Page 373 of The Winslow Brothers

“Trust me, Rae. You’re going to love it!” she whoops and skips ahead a few feet and comes to a stop in front of a building with a sign that readsGroovin’ Goddesses. “Plus, the instructor for the morning class is a regular of ours.”

Lydia holds the door open as Lou and I continue to walk toward her.

“This instructor enjoys baked goods?” I question, getting a little hope from that possibility. I mean, a workout instructor who eats cookies and cakes is someone I can stand behind.

“Well, baked goods that are vegan, gluten-free, and keto-friendly,” Lou offers as we step out of the chilly morning air and into the warm entry of the studio’s lobby.

Hope bubble officially popped.

No offense to people who follow a strict diet, but I’m more of an eat-it-all-in-moderation kind of gal. You won’t find me skipping tacos and margaritas or beer and pizza in the name of my figure. Though, more power to the people who can. I applaud you!

But the music that’s currently blasting through this place? I donotapplaud. I swear, it feels like Kelly Clarkson is all hopped up on speed and singing along with techno-house music. Not tomention the neon lights that hang from the ceiling are so bright, if I took a selfie, I’d be able to see inside my pores.

A good time for a club, maybe, but it’s a hell of a lot of sensory overload for six in the morning.

“Oh, this is going to be a real blast,” I mutter.

“How about instead of being all grouchy, you focus on thinking about how good you’re going to feel after we finish this class?” Lydia nudges me with her elbow and grins. “Exercise equals endorphins, Rae. And endorphins make people happy.”

“Wow. Thank you, Elle Woods.”

“Good morning, ladies!” a lady in pink leggings and a matching halter top chirps from behind a reception desk. She’s dancing along to the music and smiling so big I can see her freaking molars. “You ready to get your groove on?”

I flash Lydia the side-eye, my expression mostlyWhy the hell did you bring me here?

But she ignores me. “Yep! We sure are!”

“And what class will you be groovin’ in this morning?”

“Hip-Hop with Holly.”

“Oh, that’s a fabulous class!” Peppy responds. “Such a great workout and so much fun! Give me a minute, and I’ll get your Groovin’ Bands!”

I steal a quick glance at Lou, and from the firm placement of her lips, I get the feeling I’m not the only one who is a little underwhelmed about Hip-Hop with Holly.

“Blink three times if you want to escape from this endorphin cult,” I whisper toward her, and a few unexpected laughs burst from her throat.

“Damn it, Rae. I’m trying to be a supportive wife,” she murmurs back, and Lydia gives us a look over her shoulder while she waits for Peppy to get the groovy belts or badges or whatever the hell she called them.

“I can hear you guys,” she whispers through what sounds like clenched teeth. “Knock it off.”

“Personally, I don’t know how anyone can hear anything over thegroovy musicthat’s pumping through this place.”

Lou has to cover her mouth not to laugh.

“Rae,” Lydia says through a tight jaw, her eyes damn near bugging out of her head as she looks at me again. “I swear on everything, you better put a smile on your face and be nice.”

“Fine.” I raise the white flag via both hands in the air. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.”

Lydia exhales an annoyed breath and turns back to Peppy…I mean, the very nice lady in the pink tights. Once our arm bands are handed over, we are off to see the wonderful wizard of hip-hop.

Down a hall lit with more obtrusive lighting, I follow the leader until we step inside an open room with mirror-covered walls and pretty wooden floors.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who Holly is.

A woman with an insanely white smile, a high ponytail, and dressed in black tights, a neon green sports bra, and a colorful sequined jacket with the words Hip-Hop Holly embroidered on the back is at the front, already starting to lead the class of all women into a warm-up stretch.

“Shit. We’re late,” Lydia mumbles and hurriedly rushes over to an open spot in the corner of the room.

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