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Summary
"Buck!"
He skidded into the living room, hands already reaching for a trauma shear he wasn't carrying, expecting blood, a fall, a home invasion.
Instead, he found Buck on a cork yoga mat in the centre of the room. He was folded—horrifically, impressively—into a shape that defied human anatomy.
And he was wearing leggings—high-waisted, charcoal-grey compression pants that clung to every swell of his thighs and the heavy, rounded curve of his glutes like a second skin.
"Eddieee," Buck wheezed, his voice muffled by the mat. "Don't… don't laugh. My hip locked. I’m stuck."
Local man helped his bestfriend do yoga to stare at his ass for 45 minutes.