Chapter 83 My Hot Coach (3)

• The gym was a five-minute walk from my apartment, but the morning air still hit me like a slap, crisp and sharp, waking me up more than the shower had. My purple training suit clung to me, the fabric stretching with every step, and my white sneakers—Jace’s stupidly expensive gift—felt like they were carrying me forward with purpose. My gym bag bounced against my hip, the strap digging into my shoulder, and my damp hair swung against my back, leaving little wet patches on my suit. I felt good, though—like I was walking into a scene, the kind where the music swells and everyone turns to look. My lips twitched into a smirk. Let them look.
• I pushed open the gym’s glass door, the metal frame cool under my palm, and a wave of familiar scents hit me—rubber mats, sweat, and that faint metallic tang of weights. The place was alive, humming with the low buzz of chatter, the clank of dumbbells, and the steady thump of someone’s playlist through the speakers. My sneakers squeaked on the polished floor as I stepped inside, scanning the room. The mirrors lining the walls threw my reflection back at me—tousled hair, hazel eyes glinting with something restless, and that purple suit hugging my curves like it was painted on. My ass looked unreal, and I wasn’t mad about it.
• The girlies were already there, clustered near the stretching mats, their laughter cutting through the gym’s noise. There was Kayla, all long legs and blonde ponytail, sipping from a neon-green water bottle; Sarah, with her freckled cheeks and tight braids, scrolling on her phone; and Tasha, the loudest of the bunch, her curls bouncing as she animatedly waved her hands, probably telling another one of her stories. They were Coach Derek’s crew, same as me—his little squad of badass women he whipped into shape twice a week. I dropped my bag by the benches and sauntered over, my hips swaying just enough to feel the suit’s stretch against my skin.