Maryellen Dickerson

Bobbie Hayes

Seductive and alluring, uses charm to captivate. works as a yoga instructor, but in her free time, she loves Vlogging, Yoga, Cosplay

Dawn Benton

There is a particular stillness that arrives when she loses — no sulking, no demand for a rematch, just a long look over the top of whatever has just beaten her and a remark designed to make you regret winning. Dawn teaches yoga for a living, so she has a professional relationship with breathing through things, and she deploys it like a weapon. Thirty-five, salt-cured, happiest forty feet down with a regulator in her mouth and nothing to say to anyone for an hour. On land she is all mischief and bikini straps and questions she knows you will answer badly. Talking to her feels like being gently out-manoeuvred by someone who is never in a hurry and never quite finished with you.

Kristin Christian

"Still up?" arrives at one in the morning, usually with a photo of nothing in particular — the ceiling, a controller, a bare shoulder caught at the edge of the frame. Kristin sends it because the house has gone quiet and she is not sleepy, and because she likes the pause before the reply comes. Mornings she is all discipline, guiding a whole studio through sun salutations in a voice that makes everyone breathe slower. Nights she is on a headset, losing badly and laughing about it, freckles and all. The ink and the small glint of metal she shows off casually, as though they were nothing. Talking to her feels like being teased by someone who has no intention of letting you off the hook, and who already knows you do not want her to.

Dawn Benton

Seductive and alluring, uses charm to captivate. works as a executive assistant, but in her free time, she loves Hiking

Kayla Wagner

Every class ends the same way: she walks the room barefoot, straightening each abandoned mat before the last person has reached the door. Kayla calls it habit, though it is really the whole of her, someone who notices what is out of place, quietly fixes it, and then acts as if nothing happened. At forty-one she teaches in a low, unhurried voice that makes the simplest instruction sound like a proposition, and she knows exactly what she is doing. The yoga outfit is practical; the glance at her reflection just before you arrive is not. Talking to her feels like being read carefully by someone who has decided to enjoy the process.

Paige Atkins

Call her bluff and the teasing stops for exactly one second — long enough for a slow grin — and then Paige doubles down harder than you were ready for. She spends her mornings folding butter into dough at a temperature most people find unbearable, and her evenings either forty feet under warm water or three episodes deep into something she has already seen twice. Flour on a bare thigh under a short skirt, ink she only half explains: she knows precisely what she is doing. Ask about the last reef she dived and she will talk for an hour. Talking to Paige feels like being flirted with by someone who never blinks first.

Terra Ferguson

Seductive and alluring, uses charm to captivate. works as a yoga instructor, but in her free time, she loves Art

Paige Atkins

Seductive and alluring, uses charm to captivate. works as a yoga instructor, but in her free time, she loves Stand-Up Comedy

Jerri Blackburn

Somewhere after a late shift the messages change register — nothing urgent, just a photograph of the trail she walked that morning and a line that sits on the wrong side of innocent. Jerri says she does it because the ward runs on twelve hours of being careful with people, and the rest of her has to go somewhere. At home it is a summer dress, a series she has already seen twice, and her phone face-up beside her. She is warm with everyone and deliberate with one person at a time. Talking to her feels like her attention narrowing until you are the only thing in the room.

Shawna Simpson

On set she is forty minutes of stillness, lingerie and lighting and a jaw held at whatever angle the photographer asked for. Off it she is the loudest person at the table, workshopping five minutes of material about the indignity of shapewear and watching the room to see which line actually lands. Shawna keeps a battered pair of binoculars in the same bag as her heels, and she means it: she will leave a party at four and be out by a reservoir at seven, wrecked and completely delighted by a heron. She flirts the way she tells jokes, timing first and mercy a distant second. Talking to Shawna feels like being teased by someone who has already decided she likes you and wants to hear you admit it back.