5 | Beta Spray
She didn’t ask for his help. She definitely wasn't ready for what it did to her.
This is what happens the next time they see each other.
She’s focused. He interrupts. It should be nothing.
It isn’t.
Previously:
Mira noticed him.
But turns out he’d noticed her first.
This time, unwanted climbing advice somehow made things worse.
Read from the beginning:
→ 1 | Not What I Came Here For
→ 4 | My Cupcake Nightmare Savior
A scene from ‘Chapter 5: Mira’ in THE CASE FOR FALLING
My footwork is trash. My toe keeps slipping off a crucial hold. I’ve got the hands dialed, but I can’t figure out how to tuck my knees and shift my weight to get enough leverage for the next move.
After a few failed starts, I decide to work the middle section where I keep falling. I grab the holds above me, swing my feet up to the ceiling nubs. They feel slick as ice. Zero traction.
I try different angles. Subtle shifts. Small experiments. Still not getting it. The next hold is just too far away—I’m not sure how to get the leverage I need to make the massive move stick. I drop down, irritation bubbling in my belly. I consider calling it, blaming my failure on being too short to unlock the problem—but hop back on anyway. One last, no-holds-barred go.
Just as my feet meet the nemesis nubs, a throat clears at the mouth of the cave, up and to my right. Seriously? Can’t he see I’m focused? Read the headphones, dude.
I mentally shove him away, hoping he’ll take the hint.
He doesn’t. He takes a careful step closer.
“Try getting your left foot higher—to that hold by your knee,” he says. “Then shift your whole body toward it before going for the next move.”
Ugh. Beta spray. But… annoyingly… it sounds right.
I follow the instructions, fingers burning from the rough holds. With my foot higher, leverage finally appears out of nowhere. I push up, latch the next hold, and suddenly the rest of the sequence feels obvious. Intuitive.
Even with my muscles on fire, I keep going. I hit the final hold and joy blooms in my chest. Smiling, I climb down a few moves, then drop to the mat. I stand, brushing chalk from my hands and trying not to flinch at the way my skin burns from the contact.
He’s still there.
I turn to look at him for the first time. Loose brown curls, slightly ruffled. Crinkly eyes lit with excitement. A wide, proud smile—like he’s the one who just sent the route.
My smile drops straight into my stomach. My mind blanks, then scrambles back online.
It’s him. The guy I wish I didn’t want to see again.
I shove the swirl of emotions back into order and let my lips curve again—smaller this time. Shyer. I’m suddenly very aware of myself. A little affronted. Unsure what to do.
Does he remember me? Do I acknowledge it? Would not acknowledging it be weirder?
I play it safe. “Thanks for the beta,” I say, grabbing my water bottle from the bench beside him. As I pass, I notice the long, hard lines of muscle along his arms. He’s lanky but somehow filling the entire landing. It feels like the space around us has narrowed, everything else falling away. Like he’s humming at a low frequency my body can hear even if my brain can’t.
I lift the bottle, take a sip, and glance back over my shoulder.
He’s rocking on his heels; hands tucked into his pockets. His gaze drops—water bottle, lips—and then my chest. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Did he really just check me out while I’m looking at him?
When his eyes meet mine again, there’s a wicked glint in his hazel stare. His mouth tilts up. “Careful with that.”
I should look away.
I don’t.
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I write romance for women who are building full, ambitious lives, and still find themselves caught off guard by things (and people) they didn’t plan for.