I would say, “I want you right here, Atlanta.”
She would grab my face, kiss me breathless, and say, “Let’s go.”
I’d run my fingers up her soft stomach, grazing her full breasts over the nylon fabric of her sports bra, making her nipples peak. She’d shudder in pleasure, my dick hard.
Fuck.Get it together, man.
I watch her strategic choices, impressed. “That’s it,” I call up, my voice strained. “You’ve got it.”
When she slaps the top hold and rings the bell, the place erupts into claps as typical. She lets out a triumphant yell and leans back in her harness before I help lower her down, hand over hand. Her hair has come loose from its tie, red strands framing her flushed face, and when she looks down at me, her smile does something dangerous to my chest.
Ten feet. Five feet. Three.
When her feet touch the ground, she’s close enough that I can see the pulse hammering in her throat, can smell the vanilla of her shampoo mixed with clean sweat.
“That was amazing,” she breathes, unclipping from the rope but not stepping back.
Neither do I.
“It was,” I say, my voice rough.
We’re standing too close. Way too close. And I should step back, should put professional distance between us, should remember all the reasons this can’t happen.
But I don’t move.
And neither does she.
A kid runs past, chased by his mother. He stops, looks at us, and announces, “My mom says people only stand that close when they’re gonna kiss.” Atlanta turns crimson. I can’t breathe. The mom mouths sorry and drags him away.
“Holden!” Carter’s voice cuts through the awkward moment. “Didn’t know you were bringing a date.” Atlanta steps back fast, and the word date hangs between us like a challenge.
Then he sees who it is. Our employee.
“She’s helping me with the curse.”
Yeah, I told him about parking lot Santa. Carter and I don’t keep secrets. Except how I feel about Atlanta.
Unfortunately, one of the firefighters walks past, clapping me on the shoulder. “Lucky guy.”
What the fuck? Is the Santa dude hiding somewhere in this place?
Atlanta turns twelves shades of pink while Carter smirks.
“Your turn to climb.” Her voice is steadier now, although she won’t look at me as she reaches for the rope.
Carter’s still grinning, and I’ve never wanted to punch a person as much as I want to clock him right now.
When she goes to the desk to get more chalk, my VP leans over. “You’ve got it bad, my man.” He slaps my back. “But she’s our employee. Don’t forget that.”
As if I could. It’s the only thing I think about these days.
Chapter 8
Atlanta
“Hi Mr. Miller.”
To say the elderly man is surprised to see Holden is an understatement. Has he ever knocked on their door? Or at least waved back when they wave hello?
