“Shut up.” I pinch their side, and they quickly bat my hand away, tipping their chin up. “First to the top buys the loser ice cream?”
I chuckle. “Sure.”
Korie wins, mostly because I just don’t have it in me anymore. Every move is strenuous.
My limbs are heavy as we undo our harnesses, and by the time we walk out, Korie is all smiles. I realize I am too. Notonly for having time together, but for being able to work out my frustrations on the wall. I learned something about myself today, and that feels big.
Slinging a playful arm around Korie’s neck, I pull them close. They crash into me with a laugh, wrapping both arms around my waist.
“I believe you owe me ice cream,” I tease.
They snort. “Yeah, don’t think I’m not onto you, though.”
“What?”
“You went easy.”
“I did not!”
Korie rolls their eyes.
“I didn’t!”
“Oh, come on, Holden. I’ve seen you climb how many times? You’re never that slow.”
“Honestly, I didn’t. I’m exhausted. I already went a few times before you got there.”
“Ahh. That explains everything.”
When we get to their car, Korie turns to me. “I’ll get us ice cream, but…” Korie hesitates, jaw working like they’re chewing the inside of their cheek. “What do you say we go back to your place to hang out?”
The question shouldn’t make my stomach swoop the way it does.
I grin wide. “Deal.”
11
KORIE
After a quick stop at the grocery store for some ice cream, I shoulder my way into Holden’s apartment like I own the place, balancing two pints in one hand and my keys in the other. I don’t knock. I never do.
My arms are still shaking from the climb, but it’s a good shaking, the kind that settles deep into your muscles and promises soreness tomorrow. I should go more often. I’d forgotten how much I like it all—the problem-solving, the burn, the undeniable satisfaction of figuring out a route before Holden does.
Okay, yeah. Winning helped.
Grinning to myself, I drop the ice cream onto the counter and try hard not to think about how aware I was of Holden at the gym. The way he’d actually slowed down and studied the wallinstead of just muscling his way up it like he normally does. The way he’d laughed when I beat him—again.
It was fun.
“Holden? You home?”
A door clicks open behind me.
I whirl around to greet Holden… and immediately wish I hadn’t.
He’s stepping out of his bedroom, dragging a T-shirt down over his head, blond hair still damp and curling at the ends, skin flushed from a shower, and he has a faint sheen still clinging to his collarbone before the fabric settles. He smells of soap and something woodsy.
Something in my chest misfires, and I look away so fast I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash.
