"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," she said, reddening.īefore she could step off, the woman stopped her pedaling and retrieved it for her. Amber reached for her water bottle, deliberately moving her foot to the edge of the machine, and slipped, knocking the magazine to the floor, where it landed beneath the pedal of her neighbor's equipment. She turned and gave the exquisite blond woman a shy smile, which garnered a polite nod in her direction. Amber straightened her shoulders and pretended to be immersed in the magazine strategically placed on the rack of her own machine. From the corner of her eye, she saw the signature gold Nikes step onto the machine next to her. She was sick to death of the routineday after day, working her ass off, waiting for the moment to make her move. There was one reason and one reason alone that she dragged herself here every day, to this machine, at the precise stroke of eight. But she didn't carenot about any of them. She was a fixture to themunimportant, not worthy of being noticed. They were so self-absorbed she would have bet her last dollar that not one of them would recognize her on the street even though she was five feet away from them every single day. She'd been coming to this gym every day for three monthsthree long months of watching these women of leisure working at the only thing they cared about. Amber Patterson was tired of being invisible.
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