Page 70 of Ancient History

The answer was yes, apparently.

Less than ten minutes after Hutch told me he loved me (He LOVED me! No layover in Likeville.), I was on the precipice of plummeting to my death. Because the only way to sneak into his bedroom was by climbing a freaking tree like we were in some deranged buttsex-flavored Romeo and Juliet redux.

I was not a climber. I kept my svelte figure not through exercise but via genetics. I came from a long line of proud people with zero upper body strength.

Hutch swore the tree could support me, as he’d climbed it tons of times in high school to sneak in after curfew. The last thing I’d climbed was…well, Hutch.

We stood under the mighty oak, the window of his bedroom high above us. Hutch pointed out which branches and stubs to step on.

“It’s a piece of cake.”

“You know what’s a piece of cake? A piece of cake,” I whisper-screamed back.

“I climbed this tree drunk all the time. It’s so thick with branches, it’ll be like climbing up a ladder. Once I give you a push, I’m gonna go inside, say hi to Pop, and I’ll be upstairs to help you in no time.”

“I’ll be climbing this alone?” I gulped back a lump of fear. Another one plopped in its place.

“I can’t follow you because of my knee. But I promise, you can do it. If I didn’t think you’d make it up there, I wouldn’t have suggested it.” Hutch slid a finger across my deepest forehead stress wrinkle, then kissed it calm.

“Did you ever play on the monkey bars?”

“All the time.”

“I never did. I tried, but I couldn’t pull myself across a single bar. Because these guns are two pieces of wet spaghetti.” I flailed my rubbery arms for emphasis.

“You make me laugh, Famous Amos.” He cracked a cheshire cat-esque smile, which made my pants tighten. It was good to know that despite all my raging anxiety about climbing a tree, I was still horny for sex. Something to look forward to if I made it out of this alive.

Hutch cupped my face, getting serious for a moment. His electric eyes swallowed me whole. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Because he loved me. He never stopped loving me.

“I meant what I said in the car. I love you, Amos. I asked for a second chance, and I’m not going to waste it by making you go splat on the ground.”

“Splat? Who said splat?”

“Figure of speech. My bedroom isn’t that high off the ground. If you fall, at most, you might break a leg.”

That was a pretty big might. If he wanted to calm me down, he was doing a subpar job. “The only time I want to break a leg is in a musical.”

“That won’t happen. Trust me. Once you make it into that window, I’ll make it worth your while.” Hutch leaned in and whispered all the things we’d do once we got to his bedroom. Then he capped it off by sliding a tongue in there, turning me to jelly for a moment.

He clapped my shoulder and gave me a thumbs up as he stepped back. It was showtime.

I looked up at the window. Pure ecstasy waited for me in that window. Time to Romeo and Juliet the fuck out of this.

Hutch hoisted me up, and I grabbed onto the first branch. Then the next. Then the next. His path seemed to be working. The branches were sturdy under my feet, and before I knew it, I was solidly above the ground.

“Good work!” Hutch whisper-yelled up to me. “I’m gonna go inside.”

I went to give him a thumbs up and almost lost my balance. That was enough looking down for me.

Soreness shot into my biceps and quads as I gathered strength I didn’t know I had to pull myself up. The branches became denser the higher up I got, making it easier to climb them like a ladder. The things people did for sex.

And love.

In my near-death adventure, I realized that I was doing this for love, too. Maybe that was why my heartache never fully went away. Because deep inside me, I never stopped carrying a torch for him.

I made it up to the thick branch that ran perpendicular to his window. Phase two of this operation. I hung tight and hugged the tree until he appeared.

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