She waited purposely for two young guys to enter the gym before sliding out of her car and adjusting her tight outfit. She’d purchased her workout attire at a local shop during her lunch hour without trying it on, and the clothing was more fitted to her body than she normally preferred. Like a lot more fitted. But it couldn’t be helped. She’d bought the items in the largest size available and had hoped for the best. It wasn’t like small towns had many options when it came to clothing stores. Especially for a plus-size woman.

She was only a respectable C cup at best, so at least the blue sports bra kept her boobs in place. Even if the straps dug uncomfortably into her shoulders. And the black calf-length leggings? Yeah, those had gifted her with an unpleasant wedgie that constantly needed to be picked.

Still, the workout clothes seemed somehow necessary…though she’d hidden both articles under a loose, oversize T-shirt. The idea was that looking—or rather feeling—the part would help motivate her. Or, at the very least, keep her from standing out in the gym like a brick in a pile of pennies.

Yeah, right. Good luck with that. She’d been sitting outside in her car for almost thirty minutes, and everyone she’d seen entering or leaving the gym had all been way more physically fit than her. Some of her workout clothes may have matched theirs, but the shape of her full-figured body didn’t.

Preslee glanced back at the gym doors, and nervous energy raced through her veins once more. She swiped the back of her hand over her brow. God, she was already sweating profusely, and she hadn’t even started working out yet. Maybe she could just do that for a daily workout instead. Park outside the gym and panic for half an hour at the terrifying thought of going inside.

Hell, at that rate, I’d be skinny by the end of the month.

Preslee fought back a grin at the silly thought and then shook her head. Okay, enough. She couldn’t allow herself to stall any longer. She was going through those gym doors, whether she liked it or not. Woman the hell up.

With another frustrated sigh, she heaved herself in the direction of the Body Shop’s entrance, her sheer determination forcing one foot in front of the other.

Too bad she didn’t get far.

Preslee had been so focused on the doors and talking herself into walking through them that she misjudged the curb and caught the toe of her sneaker on the edge of it. She tripped, stumbling forward with arms flailing, before landing on all fours onto the hard concrete sidewalk. Pain ripped through her as the metal car keys in her right hand stabbed into her palm and rough cement scraped both knees.

Ouch! Dang it.