Only in Your Dreams (Gossip Girl #9)(32)

“Dan, no!” whispered Bree. “Don’t let master see you do that. The whole point is to sweat it out. You can’t wipe it off. It goes against his teachings.”

Why couldn’t Bikram have been a nice foreign film? They could be eating popcorn in a dark, air-conditioned theater making out instead of sweating in this stifling room and following the orders of some sadist. Suddenly the teacher rose from his seated position on the dais at the front of the room and let his robe drop to the floor.

“Namaste!” he called, in a joyful, booming voice, bowing slightly.

“Namaste!” the rest of the class replied, bowing back.

Well, most of the class.

“Let’s begin with partner poses.” He motioned for everyone to pair up. “Prepare for shoulder stand. Begin with downward-facing dog and tripod pose, if you wish.”

“Ready?” Bree whispered. She had a thumbnail-sized birthmark the shape of Texas near her belly button.

Bree bent over and placed her palms on the floor in front of her and then waggled her butt as if in preparation for take-off. Dan looked around, alarmed, but everyone else was doing the same thing. Their partners were even gently holding their hips. Dan tentatively touched Bree on the waist and she brought her right knee to her right elbow and then did the same with her left.

“Hold me steady,” she told him. Dan crouched next to Bree, his hands circling her taut middle as she brought her long, toned legs straight up and smiled at him from upside-down. “I think I have it now.”

“Oh, okay,” Dan said, backing away. But as he went to stand up, he realized that his boxers were totally gaping in front and his “friend” was totally exposed . . . and totally excited. Oh, God. He stayed in a half-crouch, desperately trying to picture Aunt Sophia’s cruddy teeth again.

“Young man.” The scary naked yoga master pointed at Dan.

Me? Dan pointed at himself, still half-crouching. Everyone in the class turned to look at him.

“Yes, you. Come, my son,” the teacher said, beckoning to Dan with his long, skinny fingers.

“Go up there,” Bree whispered from upside-down. “This is such an honor, I can’t believe it—on your first time, too.”

Dan walked across the wooden floor trying to look casual, desperately cupping his crotch with his hands. He reached the foot of the platform and the teacher smiled down at him placidly.

“Come, my son,” the teacher said. “You’ll work with me today. It’s your first time, right?”

Dan nodded nervously. His whole body trembled as he stepped onto the platform. The yogi reached down and placed his worn palms on the floor, giving Dan a terrible close up of his elephant-skin-wrinkled ass. Everyone in class followed suit, and for a brief second Dan got a surreal glimpse of Bree’s bare breasts upside down from between her wide-spread legs. His reverie was interrupted as the teacher grabbed him from behind, pressing his bare stomach into Dan’s skinny bare back, and gently guided his head down, so that all Dan could see were his own legs and the skinny legs of the naked guy straddling him. Dan had never been intimate with an older person before, let alone an old Indian yoga geezer.

But when a guy wants a girl, he has no shame.





Gossip Girl 09 - Only in Your Dreams

n goes native

“I know a great place where we can go after this,” Tawny announced. She licked her thumb and stuck it into the greasy basket of popcorn shrimp to pick up some fried crumbs.

Nate took a last swig from his limey Corona and nodded. “Fine by me.”

Crammed into a tiny table by the Oyster Shack’s greasy windows, they ate with their fingers, sipped beer, and talked— well, Tawny did most of the talking. About how she was learning to surf. About how her dad used to be a fire chief but had gotten hurt falling off a ladder and retired. About how she’d been to Disney World four times. About how her hair was naturally curly, but people always thought she had a perm. About how excited she was to finally graduate next year.

Nate barely listened to what she said: she was sexy as hell, and he enjoyed simply looking at her. There weren’t many girls like Tawny on the Upper East Side: full, blond, wavy hair spilling over caramel, freckled shoulders, pink lips that tasted like cherry ChapStick, long-lashed bright blue eyes, and slender, tanned fingers covered with silver rings.

Blair was always quizzing him on his favorite song, his first memory, what he wanted to do when he grew up. She said she just wanted to get to know him, but it always felt like a test he was failing. Tawny seemed happy just to let Nate be who he was.

A hot, arrogant pothead?

When dinner was over, Tawny perched on the handlebars of his bike and shouted directions to Nate. She threw her head back and her long wavy hair tickled his nose.

“Slow down! No, speed up!” she shrieked.

“Where are you taking me?” Nate shouted as they bumped over tree roots and rocks.

Tawny glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’ll see.... Hey, stop! Let me off.”

Nate skidded to a stop and Tawny hopped onto the ground. Her lavender-colored hot pants had ridden up, giving him a great view of her tan, surf-toned ass cheeks. Shit, was she foxy! “That was fun,” she laughed, crashing through some low bushes toward the beach. “Ditch the bike. It’ll be safe there.”

Nate leaned his bike against a nearby tree. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the boughs overhead, but it was cool and very still in the woods.