Climbing required focus. Just the placement of my hands and feet. Shifting my body weight for balance. I was bouldering today—free-climbing without a harness or ropes—so every position was important.
But even though I was traversing across a challenging section of wall, making my body burn with effort, my head wasn’t nearly as clear as I wanted it to be.
Damn it, Hazel, why are you ruining my Saturday?
I couldn’t stop replaying the moment she’d said be adventurous sexually. Those words coming out of her pretty mouth had set off a cascade of thoughts and fantasies.
How adventurous was she? Were there things she dreamed of doing, but hadn’t? Things she liked that I could do better than her previous partners?
Frustrated at the sudden intrusion into my calm, I maneuvered sideways to put myself in a better position. My fingers gripped the hand-holds, and I kept my body pressed against the artificial wall. I glanced down, noting the location of the ground. It was all too easy to lose track of where you were. That tended to be how accidents happened.
I’d tried rock climbing in college and discovered I really liked the sport. For a kid who’d grown up believing he was hopelessly un-athletic, finding something I was good at physically had been a big win.
What climbing did for my body didn’t hurt either. I’d put on quite a bit of muscle, even more than when I’d started working out in high school. And as it turned out, muscles made a nerdy guy a hell of a lot more attractive to members of the opposite sex.
Even if I’d hated it, I probably would have kept climbing just for that reason.
I got to the end of the course and made my way back down. When I was close to the bottom, I pushed off and let go, landing on my feet on the mat below.
Even though I’d already worked up a sweat, I decided not to go home. I wanted to beat myself up a little more. Maybe that would finally get Hazel out of my head.
I walked down the street to my gym and joined some guys in a game of basketball. That was another sport I’d gotten good at. Or good enough, at least. I could sink three-pointers like a boss.
After two games, I headed home, exhausted, sweaty, and starving.
And discovered I had an almost-empty refrigerator.
With a groan, I grabbed my wallet and left before I could collapse onto the couch and decide I could make do with a slice of cheese and some stale chips, which were the most substantial things I had left in my kitchen.
The corner store a block away had a nice deli with good hot meal options. I grabbed a container of meatballs and a couple of bags of groceries so I wouldn’t be scrounging for something to eat tomorrow.
I carried the bags to my building, the scent of the meatballs making my mouth water. My stomach gnawed at me. By the time I got to my door, I was well past hungry and deep in hangry territory, as my sister would say.
I set the bags on the ground and reached into my pocket for my keys.
Oh shit.
My keys weren’t there.
With a growing sense of alarm, I stuffed my hand into my other pocket. No keys there, either. I had my wallet and my phone, but I’d walked out the door without my keys.
Hoping against hope, I tried the doorknob.
Locked.
Damn it, why did these stupid apartments have doorknobs that were so fucking easy to lock without meaning to?
I barely resisted the urge to kick the door. Instead, I called Molly.
“Hey twinkie, what’s up?” she asked.
“Can you do me a favor that’s not a big deal? And by not a big deal, I mean it’s probably really inconvenient for you.”
“That’s quite the set-up. What do you need?”
“My spare key.”
She groaned. “Did you lock yourself out of your apartment again?”
“Maybe?”
“Corban, what is wrong with you?”
“Can you lecture me when you get here? Preferably after I’m in my kitchen eating the meatballs I just picked up.”
“Oh my god, are they the ones from that store by your building?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Molly, you’re not getting my meatballs. I’m—”
She hung up.
I thought about kicking the door again.
My stomach growled, protesting the proximity of my dinner and the fact that it was still in the bag instead of my mouth. Maybe I’d just sit here and eat with my hands.
A glance toward Paisley’s apartment gave me another idea. She’d have forks.
Hoping she was home, I picked up the bags and knocked on her door.
She answered dressed in a cropped shirt and yoga pants, her hair in a ponytail. “Hi there.”
“Hi, Paisley.”
Her eyes flicked to the grocery bags. “What’s all this? Are you coming over to cook me dinner?”
My brow furrowed. “No. I locked myself out of my apartment. Molly’s on her way with a key. Can I wait inside?”
“Yeah, sure.” She stepped aside so I could come in.
I went straight for her kitchen—her apartment was a mirror of mine—and set my bags on the counter. “Do you mind if I eat my dinner? I’m starving and if I don’t eat it, Molly will steal it when she gets here.”
“No, please do. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks. Where do you keep your forks?”
She leaned her hip against the counter and pointed to a drawer. “In there. I was just kidding about you making me dinner, by the way.”
I grabbed a fork and glanced at her. “Yeah, I know.”
“Obviously you wouldn’t just show up and cook for me.”
“Right, I don’t know why I’d do that.” I fished my to-go container of meatballs out of the bag, my salivary glands doing double duty.
“Yeah, so… Can I get you something to drink? A beer or glass of wine?”
“I’m good. I’ll get some water when I get home.”
“Well, that’s silly. I can get you a glass of water.”
I took a seat at the small kitchen table and dug into my food. Oh my god, it was good. I liked their meatballs anyway, but as hungry as I was, this was like the best meal I’d ever eaten. Paisley put a glass of water in front of me, then sat in the chair on the other side of the table.
“Thanks,” I said around a mouthful of food.
“Sure. Why are you all sweaty?”
“I went rock climbing. And then played basketball.”
“Really? I didn’t know you were into rock climbing.”
“Yep.”
“Wow.” She reached across the table and squeezed my bicep. “That must be why you have these.”
My brow furrowed again, and I glanced at her hand. “Yeah.”
She smiled and pulled her hand away. “So, Molly said you got a new job. How’s that going?”
“Mostly great.” I took another bite of meatball. “I’m working on some stuff with motion capture technology that’s really exciting. Plus I’m introducing my boss to data analysis techniques that better codify subjective answers to survey questions.”
“Oh.”
“Even my boss was surprised at some of the results. It’s not that what I do changes the data, but when you can look at it in new ways, sometimes it tells you things you would have missed otherwise.”