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“You first.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Since I’ve never done this before, show me.”
“You’re just trying to get a look at my ass,” I say but I’m already planning my route in my head.
“Damn right I am. So put on a show.”
I crack my neck, grinning, before turning my back on him. “All right, watch and learn.”
I’m rusty. It’s been a few weeks since I got a good climbing session in.
But as soon as I walk to the wall, get my hands and feet set, it all comes flooding back.
The rush of the climb. The struggle as my fingers find purchase, gripping tightly. The intense rush of getting higher and higher, the difficulty increasing every inch, the risk skyrocketing. That’s what I love the most about climbing: it challenges me to work harder and harder, to refuse to give up even when my body’s begging for me to release and drop down. When I’m climbing, my mind goes blank, all my struggles disappear, and I can drift deep into my body. There’s something pure about climbing, something animalistic, something graceful. I’m a better person when I’m climbing. I’m a stronger person.
I shift my feet, going from perch to perch, moving slowly up and up. I take my time, letting Gareth get a good view of my form. Also my ass and my back muscles. I know he’s probably mentally feeling me up right now, which only brings a smile to my face.
This is freedom. Pure and simple freedom. Nothing else matters but the next movement, the next grip, the next foothold. The line I take to get as high as possible. I tower over the gym, bigger than I’ll ever be.
I’m grinning as I reach the top. Exhilarated and alive.
I grip with one hand and half turn, looking down at him.
He’s staring at me with an intense expression caught halfway between lust and admiration.
“See?” I call down, chills running down my body. This is what love must feel like. “Easy. Your turn.” I climb down before releasing, landing gently on the thick cushion.
He stands at my side, jaw working. He’s looking at me, studying me, like he can see what I’m feeling. Like he can tell my adrenaline’s pumping through my arms and legs. Like he knows I’m so deeply in my body right now.
“How about we make a bet,” he says quietly.
“What kind of bet?” I ask, feeling wary. Gareth’s not the kind of guy to gamble unless he’s feeling confident. But the look on his face suggests there’s no way he’s going to be good at this.
I’ll admit, I like that I’m better than him.
He says, “If I reach the top, you tell me what you thought about the last time you got yourself off.”
I raise my eyebrows. A sharp thrill runs into my core. What is with this guy? Apparently, we’re crossing every single professional line imaginable. “Who says I thought about anything? Maybe I’m into porn.”
“In that case, you can share your favorite videos.”
I blush slightly at the thought of him seeing the porn I’m into. “Okay, thoughts it is. And if you don’t?”
“I’ll tell you what I thought about.”
Based on the way he’s looking at me right now, I’m pretty sure I know.
God, is it sick that I like it? I mean, it’s inappropriate and crazy, sure. But Gareth’s hot as hell, even if he is like ten years older than me and not my type at all.
Hell, in the spirit of getting to know him more, I nod once. “That’s a deal.”
“Good.” He takes some chalk, clapping it between his hands. “That didn’t look so hard.”
He gets up, sets himself, and climbs.
I stare at his muscular arms, impressed by his raw strength. His form is awful and he’s choosing the hardest possible line, but he’s brute-forcing his way up, and up, and up.
I’m impressed. I’ve seen novice climbers before—I was one not all that long ago—and I know what it’s like to get up there for the first time.
The fear, the nerves.
