Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
She rolls her eyes and holds her hands in front of the vents. “What are you talking about? It’s balmy today.”
“Yeah, well, Pittsburgh’s not Calgary,” I shoot back, chuckling at her mischievousness. “And you’ve got nothing to prove.”
She smirks but doesn’t argue, which I count as a small victory.
“So,” she says, leaning back in her seat and giving me a sideways look. “Where are you taking me? You’ve been annoyingly vague about this whole thing.”
It’s true. She texted me three times trying to get me to divulge where we’re going. The most I would tell her was to dress casual and for comfort, which she’s obviously done.
“You’ll see,” I say cryptically, pulling away from the curb.
“Ugh, I hate surprises,” she grumbles, but there’s a spark of curiosity in her eyes. The radio plays classic rock softly in the background and Farren reaches over to change the station. “What are you, old-man adjacent?”
I glance over at her, an eyebrow lifted. “Old-man adjacent?”
“Yeah, you know… exhibiting characteristics of someone who’s old,” she says slyly. She lands on a Taylor Swift song and I suppress a grimace. I found our first thing we don’t have in common.
“I’m like only two years older than you,” I complain, glancing at myself in the rearview mirror. I make a dramatic show of looking at my face and proudly proclaim, “Not even wrinkles around my eyes.”
Farren snorts. “I didn’t say you were old, just that you acted old.”
“Listening to classic rock isn’t acting old. Those are some of the most badass tunes around.”
We launch into a heated debate about musical tastes, and I manage to point out her hypocrisy when she admits to a keen enjoyment of Barbra Streisand, something that has me laughing so hard my ribs hurt.
She’s so involved with arguing with me, Farren doesn’t even notice I’ve brought the truck to a stop in a parking lot. She looks up at the building and then to me. “Rock climbing?”
“Yup,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt. “It’ll be fun.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You know I’ve done this like only one time before, right? And it wasn’t exactly a great experience.”
I pause, resting an arm on the open door of my truck to meet her gaze. “Yeah, you mentioned that. But you’ve never done it with me. Trust me, it’ll be different.”
Her expression softens for a split second, but then she rolls her eyes again and gets out of the truck. “Fine. But if I fall and break my ass, I’m blaming you.”
“Deal,” I say with a grin.
Inside, the gym smells faintly of chalk and rubber, and the sound of climbers calling out commands mixes with the soft whir of fans overhead. Farren looks around, taking it all in, and I can tell she’s a little intimidated, though she’d never admit it.
We check in at the front desk where an instructor named Kyle gives us the rundown on safety and equipment, although I have been doing this sport for years so I’m pretty proficient. Most of my summers I spend time out west, climbing anything I can get my hands on.
Farren listens intently, nodding along, and I can’t help but notice how serious she looks.
“You good?” I ask as we gear up, slipping into our harnesses.
“Yeah,” she says, letting Kyle help her tighten the straps around her waist. “Just trying to remember not to look down.”
“You’ll be fine,” I reassure her. “I’ve got you.”
Kyle leads us to a beginner wall, explaining the basics and how to belay properly. Farren pays close attention, brow furrowed in concentration. I’ve seen that look before—she gets it when she’s focused, like when we played pool at Stevie’s and she was determined to beat me.
“All set?” Kyle asks after a quick demonstration.
Farren nods. “Let’s do this.”
She steps up to the wall, her fingers testing the holds, and begins to climb. At first, her movements are hesitant, but she quickly finds her rhythm. I manage the rope below, keeping a close eye on her progress.
“Left foot up,” I call out. “There’s a good hold just above your knee.”
She glances down, her ponytail swinging. “You sound like a back-seat driver.”
“Yeah, but I’m right,” I shoot back.
She says something under her breath but follows my advice, reaching the top of the wall a few minutes later.
“Nice job!” I call up, giving the rope a gentle tug. “You crushed it.”
She looks down at me wearing a triumphant smile. “Not bad for someone who disdains climbing a flight of stairs, huh?”
“Not bad at all,” I agree as she slowly glides down to the ground.
When she reaches the floor, she unhooks the carabiner and grins up at me. “Your turn, show-off.”
I smirk, stepping up to the wall. “Try to keep up, Abrams.”
The climb feels natural to me, my hands and feet finding holds with ease. Because of my experience, the muscle memory kicks in immediately. I glance down at Farren as I climb, and she’s watching me with a mix of awe and exasperation.