Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,62
it just once. But there are exceptions. It turns out that thousands of climbers have done it more than once—and done it successfully. Plus, the Sherpa guides climb up and down it all the time like it’s a goddamn StairMaster. If they can do it, so can I.
Two weeks after Hazel shoots down my pitch, I have a new plan. I’m the king of plans. I’m going to climb and I’m not going to stop until I reach the top. Hazel’s worth fighting for. So, new plan?
1. Design mountaineering training program. We have a shit ton of mountains in California—I can climb them all and write a bestselling book about whatever epiphany I achieve on their peaks.
2. Build my physical conditioning by schlepping enormous packs around at perfectly reasonable elevations so I survive high-altitude sickness when I finally reach Everest.
3. Strength train.
4. Run fucking everywhere.
5. Work on my flexibility. Yeah. There’s a life lesson there.
6. Shell out a ton of cash and book my climb.
I can’t wait to get started. To start my climb—to finally be doing something to fix the mess I’ve made of my life.
One advantage of living in Santa Cruz is that we have a ton of things to climb. Today I’m staring down a watershed full of granite crags. The baby crags are a mere fifteen feet, while the one I’m about to tackle stretches fifty feet into the air. There’s a line up the steep face.
It’s a pretty day, all sunshine and birds, and the only thing missing is a singing cartoon princess and maybe a baby fawn. Everest is going to be a whole lot colder and more crowded—have you seen the lines to summit? The top is more crowded than the BART train platform at rush hour. I start my climb, moving methodically up from one handhold to the next. Right now, I’ve got this, all my focus on the next step and then the next step after that one.
“Are you insane?”
I swing around, losing my grip.
Hazel glares up at me from the base of the crag.
* * *
In the brief second it takes me to fall ten feet, I get an eyeful of Hazel. Her hair’s slicked back in that tight little knot she loves, emphasizing her cheekbones and the dramatic slash of her eyebrows. Her gray T-shirt emphasizes the sweet vee between her breasts and is tied up over a pair of black leggings. She’s wearing hiking boots that seem far more practical than the little black leather backpack slung over her shoulder. I have just enough time to appreciate that she looks fucking amazing before I crash-land on the ground at her feet.
I suck in a breath. Ouch. My lungs still work, though the rest of my body is seriously unhappy. “Am I dead?”
“Jesus. I hope not.” Hazel’s face comes into focus above me. Bonus—there are three of her.
“Because I sure think I see an angel.”
“What the fuck, Reed?” Hazel straddles me. I’m not sure that’s an approved medical tactic, but parts of me perk right up. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m climbing.” I’m disavowing all knowledge of how it happens, but my hands curl around Hazel’s hips.
“You fell, you moron.”
“You surprised me.”
She slaps a hand on the ground next to my head. “What was the big plan?”
“I was thinking I’d climb to the top of Everest and then I’d send you a message.”
“News flash. This is not the Himalayas.” Hazel pats me with her hands. I’m not sure if she’s checking for broken bones or frisking me for hidden weapons. It’s a good thing I don’t have a Florence Nightingale fantasy because Hazel’s not much of a nurse.
“I know that.” I reach up and pat the first part of her that I can reach. Fortunately for my health, it’s her shoulder. “I’m practicing. You have to work up to these things, so I’m starting small here, and then I’ll climb the really, really big stuff in the Himalayas.”
Hazel rolls her eyes. “You’re such an ocean boy. The whole message-in-a-bottle thing works best if you have water.”
“It would make a great story. I could spell out ‘I love Hazel’ in the snow.”
“I love you? You’re going to hike five-plus miles in life-threatening conditions and that’s the sum total of your message?”
“I was going to add ten reasons why,” I say, “but yeah, that’s the executive summary. There’s not a whole lot of room on the top of Everest, so I may need to abridge.”
I pull her down on top