by Lila Monroe
Fine, if that’s how he wants to do things. I pull out my laptop and open it on my knees. “I hope you know I’m going to take that literally.”
He chuckles. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, McKenna.”
My name in his low voice with that accent—it sends a bolt of heat right to my stomach.
And lower.
Oh, fuck me. I was hoping my attraction might have faded, but here it is: sitting casually behind the wheel with that movie-star hair and stubble on his chiseled jaw. He grips the wheel casually, making me wonder what those hands would do sliding over something else.
Like my body …
Focus.
I shove the dirty thoughts aside and pull up all the data I’ve gathered on him. “The most obvious place to start is your dates. You’ve hardly said anything about why you weren’t interested in them.”
“There’s no real reason, just no spark. I wasn’t excited about the idea of spending more time with them.”
Very helpful. “Any ideas what you would have needed to feel excited?”
“I don’t know. It really isn’t something you can necessarily put into words, you know. They were all great on paper, but in person … I suppose it felt a little too predictable. They were all nice, beautiful, sweet … but kind of bland.”
I snort. Big surprise. “GIGO,” I mutter.
He looks over. “What was that?”
“It’s a programming phrase, stands for ‘garbage in, garbage out.’ Of course your dates were bland and boring, that’s what you asked for on your profile!”
“I didn’t,” he objects.
I pull up his first requirements. “ ‘Beautiful, charming, good-natured, easy to talk to, and flexible.’ ” I quote.
“So?”
“So, that practically describes a mannequin, not a real person. What about their hopes and dreams?” I challenge him. “Their passions and dislikes and quirks? What about yours? Or are you still pretending just to be this good-time, happy-go-lucky playboy? Connecting takes two, you know.”
“So if I open up, I’ll fall for them?” Jack sounds incredulous. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“So how does it work, O wise one?” I demand, running out of patience. “You keep telling me an algorithm isn’t a recipe for love, so what is?”
There’s a long silence. Long enough for me to glance over, wondering if I’ve pushed him too far. Then Jack speaks.
“It’s that moment when you look at a person, and they look back at you, and you know they’re right there in that moment with you. Completely on the same wavelength. You don’t need to take a quiz or run a test to know you’re connecting, it’s just there. Effortless.”
I blink at him. There’s an earnestness in his voice I’ve never heard before. So there is a romantic bone somewhere under that playboy exterior. “That sounds a lot more starry-eyed than I’d expect from a guy who goes through dates at the speed you do.”
He flashes me a grin. “I have lots of moments with lots of people. Is there something wrong with that?”
“Well, you have to be open to it on these dates if it’s going to happen,” I point out. “They should set up the ideal environment. Maybe we should take another look at your activity preferences—”
“All right,” he interrupts. “That’s enough work for today. Close that laptop. You asked your questions, now I want you to have some fun. You clearly need it.”
“It is the middle of a workday, you know,” I say.
“There are different kinds of work. And I believe research has shown that play improves creativity and inspiration. Come on. Step out of your comfort zone. You can analyze me as we go—just silently.”
I grumble something mildly profane, but I do close the laptop. We’ve left the city behind. It’s starting to look almost wilderness-y beyond the car windows. “Where exactly are we going to ‘play’?”
“You remember the gym where you first ambushed me?” Jack says. I wrinkle my nose at his choice of words and nod. “I invested in one of their locations, and they invited me out to a big competition they’re holding. Climbing actual rocks. It should be a good time.”
“Sure, if you’re into that sort of thing.” I guess I’ll be spending my time watching Jack play, then. But the more I’m around him, the more likely I’ll notice something that’ll make his matches click.
I just have to keep all my lustful feelings in check in the meantime.
We drive for another hour, until the landscape turns more rugged and nature-y. He turns off the freeway and follows some backroads deeper into the woods, until we find a parking lot-slash-field out in the middle of nowhere. People are milling around in athletic gear, classic rock jams jangle from a sound system set up by a temporary equipment booth, and gym employees are handing out helmets and harnesses. Nearby, I can see a broad cliff face rearing out of the woods, and already, there are the tiny figures of people crazy enough to scale the thing.
“You’ll be on the far line, Mr. Callahan,” a woman in the gym’s T-shirt says, handing him a bundle of equipment already prepared. She points to one end of the cliff. “Right over there.” She turns to me. “What size will you need?”
“Me?” I snort with laughter. “I’ll just be watching, thanks.”
Jack raises his eyebrows at me. “Oh, no. I said I wanted to see you stretch yourself. No cop-outs now.”
“Yeah, nope.” I shake my head firmly. “I’ve never climbed before.”
“I can walk you through the basics. And there are lots of people here to help if you need it.”
“Umm, don’t you remember? I’m scared of heights.”
“Come on, McKenna,” he urges me. “What happened to facing your fears? How are you going to take on the world if you’re afraid of a little hunk of rock?”
I look at the cliff face again. “That is anything but ‘little.’ ” My breath catches in my chest.
“I promise, I’ll go on as many dates as you need,” Jack adds, tantalizing. “Whenever you want. No more dodging your messages. I’ll be at your beck and call.”
“So you admit, you have been dodging me!”
He laughs. “Come on. What happened to the dragon slayer?”
She would like to go take a nap. But Jack is watching me expectantly. He thinks it’s just about mind over matter. Proving I can take on anything.
And for a brief, reckless moment, I want to believe him.
“Fine,” I gulp back the panic. “I’ll give it a shot. Medium, please.”
The girl finds some Lycra climbing pants and a T-shirt for me, but when I change in the rickety bathrooms, I can barely squeeze into them.
“Medium my ass,” I mutter, sucking in my stomach to yank the pants over my hips. Finally, I’m trussed up, with some climbing shoes too, but things go from bad to worse. My heart sinks as we carry our gear over to the cliff. It looks even taller up close. How the hell am I going to pull this off? I could barely handle standing on that ladder in the gym, and it didn’t go half that high.
Simple answer: I won’t. I’ll hang back on solid ground, let him get caught up in his own macho climbing feats, and hopefully he’ll forget all about me.
It’s a plan!
Unfortunately, Jack insists on helping me into my harness. “This strap goes around here …” he says, as I step into the thing. His hands brush my thighs as he tightens the straps, and although it’s an innocent touch, it doesn’t help my lurching stomach one bit.
Then I’m strapped and clipped and whatever the hell else, staring up at the cliff. The rope looks way too thin. Are they absolutely sure there’s no way it could break?
“You first,” I exclaim brightly. “Show me how it’s done. I’ll be right behind you.”
Jack shakes his head. “I’ll belay for you, I don’t want anyone else handling your ropes.”
I gulp. “Um, thanks?”
“I’ll be right down here, talking you through it,” Jack says, reassuring. He clips my harness to the
main rope that runs up all the way from the top of the cliff and loops back down again. “See, I’ll be here, feeding your guide rope.”
Here, as in, directly below me. Staring at my ass. “What if I fall?” I ask.
“You can’t,” he promises. “I’m holding the other end of the rope. You lose your grip, I’ll pull it tight, and you’ll stay in the air. Piece of cake.”
Easy for him to say. I grit my teeth and approach the rock face.
“You see that first ledge?” he calls. “Use it to boost yourself up, and reach for the crevice.”
I see where he’s talking about. OK then.
Slowly, I follow his instructions and awkwardly heave myself up onto the ledge. I grip the crevice with my gloved hands and look around. What now?
“There’s a hand-hold to your left,” Jack calls. “And plenty of crevices for your feet. Just feel your way up.”
Okay. So I just pull myself one hand at a time, one foot at a time, inch by inch, until I’m at the top? That does sound simple enough.
Just don’t look down, Mac, and you’ll be fine.
One hold, and then another. I try not to picture the view he has right now. My heart is thudding so hard it drowns everything else out. My arms are aching with muscles I never knew I had, but I grit my teeth and hug the wall.
I have to be halfway up now, right?
“You’re doing great,” Jack calls. “Just keep it up!”
I follow his instructions, hauling myself farther and farther up. My borrowed climbing shoes thump against the uneven rock. The wind gently tussles my hair. It actually feels kind of … empowering, when I manage to suppress my terror for a few seconds here and there. I’m climbing up the side of a mountain. Dragon slayer, cliff conqueror. There’s nothing McKenna Delaney can’t do.
Until I reach for the next ledge, lift my foot to scramble up a few inches, and hear an almighty RRRIIIIIIPPPPP.
I freeze. No. Oh no. No, no, no, no—
Yes.
I hear laughter from the ground, and feel a cool breeze right where I don’t want to be feeling it.
The bare, exposed cheeks of my ass.
“Jack?” I call, my voice wavering. I want to hurl myself off the cliff face and into oblivion. “Tell me that didn’t just happen?”
“What do you mean?” Jack’s trying to keep it together, but I can hear the mirth in his voice.
“Oh God,” I mutter, resting my head against the rock. I’m clinging on to holds with both hands, I can’t even feel around to see how much is exposed.
I’m guessing a lot.
You had to wear a thong today.
“Keep going!” he calls up to me. “You’re doing great!”
Great at abject humiliation, sure. But all my confidence has deserted me now. I’m not supposed to be here. I should have stayed on solid ground where I belong: ass covered, and dignity intact.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
I look down.
I’m barely fifteen feet off the ground.
Even so, just seeing the drop makes my lungs seize up. Never mind humiliation, now I’m paralyzed with fear. My pulse thunders in my ears. I drag in a breath, and then another, but I can’t unlock my hands. My chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. Oh, fuck. I can’t move. What the hell am I going to do?
“McKenna?” Jack calls. “What’s wrong?”
I close my eyes, but that just makes my head spin more. I stare at the ripples in the rock in front of me instead. My voice comes out wavery. “I, um, can’t move.”
“Sure you can. Just look for the next hold.”
“No!” I call back. “I’m pretty sure. Not moving. Ever again.”
Clenching my jaw, I shift my foot slightly—and it hits empty air. My stomach lurches. I clutch the rock face harder.
“Jack?” my voice has a note of panic. “I’m serious. I need to come down now!”
“OK, OK.” Clearly, my terror is showing, because Jack’s voice takes on a new, soothing tone. “We’ll get you down. Just let go of the wall, grab hold of the rope, and lean backwards.”
Lean? He wants me to just lean back into empty air?!
“You saw me rappel down at the gym,” Jack continues. “That’s all you need to do. Let the ropes take your weight. Lean away from the rock and walk down.”
I try to transfer my grip to the ropes, but after spending the last eternity trying to hug my weight against the sheer cliff face, I just can’t peel myself away.
“It’s not happening,” I call, feeling wretched and embarrassed.
Jack swears. Then there’s a scuffling sound from down below. “I’m coming up. We’ll get you down. Just hang in there.”
How? There isn’t another rope nearby. But I can tell from the rough breaths below me that Jack is managing to climb up anyway. I swallow hard and hang on, like he told me.
“Hey,” Jack says. Suddenly he’s right beside me. I manage to peel my gaze away from the rock and find myself staring into his bright blue eyes. They’re darker than usual now, shadowed with concern. He’s gripping a small outcropping of rock, his feet braced against a gap lower down. He scrambled up all this way to help me—without a safety rope.
“You did amazing for a first-timer, McKenna,” he goes on. “Really. Even without taking phobias into account. You’re a little more than halfway up. You did that all by yourself, so I know you can get back down again.”
“Okay,” I say with a shaky laugh. “Where do we start?”
“Just keep looking at me,” he says, his voice warm and low. “Lean back a little. Let the rope take more of your weight. You’re hooked on—you can’t fall. I promise you.” He gazes into my eyes, and suddenly, I forget the fact I’m stranded halfway up a cliff.
That moment when you look at a person, and they look back at you, and you know they’re right there in that moment with you.
Oh, yeah, I know what he meant. Because I’m feeling that right now. So intensely I don’t know how to do anything except stare back at him.
He shifts forward, just an inch. Enough that the space between us goes from warm to hot in an instant. My lips tingle. Is he going to—
He peels my hand from the rock hold and places it around my rope. “There,” he says calmly.
“Slide one foot down, then the other. Then release a little rope. Slow and steady. There’s no need to rush.”
My pulse is still racing, but not quite as fast as before. I ease down my feet and then my hands. And again. And again. Edging down the cliff. Jack follows, looking away only for a second here and there to find his next hand and foot hold.
“Brilliant,” he says, with that cocky grin. “You hardly even need me.”
I’d have been stuck there for hours if he hadn’t come to my rescue, but he doesn’t need to hear that. He probably already knows.
Before I know it, he’s saying, “Just five more feet.” I let myself look down again then, and really laugh. I could jump that far. I exhale with a rush of relief and hop the last few steps to the ground.
Solid earth has never felt so good. I want to drop down and hug it, but I have more important things in mind: like grabbing the nearest sweatshirt and tying it around my waist.
“I’m sorry.” Jack hops down beside me.
“For which part?” I half-laugh, half-sob. “The part where I froze up halfway, or the part where I flashed the entire state?”
Jack grins. “Aww, nobody noticed.”
“Liar.”
“I mean it,” he adds, looking concerned. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“It’s my fault,” I manage to reply. “I wanted to impress you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Uh, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re the maverick hotshot,” I tell him, taking another shaky breath. “All that talk about risk and facing my fears … You make it look so easy.”
Jack looks rueful. “I know I come on strong, but don’t ever let me push you into something you’re not comfortab
le with. I mean it, McKenna. I get carried away sometimes and forget that not everyone … well,”
“Is a reckless wild card with nerves of steel?” I quip, feeling more stable now.
He grins. “I was going to say ‘stupid wanker,’ but sure, yours sounds better. Do you hate me now?”
I blink, surprised he would even care. “No,” I sigh. “Me and that cliff are mortal enemies now, but you get a pass. This time.”
“Good.”
He squeezes my shoulder, his eyes still concerned despite his grin. His hand lingers on my arm. Warmth floods me, and I think I can see it in his gaze too.
Then he pats my arm and pulls away. “Climbing halfway up a cliff with a fear of heights. I swear I’ll never doubt you again. Ready to give me a turn with the rope?”
“Yeah,” I say, still shaken—and not just by my near-death-mooning experience. For that one moment up the cliff, it almost felt like he was going to kiss me.
And worse than that, I’d wanted to. All I want right now is to feel another of those moments, with the last guy in the world I should want.
13
McKenna
“Okay,” Jill says. She’s shown up at my door with a sly smile and a bottle of her favorite cherry vodka. “What’s the big emergency?”
I usher her in. “It’s not an emergency, exactly. I mean …”
“It’s definitely an emergency,” Tessa pipes up cheerfully from the living room sofa. “McKenna wants to boink Jack Callahan’s brains out. Total crisis.”
“I don’t want to ‘boink’ him,” I protest. “That’s the problem.”
“Oh, honey.” Jill shakes her head teasingly and nudges me toward the sofa. “First I make drinks, then you spill.”
She mixes cocktails with the lime soda she knows I always have in my fridge and carries them over. “So what has the stud muffin done now?”
I accept the glass and take a large gulp. “Nothing worse than usual. The problem is me.”
I tell them about the rock-climbing excursion and the maybe-near kiss. “It’s the serotonin,” I insist. “I’ve said it before, life-threatening encounters make you release all kinds of crazy hormones.”
“That explains your side of things,” Tessa points out. “But what about him?”