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Vegas.

Thoughts of Troy sneak into my mind. Last night when he brought up sleeping with each other’s best friend, I couldn’t help but recall my night with Nolan. We were exhausted from dancing until the club kicked us out, only stopping for fresh drinks and sex in an exceptionally dark corner of the club. It was almost 5 a.m. when we snuck into the hotel room. By the way clothes were thrown everywhere, I knew Maci and Troy had sex too. I practically forced her on him, so it wasn’t unexpected. But seeing the moonlight cast across them tangled together in the sheets as they slept pulled my exhibitionism high right out of me. I blamed my churning stomach on too much alcohol, but I know that was the silent, jealous rage talking.

Then last night, it was like a delayed “yes weekend” wish coming true. The whole time I was with him was too good, too easy–the banter, the closeness, the touching, the drive. I like driving alone, but being with him, as he drummed his finger on the steering wheel, listening to music in silence with me, it was better.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

This will not be a thing. My traitorous mind dares to suggest that I didn’t want to leave Troy last night, which is the most absurd thought. I’ll likely never even see the guy again.

Although that’s what I said when we left Vegas.

I yank open the door to Soul Cycle with so much force the receptionist looks up, startled.

“Hey, Lexy.” She smiles at me through tired eyes.

“Hey, Hannah. Looks like you had a fun night,” I comment with a chuckle.

“The morning after always tries to convince me it wasn’t as great as I thought,” she groans.

“I feel that. Seriously. Please tell me it’s Jared’s class this morning. I need a good ass kicking.”

“You’re in luck.” She holds out a clean towel for me.

“Thanks.”

She focuses back on her book, and I head into the cycle room. It’s almost completely dark in here, except for the strip of neon purple lighting where the top of the wall meets the ceiling. The class is surprisingly full, almost all the bikes in the eight by five rows filled. Yeah, it's day one of New Year's resolution season, but it’s only 8 a.m., and we are in the heart of Hollywood. I can guarantee some of these people haven’t even been to sleep.

I find an empty bike in the front row, off to the left. Perfect. I’ve been coming here long enough Jared knows I like all the tough love, and he’s more than happy to direct it straight at me, especially when I’m in the front.

I tug my black, off-the-shoulder sweater over my head and toss it on the floor near my bike. Maci got me a set of sports bras for my birthday this year, and I’m obsessed with them. They have criss-cross straps across my chest. I’m wearing the black one today along with plain black leggings because that’s a thing girls do, wear cute outfits to have a better workout. And I need a good workout today. I need to pedal any thoughts of Troy out of my head.

I finish adjusting my bike and get on as Jared comes onto the small stage at the front of the room. “Got something fun planned for you guys today. Picked my favorite song from each of the past 15 years. I thought a nice trip down memory lane might help you forget that I’m killing you.” He says exactly what I want to hear.

This is the reason I cycle. The dark. The music. The endorphins. It consumes me in a way that allows everything else to fade away. Twenty minutes go by, and I’ve already pushed myself so hard, all my baby hairs are wet from sweat and fraying out of my ponytail. I like it here because I feel in control of my body in a way that helps me control my mind.

“Shake It,” by Metro Station, blasts through the speakers. Jared yells through his mic over the music that it’s time for a round of HIIT, 30 seconds of pedaling fast, with hard resistance, alternating 30 seconds of recovery. I push hard for the first 30. When the recovery starts, he turns the music down a notch so we can hear him.

“Let’s talk about comfort zones. Who wants to get the hell out of theirs this year?!”

Half the room cheers. The other half of the room, me included, doesn’t. I don’t like where this is headed, probably because I need to hear it and don’t want to.

“Your comfort zone is just a psychological state where you feel safe and secure.” Jared's tough voice echoes through his mic. “But here’s the kicker. You can choose what things make you feel secure, if you’re willing to shift your mindset.”

I’m all for fun, spontaneous, adventures, which might make some people uncomfortable. Not me. I’m that girl who is uncomfortable in the kind of situations that bring others a sense of calm and excitement, things like relationships and reaching the next level of success. I’m more of a live day to day kind of person. Thinking beyond that causes all sorts of discomfort, and I avoid it at all costs.

The next 30 seconds of intensity hits, and the music volume increases. I turn my resistance all the way up, pushing until my legs burn.

When we switch to recovery, Jared’s voice overpowers the music again. “If you wanted to stay in your comfort zone, you wouldn’t be here.”

This kind of stepping outside of comfort is easy for me. It’s the emotional stuff that gets me. As if he’s reading my mind, Jared adds, “If you’re thinking, “but Jared, pushing yourself physically is different than pushing yourself emotionally,” you’re wrong. The two are intertwined. Pick up the pace, one more sprint. Add another half turn. Push yourself. Your body is capable.” He pauses as we do as we’re told. “I just looked around the room, and every single one of you made that turn to the right. You did that because you decided your body was capable, and if you were unsure, you chose to at least try.”

Oh. Fuck.

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