Page 52 of Fool Me

He steps closer, twisting and fanning out the end of my braid. “You would never.”

I roll my eyes because he’s right.

I take the belay device from him and clip it to his harness, giving it tug for good measure. His brow furrows as he threads the rope through the carabiner and locks it off.

“Look okay?” Atlas asks.

“Looks great,” I tell him. “You know all the calls?”

“Yeah. That part I’ve got.”

We go over the calls together as a refresher, like I would with any climbing partner. He joins me as I survey the route, my fingers brushing over the rope. I give Atlas a quick nod. “All set.”

His eyes flick over my harness one more time, though I can tell he’s still running our earlier situation through his mind by his smirk. “You’re good to go.”

I shake out my arms, looking up at the rock face in front of me. The holds are mostly vertical, a few slopers sprinkled in. Nothing too difficult, and nothing I haven’t done before, but my mind needs to be sharp. With one hand on the wall, I give him a grin. “On belay?”

He steps forward, locking eyes with me, a soft confidence in his voice. “Belay on.”

“Climbing,” I call out, stepping onto the first hold.

“Climb on,” he responds immediately.

I calculate each move, moving quickly until I get to the loose bolt. Using a small ledge as a resting point, I grab the wrench. The bolt just needs tightening—an easy fix—but I still tell Atlas, “Maybe avoid this one,” before moving on. I’ll feel better if we replace it, so I make a mental note to talk to Travis about it.

My muscles flex as I push upward, the grip of my shoes finding purchase on the rock. I feel the familiar burn in my calves, my focus sharpening with every inch I gain. The rope runs smoothly, and I hear the slight click of the belay device as Atlas adjusts the slack, keeping me safe.

“Looks good,” he calls from below.

I glance down, catching the way the sunlight hits his face, casting shadows that make him look rugged—handsome.Focus, Harlowe.I force myself back into the climb. My hands are already sweaty from the effort, and I dip into the bag for some chalk.

“Almost to the next ledge,” I call, giving him a quick glance down below.

“Take your time,” Atlas says, his voice soothing but still filled with the underlying tension of watching me climb. His eyes never leave me, but I can’t quite place what he’s thinking.

I reach the ledge and steady myself, pulling myself up to stand on it before I relax for a second and enjoy the view—both of them. “Made it. I’ll be ready to rappel down once you get me set.”

“Got it.” He adjusts the slack as I take a quick breather, letting the rush of the climb sink in.

Once I’m back on the ground, Atlas wraps me in a one-armed hug. “That was unbelievable. You make it look so easy.”

“You seem like the type that’s good at everything, so I’m sure your climb will be equally impressive.”

He grins, tugging at the rope and checking his harness one more time. I watch him move into position, his muscles flexing as he plants his feet and pulls up. Not much distracts me when I’m out in the field, but Atlas’s glistening muscles are a beacon for my attention. The rope tightens, and I adjust to the rhythm of belaying him, keeping my eyes on the rock face, ready for whatever he needs.

His first few footholds are a little wobbly. A stone face is different from the gym holds he’s used to, but his grip on the rock is sure and his movements are deliberate. I’m impressed. Even after years away, he’s still got it.

“Not bad for a city boy,” I call to him with a teasing smile.

“Just getting warmed up,” Atlas replies, his voice carrying down to me. His words are confident, but there’s an edge of concentration in his tone as he climbs higher.

Just as Atlas reaches the next ledge, I see something flicker out of the corner of my eye as his foot dislodges a small rock.

It bounces off the face, and before I can brace myself, it catches me on the forehead.

I stumble back a little, the sudden sting of the impact taking me off guard. Instinctively, I tighten my grip on the ropes. Using my forearm I wipe my face—there’s blood. Everything tilts as the warm liquid trickles down my forehead, blurring my vision.

“Shit!” I mutter, stepping backward to steady myself, half-aware of Atlas’s voice calling down.

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