The Last Person

“New hot guy alert.” Kenzie pops her head into the back office of the climbing gym as I work on the employee newsletter.

I crane my neck to see past her before jerking back into a slightly hunched position. My luck just ran out. “He’s my new neighbor. Don’t tell him I’m here.”

She laughs. “Too late. He already asked for you.”

“I’m busy.”

“He wants to hire you to spot him.”

“What?” My nose wrinkles as I focus on the computer screen.

“You know … make sure he doesn’t get injured if he falls.”

“I know what it means. We don’t do that. You only spot when you’re outdoor climbing.”

“Fine. I’ll tell him that you don’t want to do it. Is that what you really want me to tell the hot guy?”

“Um … yes.” I squint at her. What’s her deal?

She grumbles and pivots. A few seconds later, she returns. “Dude! He’s offered to pay a thousand dollars an hour for you to spot him.”

“The answer is still no.” I continue typing.

“If I tell Linda you said no to the gym making a thousand dollars an hour to spot him, she will fire you.”

My gaze slides to the side, burning a huge hole into Kenzie’s forehead. Linda would not fire me. She knows the safety concerns and the sheer ridiculousness of him asking for that service. He could crush me. It’s not like he’s bouldering outside where he can miss the crash pad and crack open his head.

“You heard her say we fell short of our membership renewal goal last month.”

The answer is still no, but Kenzie’s having a brain fart and can’t see she’s being played.

“Spoiled.” I shut my computer. “Little.” I shove the desk chair back. “Rich kid.” I stand, balling my fists.

Kenzie bites her lips together. “Uh … he seems really nice. And hot. Did you not focus on his body or that smile? Or the hair? It’s all Patrick Dempsey.”

He hates my favorite book. I bet he hates kittens and puppies too. Total monster.

“Eric.” I don’t offer so much as a twitch of my lips that could be mistaken for a smile.

“Hey, neighbor.” He glances up from the waiver form on the tablet in front of him.

“Spotters aren’t used for indoor climbing. Your assumption that we would do that is sophomoric at best.”

His finger continues to tap the tablet screen. “I have a thousand dollars … maybe even two … that says you’re spotting me today.”

Kenzie’s gaze ping-pongs between us, and I give her a nod to go do something else.

Leaning into the counter with my arms resting on it, I narrow my eyes and lower my voice. “What’s your angle?”

“My angle?” He presses submit on the waiver and tries to slice through my distrust with his signature crooked grin.

“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.