“That’s why I haven’t. I suppose if enough of us came out, it would stop being so interesting.”
“There’s definitely others. I’m not going to name names, but—”
“But you’ve fucked them?” Flynn sounded pissy and also out of breath, so Spencer stopped and got the water bottle out again.
“Well?” Flynn demanded after taking a swig from the bottle. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, trying to glare intimidatingly but only managing to look sweaty and adorably put-out.
“You a virgin, Flynn?”
“No.”
“Ever fucked a climber?”
“Not a good one.”
Spencer couldn’t help laughing. “I’ve never messed around with anyone as good as you either, but climbers are pretty much the only people I know, and I’m not too worried about how hard someone boulders in bed.”
“Want to fuck an Olympian?” Flynn asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“Is that what you want?”
“I want you, Spencer. I have since I met you. I already said that, right?”
“Yeah, and same. Am I allowed to say that since you were only seventeen at the time?”
“You were only nineteen. I don’t think the police are coming for us. Can I have a kiss?”
“Not if we’re going to climb today. Go.” He pushed Flynn in front of him with a pop on his ass. “You lead for a while.”
“I was enjoying the view back there,” Flynn grumbled, but he started trudging upward.
It was really a very steep trail, not giving Spencer as much opportunity to enjoy the reverse view as he’d hoped for. Most of his attention was on his feet and his breath. They zigzagged back and forth, always heading higher, until they reached a band of rock stretching out of the trees to their right. The cliff shone almost white in the sunlight, embedded crystals reflecting a thousand glimmering points of light.
“Do you see bolts?” Flynn held a hand up to shade his eyes as he scanned the cliff for the protection points they would need to anchor the rope to.
“I see what are supposed to be bolts.” Amongst the shiny crystals here and there was the glint of metal, nowhere near as new or as closely spaced as he’d like.
“The guidebook did say something about the protection being a leap of faith.”
“Now you tell me.”
“It’s not like we’re going to fall off. Just think of it as soloing.”
“I don’t solo.” Climbing without protection was too risky for his tastes. Once a climb got too high to be called bouldering, he demanded a rope and a partner to hold the other end of it. “I thought you’d given up on soloing.”
“I gave up on letting anyone know I solo. My sponsors threatened to cut me off if I kept at it. Litigation or something.”
“I don’t even want to know.” The thought of Flynn soloing made him sick. He took the pack off so they could get to their harnesses, then started his warm-up stretches. Flynn watched from a bed of last year’s leaves until Spencer made him get up and participate.
“You want to pop a tendon?” he chided.
“Where’s the proof this will prevent my tendons from popping?” Flynn asked, as he dutifully worked his fingers open and closed. “You know what I’d like to do someday? Study kinesiology.”
“Kinesiology?”
“Human movement. We can do all these amazing things with our bodies, but make one wrong move and something snaps. Game over. And the ridiculous thing is we have no idea where the tipping point is.”
“You want to study kinesiology, but you won’t do stretches?” Spencer shook his head. He just did not understand this boy.
“I’m talking science here. You’re doing that because your coach told you to, and I’m doing it because you told me to. That’s not science.”
“Then don’t do it.”
“Baby, you know I’ll do anything you tell me. Do I get kisses yet?” Flynn stopped stretching his fingers and got in Spencer’s face, preventing him from doing his own stretches. Flynn’s roan-colored curls were extra wild from the breeze, and his cheeks were pink, which probably meant he should put on some sunscreen, but the cheerful dashes of color made him look both innocent and debauched, like a chubby-cheeked cherub who’d wandered into the wrong room and gotten an eyeful.
It was impossible not to kiss him, but Spencer kept it brief. He really did want to climb. This was his territory, his chance to be the maven. Lead climbing was Flynn’s worst event because in a comp, you only got one chance to get it right. On real rock, Flyin’ Flynn took spectacular falls, then went right back up and took them again. But in a comp, the falls were mundane and game-ending.
He set Flynn farther away from him so he wouldn’t be tempted to kiss him again. “I’ll go first,” he offered. Or more like insisted. He was dying to get up there, to touch his fingers to new rock. He stood beneath the face, developing his plan of attack, mimicking the moves he would make as he mentally worked his way higher.
“You’re really going to preview this?”
“It’s good practice,” he said, not bothering to glance back at Flynn who had the rope ready. “I thought you were going to learn something from me.” He was the better lead climber for a reason—because he brought all his knowledge and experience to every ascent.
Still, Flynn was right. The line they’d picked to start on was easy enough to feel like a casual stroll once he stepped up to it. And though the bolts were smaller than he’d like, they felt solid enough as he clipped the rope through them, pulling it up in a graceful arc and dropping it into the carabiners with a satisfying click. He loved the snick of a carabiner gate snapping shut. It sounded like safety and home, like he was right where he belonged. On a difficult climb when he was at his limit—not sure he had the strength to press on—that little click settled his pulse and pumped up his courage, gave him permission to move on even if moving on meant falling.
It wasn’t like he never fell. Falling was part of climbing, just like Flynn said—whether it was a freefall down to the mat in bouldering, the quick jerk of the cable in speed climbing, or the headier rush of falling on lead, the dubious thrill of waiting for the rope to come tight. It was just that in a comp, every fall was a failure, and at some point in his career—he couldn’t target exactly when—he’d stopped making giant strides forward in his performance. Improving had become an incremental balancing act of making sure he did every little thing right, and the fall always meant he’d gotten something wrong.
But today everything was right. He wanted to keep climbing forever, doing easy moves on warm rock in a long journey to the sun. He didn’t get anywhere near the sun before he ran out of rock, but it winked at him as he lowered back to the ground.
“How was it?” Flynn asked as he restacked the rope for his own turn.
“Perfect.” Spencer got his rock shoes off and rigged himself up to hold the rope for Flynn. “Thanks for setting this up. I really needed it.” Smooth moves on real rock, tree-dappled sun, just enough risk to keep his head in the game, and a hot guy who was currently in the process of taking his shirt off.