of the room. She’s trying to stick the headstand, but every time she gets her legs up, she loses her balance. But she doesn’t fall to the floor with a crash like a lot of the participants are, which is the only reason my heart isn’t palpitating watching her stand on her head. No, just like in the barre class, and in everything she does, she does it gracefully, her falls purposeful as her pointed toes come down slowly to the mat before she propels her legs back up.
On her last attempt, she gets both feet in the air for a moment, and as she starts to wobble and is about to come back down, the instructor grabs her ankles, keeping her steady. “There you go. Pull in your abs and squeeze those thighs together, good. Now I’m going to let gooo…” She takes a step back from her, and when Astrid stays perfectly in position, pride fills my chest and I grin. “Look at that. Perfect. You sure you’ve never done this before?”
Astrid holds it for a few seconds longer and then bends both knees before landing on them on the mat, her long blonde ponytail soaked with sweat flipping back and nearly reaching her ass encased in black leggings as she looks up at the instructor. The woman beside her must tell her good job, because my girl turns to face her, and I see she has a smile on her face as she says, “Thanks!”
Either she sees me in her peripheral vision or she senses someone watching her, because her eyes come to mine, and her smile widens but her gaze softens as she lifts her hand to wiggle her fingers in a little wave.
My heart does palpitate then, and I mouth, “Goddess,” seeing her cheeks turn an even darker shade of pink than they already were from the heat of the room.
“Very good, everyone. If this is the end of your workout for the day, lie on your back and I’ll dim the lights. Close your eyes, and for those of you who’d like a cold lavender towel, rest your hand on your stomach and I’ll come around and place them on your forehead. If you’re not done working out for the day, you may leave your mats where they are, and you have the option to grab a cold towel on your way out. Namaste.” The instructor finishes with a bow of her head, and Astrid hops up from her mat and makes her way to me, her ponytail swinging out behind her.
When she gets near, I reach out for her, but she bats my hands away. “Sweaty and gross,” she hisses, but she stands on her tiptoes and puckers her lips for a kiss.
I meet her the rest of the way, and although I want to wrap my arms around her, not giving one fuck about how sweaty she is, she seems to be squeamish about being touched when she’s sticky, so I resist for her sake. I don’t know yet if it’s a trigger or if she just doesn’t like it, so I’m not going to push her when she’s made it clear she doesn’t want it.
I follow her out the door, admiring the lines of her graceful neck down her feminine back slick with sweat, her skin visible as she only wears a sports bra as her top, then the gentle flare of her hips and ass. She bends to grab one of the rolled-up white washcloths from the freezer, the cotton sounding crispy as she unrolls it and presses it flat to her face.
She groans at the coolness against her heated flesh, and I hear her inhale deeply before she pulls it away, staring down at the washcloth as if it were a treasure map. “Oh my God,” she moans, lifting it to her face again and breathing in a lungful of air. When she pulls it away again, she looks up at me, her eyes wide. “Smell this!” she commands, and she lifts the white cloth to my nose.