ASHLEY
The last place I thought I'd be tonight is the gym at Nicci's apartment, respectfully. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the glittering skyline outside the apartment building, the city spread beneath us like a living organism refusing sleep. Somewhere far beneath this building, people are laughing in bars, falling in love, getting drunk, ruining their lives.
Meanwhile, I'm standing in a baseball cap and a cheap black hoodie that smells like the inside of my car, watching Nicci run herself breathless on a treadmill while I slowly lose my fucking mind.
"You're not listening to me," I mutter.
"I am listening," Nicci says between breaths.
She increases the treadmill incline without warning. I stare at her in disbelief. I get that she's hellbent on proving she belongs in that room with other, younger models at Rollins fashion but I didn't think she'd be prepared to push herself this hard. Or maybe I'm not used to seeing her put in so much work to bolster her career.
