I’m not performing.
And somehow?
The guys are hotter.
The conversations easier.
I feel…desirable.
Not because they think so.
BecauseIdo. Maybe it’s just because I’m following through on something a little challenging, that I said I’d do.
Once we reach weeks six and seven, My body starts changing.
Slowly, subtly, and I have to admit—deliciously.
My legs feel stronger when I walk up subway stairs. My coat fits in the shoulders differently. And my waist starts hinting at curves I thought were gone after turning thirty.
But it’s my face that shocks me.
One morning I catch my reflection in the elevator mirror and freeze.
My eyes look brighter, my cheeks are flushed, and my posture is straighter.
I look great.
God, I lookalive.
In week eight, Colt notices.
He doesn’t say it outright. He’s too careful.
But during a hip hinge rep, he pauses a second too long, and tilts his head.
“You’re moving really well,” he murmurs.
I swear he’s talking about more than my hinge.
He starts telling me to go on more dates.
“We’re keeping this professional,” he reminds me. “You should date around.”
“Why?” I ask, half teasing, half wounded.
He shrugs. “You deserve good experiences.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll go out.”
He nods. “Good. Just remember you deserve someone amazing. Don’t lower your standards.”
Still, something in his jaw ticks every time I mention a date.
Week ten hits, and It’s snowing now.
New York winter settles in like a melodramatic roommate. Slushy streets, icy wind tunnels between buildings, Starbucks cups everywhere.
I walk into the gym one late afternoon with snowflakes still caught in my hair. Colt looks up, sees me, and something about his smile makes the cold evaporate.
