Page 20 of Asystole

Fuck.

Shaking my head, I turn around, pretending to trace a route up the wall.

“Which one will you take?” I ask, trying my best to keep my voice even.

“Probably the red one as a warm-up, then if I’m feeling good, I’ll do the white one.”

“Which order do they go in again?” I ask, not really giving a shit, but trying to stay distracted.

“Blue, green, yellow, red, white, black,” he answers easily as he steps back into his harness and pulls it up.

When he tightens the straps, his shorts ride higher, revealing the spandex he has on underneath.

I’m speechless until he clears his throat, making my eyes snap back to his.

“So, because I weigh a lot more than you, when I fall, I’m going to rip you off the ground, but don’t worry, your weight is just a counterbalance to slow my fall. I’ll make sure we both get down safely.”

The man could’ve said he was going to feed my dick to piranhas and I would’ve gone along with it.

“Sounds good.”

Chase gets into position and teaches me the basics of belaying another climber.

“When I need slack, you toss more rope from this side. When I start to fall, you tighten here,” he instructs. “But you always need to have two hands on the rope.”

I nod, starting to get a little nervous that I’m accidentally going to hurt him.

“Could you, ya know, not fall?” I ask, making Chase laugh.

“I’m definitely coming off that wall at some point,” he says. “But I trust you. It’s going to be fun. Just remember, when I fall, pull tightly here, and sit your ass back. You’re all that’s keeping me from plummeting to my death.”

Right.

“Got it.”

Chapter 8

Chase

“Jackson!” I bellow, beating my fist against his bedroom door. “Open this goddamn door.”

A second later, a very tired-looking Jackson pulls his bedroom door open while rubbing his eyes.

“Jesus, Chase. Is the apartment on fire? I just got home, like, three hours ago.”

“No shit, asshole,” I seethe.

“Why are you so pissed?”

I hold up the empty carton of eggs. My eggs.

“Because you came home, ate my food, and put the empty fucking container back in the refrigerator because the trash was full! And now, not only do I have nothing to eat, I have to walk the trash to the dumpster because you’re a lazy, selfish prick.”

“Chill, man. Just leave it. I’ll take it out later,” he says, raising my blood pressure to dangerous levels.

“No, you fucking won’t, Jackson! You never do. You haven’t swept or vacuumed a floor since you moved in here. I’m the one who cleans your toothpaste out of the sink. I’m the one who replaces the moldy shower curtain because you can’t be bothered to run the fan, and I’ll eat my fucking stethoscope if you can name one time you’ve ever emptied the dishwasher,” I rant.

“My bad, Chase,” he says, still half asleep. “I’ve been busy.”