Resolution: Rock Out (A Resolution Pact Short Story)

  Resolution: Rock Out

  A Resolution Pact Short Story

  Alexis Adaire

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Epilogue

  Other Resolution Pact Books

  Also by Alexis Adaire

  The Book Hangover Lounge

  About the Author

  1

  “Remember, ladies: Do it.

  Whatever it is you want to do.

  Wherever you have wanted to go.

  Whatever you want to try, to taste, to feel, to live...

  Do it! This is our year.”

  For the third time, I read the message on the Mi Alpha Alpha Alumni forum.

  “What are you sighing about?”

  My roommate, Darcy, looks over my shoulder at the screen and reads it.

  “Who’s that from?” she asks.

  “Stacy Barren, the current president of the MAA sorority,” I explain. “I’ve been chatting with my old sorority sisters about what personal goals we’ve each accomplished this year. There were mostly complaints about being too busy to accomplish anything outside of work, so Stacy must have decided we needed a pep talk.”

  Darcy laughs. “Tell them you invented the Mochalicious Maple-Cinnamon Latte.” When I give her a frown, she attempts to walk it back. “Sorry. Just trying to cheer you up.”

  Two and a half years have passed since I graduated from Oak Ridge University with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. Since then, I’ve had two jobs: barista at Grounds Zero coffee shop and volunteer instructor at the local YMCA, teaching a painting class to seniors. Probably neither of these were what Mom and Dad envisioned when they paid for four years of tuition.

  “I think you just need to relax,” Darcy says. “You’d feel a hundred percent better if you got laid. You haven’t had a man in forever. My mission tonight is: Make Sure Amber Gets Fucked.”

  Great. As if Stacy’s message hadn’t already given me enough to obsess about right before a New Year’s Eve party, now I have to worry about Darcy steering men my way all night.

  Darcy’s right about one thing, though: I do need a man. Badly.

  I just want to make sure I find the right one.

  Later, I check my look in the mirror. My medium length black hair has just the right amount of body, and my special smoky eye shadow accentuates my dark brown eyes. The short silver dress I’m wearing fits my body perfectly and makes my average shape look pretty hot. It also makes my boobs look bigger, which is always a plus.

  Time to see what man I can snare in my little trap.

  Unfortunately, the guy Darcy sends my way a few hours later is anything but Mr. Right. He’s a weightlifter type with a beefy chest and huge biceps. Dumb as a bucket of mud, but he apparently thinks I’m salivating at the chance to go home with him.

  “You’ve got some cool tats,” Mud Bucket says.

  “They’re not tats, they’re tattoos,” I respond dryly.

  “Do you have any hidden ones I can discover later tonight?”

  Seriously, that’s the best pickup line he’s got?

  “Not unless you can find my spleen,” I reply with perfectly pitched snark.

  Mud Bucket laughs, but I’m almost certain he didn’t get the joke. He sticks to me like glue for a good part of the night, and if there are any men interested in me, they likely think unavailable because I’m dating a rather large idiot.

  I successfully avoid Mud, or Mr. Bucket, for a while, then spot him looking around just before midnight. I don’t want to be anywhere close to this guy when the new year arrives, so I duck out and am waiting curbside for my Uber when I hear everyone inside counting down.

  Wonderful. According to tradition, I’ll spend the entire year waiting for Ubers.

  The ride home is appropriately sad. My life could not suck any worse. Or so I think, until the driver speaks up.

  “No date tonight? Pretty girl like you?”

  Jesus, won’t anyone won’t cut me some slack?

  The next morning, I sit on the couch with my cup of tea and stare at a text from Darcy saying she went home with someone and would be back later. She closes with, “Hope you liked Randy!” and a little heart.

  At least the shitty time I had at the party helped me to realize that I need to take Stacy’s message seriously. She’s absolutely right: This is the time to do something, anything, to change my life.

  There’s only one problem: I can’t think of anything. At all.

  I stopped making New Year’s resolutions a few years ago because I never ever followed through on them, so I want to avoid traps like “Go to the gym four times every week” or “Finally learn to speak French.” I furiously send texts to the Mi Alpha Alpha sisters who were on the forum last night and who also read Stacy’s message. Maybe I can find inspiration in what some of them are planning.

  The replies come in quickly. Jules says she’s going to try skydiving. Chloe wants to take guitar lessons. Harper is going to take a photography course. Milly is going to spend an entire month in London.

  So far, nothing really moves me, but the next few responses get interesting.

  Marin plans to be bold and daring and Audrina wants to be a bad girl. I wish I were that brave; I’ve always dreamed of being a bad girl. I like to think I have a dirty side, but it’s buried pretty deep and it would take the right man to draw it to the surface.

  Another text comes in. Sloan has resolved to tell her boss and her best friend that she’s in love with both of them. Talk about bad girl! I can’t help but wonder where that will lead, and if it will lead to the scenario that my dirty mind is picturing.

  Okay, enough!

  I now know one thing: I need to do something that’s way out of my comfort zone, a thing I would never have imagined myself ever doing. And it needs to be something I can take action on immediately to increase the odds that I’ll actually follow through.

  I take a sip of tea and focus. Maybe foreign travel? No, that’s too easy and not really an accomplishment. I’ve always wanted to go to Thailand, but I won’t go without a man. It just seems like the kind of magical, beautiful place that would be romantic, and I don’t want to experience it alone.

  I wonder about adventure travel. That’s something that would challenge me. Scuba diving or something like that. I Google “adventure travel” and look at the images. The first pic shows a group of people summiting a snow-and-ice covered mountain. Nope, forget that. I don’t mind the cold for skiing, where by evening I’ll be in a hot tub with a cocktail, but spending several days and nights in sub-zero temperatures is not for me.

  The next image is of someone base jumping. I’m definitely not that adventurous. The third picture gets my attention. It’s a woman with an amazingly fit body, hanging by her fingertips from the underside of a giant rock ledge. Her thighs look as hard as the rock itself, and her flat belly and tight upper arms have me instantly jealous.

  Bingo! I’ve found my resolution, one that will expand my horizons, stretch my limits, and get me into shape.

  I hereby resolve to learn rock climbing!

  Imagining it a step further, I text my resolution to the girls:

  I resolve to learn to rock climb and before the end of the year, successfully climb a moderately challenging site.

  Then I send a separate text to Audrina.

  You are my hero! I resolve to do at least one bad-girl thing and tell you about it.

  2

  I pull into the parking lot of Rock Out, a local rock-climbing school I found online. Until yesterday, I didn’t even know this place existed. Now it’s January 2 and I’m ready to begin training to make my New Year’s resolution happen.

  Entering the building, I hear yelling and laughing. There are giant fake rock walls on two sides of the building, with several people climbing up the shorter one. A couple dozen people are gathered beneath it, apparently waiting their turn.

  And not a one of them looks older than eight.

  I look around for the adult area, but these seem to be the only rock-climbing surfaces. I can’t even find a single adult anywhere. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  Then I see a guy sprinting towards me. He looks about my age, hot as all fuck with a face that is so handsome, it needs to be painted by a master for future women to look at in a museum. I could swear my pulse stops completely for a second.

  “Who are you here for?” he asks.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The kids. Which one is yours?”

  Duh. Now I get it.

  “Oh, nobody. None of them, I mean.”

  “Good,” he says, smiling. What does he mean by that? His brow wrinkles. “Then... um… why are you here?”

  “I signed up on the website for the beginner course.”

  “Okay, I get it.” He smiles again and my heart wobbles. I really like that smile. “I’m Mason, Rock Out’s owner and instructor. And I think you made a mistake. Today is the children’s beginner class. The adult beginner class is tomorrow.”

  I check my phone and immediately see that he’s right. “Well, shit. How embarrassing. I was so excited about starting that I overlooked that. I feel stupid.”

  Mason laughs. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He turns to rejoin the kids, but then comes back. “Hey, if you’re that exci
ted about learning, can you stay until this class is over? It’s only half an hour long, because the little ones lose interest quickly. Stick around and I’ll give you a private lesson. One-on-one.”

  His silvery-gray eyes are utterly mesmerizing.

  “That wouldn’t be a problem?”

  “Not at all. My pleasure.” His jawline is perfect, and those lips were made to be kissed.

  I snap out of it long enough to respond. “Sure.” Of course I want a private lesson with this man. I may be willing to learn anything he wants to teach me.

  “Great. Make yourself comfortable... um… I didn’t get your name.”

  “Amber.”

  “Amber,” he repeats. My plain name sounds exotic and sexy coming out of his mouth.

  I take a seat and try to get a feel for the place. Both of the big artificial rock walls are dotted with blob-shaped “rock” outcroppings in a variety of sizes, shapes and colors. My confidence grows as I watch some of the kids scamper up the wall as easily as if they were climbing a tree in the backyard.

  My attention keeps returning to Mason, though. He’s funny and patient with the kids, yet occasionally just stern enough to get his point across. Something tells me he’ll make a great dad one day, if he’s not already one. He’s also incredibly fit, with a tight, lithe body and sinewy muscles. I’ve always hated muscle guys like Mud Bucket, but DAMN, Mason is an attractive man. Especially in those cute climbing pants he’s wearing.

  I spot a tribal tattoo on his bare calf and glance a little higher to see if he’s got others. Instead I find myself fixating on his ass as he demonstrates a maneuver.

  Sorry, but I’m a woman and he’s a ludicrously hot guy. I can’t help but wonder what he looks like without those climbing clothes.

  Then he turns and looks at me, offering a smile. Oops. Busted. I quickly move my eyes to his close-cropped dark hair and beard stubble.

  But I’m finding it impossible to take my eyes off him.

  “Okay, Amber, take off those sweats and let’s see what you’ve got.”

  I’m momentarily stunned. “What?”

  “Gotta start somewhere,” Mason says. “Let’s see how far you can climb without any help at all.”

  Oh. I tried to hide my blush, but it’s too late.

  “I’m sorry. You thought I meant…?” Now I could swear he’s blushing a little. “You do have shorts on underneath the sweats, right?”

  I nod, suddenly wishing I’d worn something sexier than a souvenir T-shirt from the Little Black Dress nightclub in Las Vegas. Comfort and function were my priorities because I had no idea the instructor would be fucking gorgeous. I shrug out of my hoodie, and when he turns toward the wall, I hurriedly reach into my T-shirt and bra to rearrange my tits so they look their best.

  We walk to the wall and Mason says, “This is the beginner’s wall. It’s only twenty feet. Just go as high as you’re comfortable. If you fall, the crash mat is here to cushion your landing.”

  I have reservations about both the wall and the crash mat, but this is my resolution and I’m determined to see it through. Even more so now that I’ve met my instructor.

  “First step: Take off your shoes and socks. You’ve got to be able to feel the foot holds. It’s okay to use your bare feet this time, but you really should get some climbing shoes.”

  I put my first hand on a pink outcropping on the wall, then my other hand, then a foot. Suddenly I’m off the ground and making my way upwards. I find some of the outcroppings are easier for my hands, and others work better for my feet. The pink ones are the biggest and seem to be easier to reach.

  As I continue upwards, I realize Mason is below me with a perfect view of my ass. Awesome.

  Before I know it, I’ve made it to the top. I look down and see him smiling up at me.

  “That’s great. Now come back down. Slowly.”

  Going down is harder that climbing up. I continue to use mostly the pink outcroppings because they seem to be right where I need them.

  I reach the bottom and hop down to the mat, proud of myself.

  “That wasn’t too hard,” I say enthusiastically.

  “Don’t get cocky,” Mason chuckles. “The holds are color-coded, and the pinks are the easiest. We start the kids on those. But it was a solid first effort.”

  Thanks for noticing, Mountain Man.

  “Okay, that type of climbing is known as bouldering. No ropes or cables, just you and the wall. And the crash mat down below.”

  “I also teach top-roping, where you wear a harness attached to a cable that runs through a rig on the ceiling. I hold the other end of the cable on the ground. If you fall, I can belay you and get you gently back to the floor.”

  I wonder what it would be like to get belayed by Mason.

  He tells me to try the same climb, but this time using only the green holds. It’s not quite as easy now. I’m in decent shape, but by the time I’m about halfway up I can already see how this is going to reshape me. I reach for a hold that turns out to be further away than I thought, and the next thing I know, I land with a jolt and am looking up as Mason’s extended hand.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.” Is it my imagination, or was he looking down my shirt?

  I keep trying and he keeps having to pick me up off the mat. Each attempt leaves my muscles burning just a little more. “This is starting to get frustrating,” I tell Mason after the fourth or fifth fall.

  “You’re doing great, Amber. Keep in mind that it’ll help immensely if you get some climbing shoes before the next lesson. There’s info on the website about what to look for.”

  By the end of the session, I’m wet with sweat, and the muscles in my arms, shoulders, and fingers are all pissed off at me.

  But I feel fucking great.

  “Pretty impressive for your first time climbing,” Mason says. When I smirk, he adds, “I’m not just saying that. I love students who really go for it and aren’t afraid to try scary things.”

  “So, what’s next?” I ask.

  “You can join a class, or you can continue to take private lessons.”

  “Which would get me good faster?”

  Mason smiles again. His teeth are straight and white. Is there any part of this guy that isn’t perfect? “I’d love to teach you myself, one-on-one. I’ll have you climbing like a squirrel in no time.”

  “Private lessons it is, then.”

  As I gather my things, I take one last glimpse of his tight body, trying not to be obvious about it. I already know I’m going to enjoy these lessons.

  And I also know I’m going to bust out my trusty Hitachi wand tonight and think of Mason while I’m using it.

  3

  Three days later, I walk into Rock Out with aching muscles. Who knew rock climbing was this strenuous a workout?

  But I’m also more prepared than the first time. In my hand, I hold my newly purchased climbing shoes. I’ve also got on a snug tank top and long climbing pants.

  I am ready.

  Mason looks happy to see me. “Amber! Ready for round two?”

  I am ready for anything, but I don’t tell him that.

  “I’m here, aren’t I? Aching muscles and all.”

  “You’re probably as achy as you’re ever going to be, so don’t worry about it. It gets easier every time.”

  I put my hair in a ponytail, then he leads me through a few agonizing stretches that succeed in loosening me up. I also get to sneak a peek at his hard thigh muscles again. Hell, I just want to grab them and feel that strength.

  “We’re going to stick to bouldering again today,” Mason says. “Next time we’ll get you into the harness and let you have a shot at the big wall. But let’s learn a little technique first.”

  For the next half hour, we talk about the different kinds of hand holds and foot holds, and how to approach them. I learn about jugs, mini-jugs, incuts, crimps, slopers, pockets, edges, pinches and volumes—all types of holds. I also learn how to properly and safely grab each of those holds with my hands, and about foot edging, heel hooks and toe hooks.