“No, it’s fine. I mean, I shudder to think where a tick might end up, but that’s between you and god.”
He barks out a laugh and visibly cringes. “Fuck, you talked me into it, I’m definitely keeping my clothes on.”
I snicker. As relieved as I am to hear that I won’t be the only clothed person all weekend, it’s kind of a shame. I spare a longing look at his ass, flexing in his jeans with every long stride.
It only takes a few more minutes before Butch stops in front of me at the base of a jagged rock face. I gulp and tilt my head back to see just how tall this thing is.
“It’s a hundred feet high,” I yelp. “You can’t expect me to climb this.”
“It’s eighteen feet,” he corrects me. “And this is the perfect beginner climb. Come here.”
He waves me over, but my feet keep me rooted in place for a few more seconds, just staring in horror at the cliff towering in front of me. Why did I agree to this? This is insane. It’s a death wish. It’s?—
Butch puts his hands on my shoulders and warmth spreads through me as he gives them a gentle, encouraging squeeze.
“Trust me, Rocky,” he says softly. My insides turn to jelly, and a hot shiver runs through me.
Oh, right,that’swhy I agreed to this. Because I’m a horny idiot trying to impress a man who’s never going to be interested in me anyway. I can’t believe this is the way I’m going to die. I hope Juno at least writes a nice obituary about me.
I give a jerky nod, and Butch nudges me forward, shuffling me one step at a time until I’m standing directly in front of the rock face.
“I’m going to free climb it first and attach a belay line at the top. That way, you’ll be nice and secure your whole climb.”
I nod slowly, my mouth dry and my pulse thundering in my ears.
“How do I…?” I gesture meekly.
Still standing behind me, Butch slides his hand from my shoulder, all the way down my arm, until it rests over my hand.
“Like I said, this is the perfect beginner climb.” His hand is firm but not forceful, steady and warm as he guides my hand to a groove in the rock surface. “It’s full of these notches. They’re going to be your hand and footholds. The most important thing is to take your time. Rushing is what leads to mistakes. And trust me, okay? I swear I’ll have you the whole time.”
I nod again, hoping he can’t feel the slight tremble in my hand just before he eases his grip off. He takes a step back and I’m embarrassed by how badly I miss the feeling of his body immediately.
Butch shrugs off the backpack and pulls out a harness to hand me. I step into it and tighten all the straps.
“Watch me and try to remember the path I take up. I’ll look for the best grips along the way.” He threads one end of the rope through my harness, looping the rest of the length around his shoulder, and then he starts to climb.
I’ve been watching him run and lift at Sweat for a couple of weeks now, so I shouldn’t be awestruck by the way he looks scaling a rock, but all I can say isdamn. His muscles flex, and even in the cool afternoon breeze, there’s a glistening layer of sweat on his skin. He lets out little grunts each time he hauls himself up to the next grip. My cock stiffens watching him, and for a couple of minutes I forget to even be terrified for my own life.
When he reaches the top, he drags himself over the edge and then turns to look down at me with that big, dopey grin on his face.
“See? Easy peasy!”
The laugh that bubbles in my throat is bordering on hysterical, but I can’t back out of this now. If I’m going to die, I’ll die like a man, doing something stupid just to protect my ego. I wait while he sets up the belay and then peeks over the ledge again.
“Good to go.”
I give him a thumbs-up because I don’t trust my voice not to quiver if I answer out loud. I double check that the rope is still tied to my harness—not that I don’t trust Butch, it just seems like a good thing to be extra sure about-- and I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants before I notch my fingers into the same spot Butch guided me to before.
“You’ve got this, Rocky,” he calls down in that same deep, encouraging voice that’s convinced me to do all kinds of impossible things over the past couple of weeks. I swallow hard, find a spot for my toe, and pull myself up a couple of inches off the ground.
Oh my god, I’m doing it. It’s only a couple of inches, but still, it’s something. I look up, searching for the next spot to grip, and see Butch still grinning down at me.
“There you go, that’s it. Remember to keep breathing and take it slow.”
I blow out a breath and reach up for the next hold, then the next, and the next. Little by little, only half a foot at a time. I’m barely halfway up before my muscles burn in protest and sweat makes my shirt stick to my back.
“I’m not going to make it,” I call out, my fingers cramping as I try to get a grip on the next notch. The belay rope tightens a little, which is reassuring, like Butch is reminding me that he’s not going to let me fall.
