Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
He spotted me when I was some ten feet away, and he got off the bench he’d sat on and picked up his tee to wipe sweat off his face.
“Good morning.” I smiled politely.
“Mornin’, Natalie. You ready to work up a sweat?”
“Absolutely.” A burst of shock tore through me when I accidentally glanced at his chest, now that I was closer. Did he freaking shave it? Oh my God, he shaved his chest. He actually shaved his chest. Why? Why would he do such a thing?
You’re being judgy again.
I knew that. Judgy bitch, comin’ right up. I sucked. I just…gah.
Nope, no more judging. I didn’t wanna be that person. I probably had tons of habits that would make others look at me like I was an alien. If he wanted to shave his chest, good for him. Or whatever.
I followed him over to the treadmills, where he’d hung a “Reserved” sign on one of them.
“I put together a program that I want you to do once a week,” he revealed. “From now on, this is what we start with. It’s twenty minutes long, ranging from slow to brisk in intervals. I’ll remind you every couple of minutes to grip the handlebars so the machine can log your heart rate.”
Oh, this was going to be torture. I hated the treadmill. I’d rather go on a hike in the mountains.
“In the spirit of honesty, this is going to suck,” I said.
“Only in the beginning.” He grinned and removed the sign, then told me to hop on up.
In a minute, in a minute. I had to change my shoes first.
In a perfect world, I’d still be in bed. Maybe reading a book. Maybe eating pancakes.
Sigh.
But nooo, I was tying my shoes and then hopping up on a treadmill, and I had a gym-bro waiting to read my stats.
“Mornin’ workouts are the worst,” I said.
He smirked. “Also in the spirit of honesty?” He messed around with the buttons on the display and started my program. “Exercising in the morning lays a great foundation for the rest of the day. You’re less likely to ruin it with unhealthy snacks if you’ve already put in the hours.”
Hours, as in plural. Jesus.
My slow walk toward hell began, and I gripped the handlebar that had these little metal plates logging digits I’d rather keep to myself.
“If you weren’t on this journey right now, what would you be doing?” he asked and leaned back against the wall in front of me.
“Honestly?”
He smiled faintly. “I always want your honesty, Natalie.”
People said that. They didn’t mean it.
“I’d probably have a big cappuccino cooling on my nightstand while I worked in bed,” I admitted. “I’m so lazy sometimes that I literally bought a laptop to keep on my nightstand. Easy to reach when I wake up.”
How was that for honesty?
“You still have to get out of bed to make coffee.”
Yeah, and that was why I’d contemplated keeping my coffee machine on my nightstand too. I hadn’t actually done that, but those thoughts existed.
“By the way, what kind of work do you do?” he wondered.
“Jewelry design,” I said.
“Huh.” He was like most men, slightly surprised because it wasn’t the most common profession, but disinterested because he was a dude. “So, you have your own online shop or…?”
I nodded and eyed the display as I had to pick up the pace a little. “Yessir. A few brick-and-mortar shops too.”
I’d recently opened my fourth, actually. In Chicago.
“That’s cool.” He probably didn’t mean that. “How are you feeling right now?”
So far, so good. “I’m at that point where it’s totally fine, but I’m dreadin’ the fact that I have sixteen more minutes to go.”
He didn’t laugh or find me funny. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and said, “That feeling is what makes a lot of people give up. It’s why we procrastinate and make excuses to get out of whatever errand or task we don’t wanna perform.” He nodded at the display in front of me. “I want you to try to focus on what you’ve done and not what you have ahead of you. Four minutes of walking is four minutes of making your back stronger. Every minute counts.”
I let out a breath, one part of me wanting to tell him to stop sounding like a fucking motivational speaker, and the other part…knew he had a point. I did tend to see the mountain of work I had ahead of me, rather than the stretch I’d already walked.
What I hadn’t done could be taken away from me, but nobody could erase the work I’d actually put in, no matter how small it was at the moment.
Gym-bro was right.
“You wanna curse me out?” His smirk was back.
“Only half of me,” I huffed.
He chuckled. “I’ll ask again in ten minutes.”
Oh, please don’t.
Gray wasn’t wrong. Sometimes, I had zero verbal filter.