“What do you want from me? Even spoiled rich kids like you have some ulterior motive for paying for a nonexistent service beyond just the fact that you can.”
“I love that you call me a kid.” He rests his arms on the counter, mirroring me, forcing me to take a step back if I don’t want him in my personal space. Which I don’t.
Not in my personal space.
Not in my book club.
Not in my apartment building.
And not in my place of business.
“Is this …” He squints while cocking his pretty little head to the side. “About the book?”
“Pfft … don’t be ridiculous. Your opinion means nothing to me.”
“Great. Then let’s do this. For a thousand an hour, I expect less talking and more climbing.”
I murder him twenty ways in my head. Pull out his Patrick Dempsey/Shawn Mendes hair. Kick in his sparkly teeth. Jab sharp objects into his wandering eyes. And slap the grin right off his face. “I’m going to stand a safe distance away with my hands in my pockets. If you fall, I’m not moving an inch. It’s called watching … not spotting.”
He smirks. That’s it. Just that infuriating smile.
I follow him to the cubbies.
“How long have you climbed?” he asks while shoving his feet into his climbing shoes.
“Few years.”
He glances up at me from his hunched position. I return a blink. That’s all he’s getting from me. A slow, lifeless blink.
“I’ve climbed since I was fourteen.”
Here you go, buddy … another no-shits-given blink.
“Thanks for asking.” His kissable—
Gah! NOT kissable.
His dry, cracked, puss and blood oozing lips curl into a psycho’s smirk.
Much better, Anna. Stay focused.
“I didn’t ask.” I shrug.
“But you should have. It’s the polite thing to do. That’s how conversations work.” Eric stands, a solid six inches taller than me.
His proximity forces me to smell him. I wish he smelled like an old gym bag, but he doesn’t. My nose could easily bury itself in the crook of his neck and get high off his subtle spicy scent.
Instead of breathing through my nose, I part my lips and read the words on his T-shirt. If you were a bouldering problem, I’d flash you.
“I wore this shirt for you.”
My eyes hurt from rolling them so much. “More climbing, less talking.”
Over the next hour, Eric flashes every single route in the gym. Clearly, we need to set harder routes.
“You’re an ass,” I murmur as he peels off his shoes.
“Why am I an ass? I didn’t fall on you … not once. And I didn’t talk to you.”
“You paid a thousand dollars to force me to watch you show off … easily climb every single problem.”
He closes his chalk bag. “It’s my mating dance.”
My jaw clenches. After a few seconds, my lips quiver as the life-or-death need to not laugh, not show my amusement, becomes unbearable. “I have to get back to work.” I speed walk to the empty yoga room and hide around the corner, covering my mouth—hiding my smile, suffocating my laughter.
“So you did like my mating dance.”
I jump, angling my body away from Eric’s, while keeping my hand over my face. My pulse doubles, my heart beats so loudly I bet he can hear it march to the metronome of my attraction to him. “Go home. I’m not impressed by … by anything about you.”
“No? Then why are your cheeks so pink?”
“They’re not.” I press my palms to my sweltering face.
“The mirrors don’t lie.”
I glance up.
Shit.
Stupid mirrors. My eyes constrict into tiny slits at his reflection and the way he always wears this expression like he’s ruminating about something I just said or did.
“Anna, they’ve been pink since I took off my shirt halfway through climbing all the routes.” He shrugs. “Don’t be embarrassed. If you took off your shirt, I’d overheat too.”
“You are so arrogant.” I spin around, no longer caring that I’m a little flushed.
“You liked my mating dance, didn’t you?”
Why? Why must he say that? It’s impossible to maintain a straight face when he says mating dance. “Stop saying that.” I bite my lips together.
He saunters toward me, literally backing me into the corner of the room. “Mating dance?” Mr. Arrogant cocks his head a fraction, lips turned up into a wolfish grin.
“Stop.” My whole face contorts in an effort to hide my amusement. My legs squeeze together to hide other reactions to him and his bare chest and low-hanging climbing pants … and the light smattering of dark hair on his chest. I prefer it to a shaved chest.
No! Never mind … I don’t prefer it or him to anything.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day we met.”
“Shut up,” I murmur just above a whisper, a little breathy as I tip my chin toward my chest.
“We’ve been destined to reach this moment. The flirty glances, the sexual banter, the coffee date, and my mating dance.”
Laughter spills from deep in my chest. I can no longer hold it together. “Go. Home! You’re an idiot. The opposite of sexy is a man saying the words ‘mating dance’ unless he’s narrating something for National Geographic.” I cover my face and shake my head.
Eric lowers his voice. “The skittish, female Homo sapiens’ face flushes as she drops her chin to disguise her attraction to the rather well-endowed male as he makes his advance. She’s stubborn, but not immune to his mating dance. It’s only a matter of time before he imparts his scent onto her, marking her for life.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes. What is this? I don’t understand what he’s doing. It’s insane, yet oddly amusing.
When I muster the ability to meet his gaze, he wets his lips and rubs them together. “Come to the forest with me so we can forage for food together.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Then just pizza tonight. The place across the street from our building. Seven o’clock.”
I know better. I really do. Yet, I find myself nodding. “No rubbing your scent on me.”
He holds up his hands and takes a step backward. “I won’t touch you, but it’s not my fault if you’re rolling all over me by the end of the night like a dog on carpet after a bath.”
“There’s a zero percent chance of that.”
“I guess we’ll see.” He winks before disappearing around the corner.
Chapter Five
“Finally! I knew you liked him.” Freya shows too much excitement for my dinner plans with Eric. See how I’m not calling it a date?
“Wrong. You just underestimated my willingness to say yes after he pressured me to death. It’s a couple slices of pizza and maybe one drink. In spite of his wealth, I’ll pay my share. We’re meeting at seven. Expect me home by eight.” I deposit my phone into my handbag.
“I won’t wait up for you.” Freya props her feet up onto the coffee table and clicks on the TV without glancing in my direction, but I don’t miss her knowing grin.