Page 4 of I Choose You

After I dressed and grabbed my bag, I headed out to class.

“Hey, Brooke,” the creepy dude who frequented this specific session said as I went to the bike near the back. It had the best view of the instructor and a good angle to glance in the mirror without anyone else looking at my reflection. I didn’t hide back here, but it was the best spot to pedal and check if I looked like too much of a sweaty hog.

Why does he have to go to that—oh. Thank God. I smiled at the paper taped to the bike next to “mine.” OUT OF ORDER, it read.

“Bummer,” he whined, not getting a hint. “We’ll ride together next time.”

Let’s not.

Flirting—or rebuffing veiny armed gym dudes who lived and breathed steroids—wasn’t something I cared to do at the ass crack of dawn. I was selective when I did try to hit on a guy, but it sure as hell wasn’t now. It was go time.

I tucked my hair back and situated my headband. Checking my reflection in the mirror, I ensured I didn’t look like an amateur on the bike, and then I began.

An hour later, I headed home to my apartment and showered. I would’ve loved the chance to stand in the luxury of the kneading water soothing my muscles, but my stomach grumbled. And I had to work anyway. I’d never understand how some people adopted a better late than never approach. Punctuality was just a standard of humanity.

I turned the dial, bracing myself for the stinging pelt of ice-cold water.

“Oh shit,” I mumbled.

The spray always caught me off guard, even though this was a staple part of my routine. I tensed, holding my breath for a moment at the contrast, but I swore by the benefits of it. My circulation was always improved after this dose of cold. People jumped in ice baths. This was no different, and I wouldn’t change it anytime soon.

It had taken years of practice to reach this level of self-care, and if I deviated just once, I had no idea what would happen. Didn’t they always say the first cheat day was the hardest? Because it led to a pattern of giving up and ditching the plan altogether? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

As I thought over the tasks on my list for today, I got ready.

I need to get some more moisturizer. I slathered it from head to toe, taking care to really smooth it in and not miss a spot. After I dressed in my panties and bra, I went to the kitchen and prepped my green smoothie and egg whites breakfast. This would be a good start in getting my macros, but dammit, I’d need to get more organic eggs since I forgot them on my weekend shopping trip yesterday. I hated grocery shopping.

I’d already laid out two outfits last night, but I liked to sleep on it. Thinking ahead to how they’d look wasn’t a simple, quick decision. The skirt fits me better.

It was decided. Now that I had the clothes picked out, I could figure out my hair and makeup. After I applied it all and twisted my hair up just so, I checked myself in the tri-fold mirrors I’d splurged on.

“Close,” I told my reflection, turning this way and that. To the right, then left, then looking over my shoulders. Every angle needed to be considered. My tattoos weren’t anything to hide, but I knew some older employees at the office weren’t as contemporary in their ideas of what was “professional.” As the head administrator of a paper distribution company, I had to dress to impress, and that included the old-school staff members who might not approve of my artwork that was an important part of me.

The skirt and blouse covered most of them. My sleeve would never be fully concealed, but it would have to do. I nodded, satisfied after my careful steps.

“Good enough.”

I sipped my water from my hydrocup on the way to work, ignoring the commuters who participated in the same old daily grind that I did. As one of the millions heading into work in New York City, I fit in and blended with everyone else.

Well, maybe not that hungover girl over there. I winced at the sight of the haggard, soulless stare she cast on the rest of the subway. When she heaved slightly, I backed up an extra step lest she puke all over her wrinkled pantsuit and more.

No one spoke at this hour. Small talk was overrated. I used the quiet to listen to a fitness podcast offering tips to increase your calorie burn and not plateau. Even then, I thought ahead to what would await me at work.

When I arrived at the office of Halden Inc., it was a frenzy of so many details on top of what I was already thinking about.

“Hey, Brooke!” my boss’s secretary said. “Good morning!”

“Hi, Sandra.” I smiled as I strode through the receptionist area of our suite. “Morning.”

“Hey, before you go,” she said.

I’d already passed by her, counting on her to tack on an addendum. It never failed. Every morning, she’d have a question or favor to ask. Perhaps it was her routine, to plan ahead and know she could find a moment with me as I entered.

“Could you sign these?”

I backtracked to her desk, taking the pile of forms. “What are they?”

She rolled her eyes. “The review reports. Todd forgot to sign off and I need to enter them today. You were the one to do the reviewing, so I figured—”