As I picked up a dumbbell, I muttered to myself, "Yeah, no. I'm not a saint. I'm a damn miracle for putting up with this."
As soon as I reached the rack of dumbbells, I gripped the nearest one like it owed me money.
I let out a slow breath.
Peace. Tranquility. Muscles.
I was finally going to have my moment.
I adjusted my grip, stepped into position, and began a slow set of curls. Just as I hit the third rep, I caught movement in the mirror—Nora, leaning on the squat rack, arms crossed, her eyes locked on me like a judgmental coach.
Was she seriously monitoring my form?
I tried not to look at her directly and focused on the mirror again. One… two… damn, my arms were already burning.
From the side, Violet sat on a nearby bench, checking her nails with the elegance of a queen, though her gaze flickered up every few seconds. She wasn't even pretending to be subtle.
This… this was the worst kind of cardio. Emotional cardio.
