“How long have you climbed?” he asks while shoving his bare feet into his climbing shoes. I return a blink. That’s all he’s getting from me—a slow, lifeless blink. “I’ve climbed since I was fourteen,” he says. Here you go, buddy … another no-shit-given blink. “Thanks for asking.” His kissable— Gah! NOT kissable. His dry, cracked, pus and blood-oozing lips curl into a psycho’s smirk. Much better, Anna. Stay focused. “I didn’t ask.” I shrug.
