40

Scar

I lean back on the bench across from the climbing wall. The gym's quiet on a Friday afternoon. Rita claps her chalky hands together before getting into position and beginning her line up toward the top, her harness on, the safety rope connected to the overhead anchor with an auto belay device.

God, she's gorgeous. Her back is lean and toned, her muscular ass, legs, and arms working as she pulls her way up a difficult wall.

I can't help but stare at her and feel a sense of pride as she gets higher and higher.

She's really good—there's no denying it—and really fucking hot. I smile to myself, glad I decided to take a mid afternoon break to watch her get some time in at the gym.

She wanted me out there climbing too—but fuck that. This is her thing. I'll sit right here, sip my coffee, and enjoy her.

My phone rings. I glance down, worried it'll be Ford—I haven't spoken to him yet and I'm dreading it—but instead, it's Janine, the recruiter. "Hello," I answer. "How are you?"

"Hey, Scar,"