Page 105 of Biggest Player
“Do you actually think he’s going to make it to the top without falling?” Wyatt asks.
“I give him about ten minutes before he slips,” Margot replies with a laugh. “He’s not built for this.”
“Yeah, heispretty big,” Wyatt agrees.
“Hey!” I shout down to them, trying to sound indignant. “I can hear you.”
“Focus on climbing!” Margot shouts back. “Stop looking down at me.”
“I’m not looking at you—I’m looking down your shirt.”
She glances down at her shirt; it provides full coverage. Ha! Made her look!
“Could you not say things like that?” She laughs. “Tiny ears are listening.”
“Whoops.”
I resist the urge to make another smart-ass remark, and I keep moving.
The higher I go, the better the view gets.
Through the massive windows flanking the entire warehouse, I catch sight of the sun beginning to set. It casts a warm glow over everything. It’s actually quite beautiful from this vantage point, and for a moment, I forget about the teasing and the banter with Margot and Wyatt and focus on the bell at the top of the wall.
So close.
Closer . . .
Finally, I reach the top. Ring the bell. Haul myself over the edge. Stand with my hands on my hips, gazing down at them triumphantly.
“Made it! Beat that, you two!”
Margot squints up at me, shielding her eyes from the fluorescent lights. “All right, show-off, your turn to watch. And no commentary, we’re trying to concentrate.”
I grin as she starts her climb. “No promises!”
“Here we come!” Wyatt gives me a thumbs-up. “Let’s see if Mom can do it without complaining the whole way up.”
Margot turns to her daughter, looking incredulous at her audacity.
“Oh, she’ll complain,” I call down to them, popping a squat and settling in to watch. “That’s half the fun.”
Chapter 23
Margot
“I still can’t decide if that was fun for me or not.”
I’m huffing and puffing when my feet touch the ground again, harness firmly planted up my backside—a.k.a. butt—squeezing and squishing all my bits.
All my nerves are short-circuiting from the sensation.
“Mom, you should see your face.” Wyatt laughs, high-fiving Dex in the most aggravating way. The pair have done a special handshake no fewer than a dozen times.
“I don’t want to see my face,” I tell my child. Honestly, I don’t need to see my face to know how red it is. I can feel it burning, not just from exhaustion but from the embarrassment. The last thing I would choose for a date is to have my pants up my ass crack, yet here we are.
“You did great.” Dex, for his part, puts one hand around my waist and pulls me in, planting a loud, chaste kiss on top of my head. “And you look adorable.”
“I don’t feel adorable,” I mumble, trying to discreetly adjust the harness and pull fabric out of my rear. Dex laughs, the sound deep and warm, and I can’t help but smile despite myself.
