Page 8

I’M A PROFESSIONAL

LUKE

Siting at the island, Stella sips her coffee, studying me. It’s like she’s assessing if I’m still worth the conversation.

I notice the look in her eyes, and while I’m not really into one-night stands either, I’ve had a few and women linger, making morning-after excuses to stay. But Stella? It seems like she’s already half out the door.

Leaning back against my counter, I cross my arms.

"You know, for someone who doesn’t do relationships, you’re suspiciously good at morning-after small talk."

Her eyebrow lifts. “I’m a professional.”

“At small talk?” I snort. I was joking. She’s horrible at small talk.

“At leaving before things get complicated,” she says with no real trace of a smile.

I laugh, though, shaking my head. “You say that like I’m about to start carving our initials into a tree somewhere."

She lets out a breath, clearly amused now, but there’s something under the surface—a flicker of something I can’t put my finger on.

She gives me a playful eye roll before getting to her feet.

I watch Stella move around my apartment.

Finding her shoes, she slips them on with ease.

She picks up her purse, unzips it, and checks her phone.

Unaware of me study of her, she bites her lip as she orders an Uber.

Her phone dings, and she gives a little grin and an eye roll at whatever she reads on the screen.

She doesn’t reply, but shoves her phone into her back pocket.

She slings her purse over her shoulder like this is just another Friday morning. I shouldn’t be surprised; she warned me, after all.

“So, no number?” I joke.

She lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head.

“Nope.”

Tilting my head as she walks back to the island to take another sip of her coffee, I don’t press.

“Alright. Well, if you ever want to look me up…” I start.

“I won’t.” She grins. She means it as a joke, but I can tell she means it nonetheless.

I lazily gesture to myself and add, “You can find me at Squeaky Bum.”

She nods as she walks to the door. She lingers for a second. Just a second, then pulls the door open and tosses back, “See you around, Luke.”

I follow her to the door and give her my most swoonworthy grin—my confidence knows no bounds. “I have a feeling you will.”

She chuckles as the door closes behind her, and just like that, she’s gone.

Exhaling through my nose, I roll my shoulders.

Well, that’s the end of that.

I walk through my apartment and back to my room; the space still smells like her. My sheets are a mess. We had some great fucking sex last night—which led to some great fucking sex well into the morning.

I shake my head as I yank my sheets and comforter up for a quick fix. As I walk into my bathroom for a cold shower, I tell myself to get over it.

Right.

The rhythmic scuff of climbing shoes against the walls, the sharp click of carabiners locking into place, and the occasional grunted encouragement from a belayer fill the air of Squeaky Bum Climb.

Chalk dust lingers in the air, settling into the grooves of the padded floors, mixing with the familiar scent of effort and ambition.

I lean against the front desk, taking it all in.

This place isn’t just a gym—it’s energy, movement, a community built one climb at a time.

Every person here—from the seasoned pros scaling overhangs like gravity’s a myth to the nervous first-timers hovering at the base of a route—is here for the same thing…

to push past what they thought they couldn’t do.

And watching it happen, knowing I built this place to make it possible? Yeah. That never gets old.

Crossing my arms, I watch a group of beginners get their harnesses adjusted. They could use some help, and normally I’d head over there, but Manny, my newest hire, can handle it.

I also can’t focus worth a damn today.

I should be locked in.

This is my turf. When I’m here, I’m here —and it’s all about the climb. It’s about how I can bring the climb to more people. How I can make the climb even better for those who have already found passion in it.

But fuck me, I can’t keep my head on straight today.

It’s been ten days since my night with Stella. Since she walked out of my apartment. I haven’t seen or heard from her since. Not that I expected to. I knew what I was getting into with her. One night, no strings, no numbers exchanged. She made that clear as day.

But that doesn’t explain why I’ve half expected to see her walk through the front doors every day this week.

Like I keep telling myself, she’s probably long gone by now. Some other city, some other life. I was just a passing moment for her.

Shaking it off, I force myself back to work. I have bigger things to focus on.

I turn, heading toward the back offices, when I fall into step with Maddie, my marketing specialist.

“I was wondering if you remember our meeting? It’s in, like, two minutes,” she says.

“Yeah, I didn’t forget,” I tell her. But again, where’s my head?

Squinting up at me, she says, “You’re weird today.”

“Weird how?” I ask, looking out at the floor.

“ Distracted weird. Like maybe you had a very good or very bad night and now it’s throwing you off your game," she says flatly.

Smirking, I shake my head. “I don’t get thrown off.”

Deadpan, she replies, “Sure. And I don’t drink iced coffee like its oxygen.”

I chuckle at that as she veers off her own office.

“Be there in a minute; start without me, if you must,” she calls over her shoulder.

Stepping into my office, I hear the ding of an incoming call on my computer.

I walk over to my desk and hit the accept button, and after a few seconds, Uncle Ray takes up the screen.

Wearing his usual Squeaky Bum hoodie, his knowing, sharp eyes look down at something, and I’m hit with a feeling of warmth and love.

This man may not be my father, but he’s played the roll for nearly two decades now.

When my dad, Ray’s brother, died in a car accident when I was seven, Ray stepped in without hesitation.

He taught me how to climb, how to run a business, and how to deal with people.

He also taught me about being a man, how to treat a lady, helped me through my first breakup, and gave me my first box of condoms—which was an awkward-as-fuck conversation.

In every way it counts, this man has been a father to me.

Noticing I’m now on the call, Ray looks up, grinning. “Tell me my golden boy isn’t burning down my brand in Indy.”

I smirk. “Not yet, but the week is still young.”

He laughs as Maddie slides into the chair across from me, setting down a giant iced coffee with Fix Memberships scribbled in Sharpie on the lid.

I raise an eyebrow as I read it.

She smiles. “I took the liberty of naming today’s theme.”

Ray lets out a bark of laughter.

“Hi, Ray. I’m here. You just can’t see me,” she says.

Maddie is in her early twenties, a recent grad, and one hell of a marketing specialist. Since marketing isn’t my forte, I knew hiring someone was essential if I wanted this location to succeed.

Maddie was the only candidate that I interviewed who had climbing experience and walked in to the interview with full three-month, six-month, and twelve-month marketing plans.

I hired her on the spot and haven’t regretted it since.

“That’s the kind of initiative I like to see,” he replies.

Maddie grins as she adjusts her oversized sweater. She’s always two steps ahead when it comes to strategy. I need to be careful how much access Ray has to her, he may try to steal her away and relocate her to Chicago.

Leaning back in my chair, I glance at her.

“Hit me. How bad are we talking?”

Maddie pulls out a graph and hands it to Luke.

“Ray, this graph is in your inbox. We’re steady but not exciting. Lauch momentum is cooling, and sign-ups have plateaued. People are interested, but they’re not committing.”

Frowning down at the chart, I rub a hand over my jaw. This isn’t unexpected, but not ideal either.

Ray steeples his fingers. “Not bad, but not great. What’s the plan?”

Maddie’s eyes brighten as she leans forward. “We need to hammer down on local outreach. More visibility, more community events, more media features. We have a solid reputation, but Indy doesn’t know us like Chicago does. We need a story.”

Nodding slowly, I agree. It makes sense. Maddie is all grins, though.

“Lucky for us, we just landed one. Hoosier Insider picked us up for their Urban Activities feature.”

That’s big. Hoosier Insider isn’t just some local rag. It’s a widely read digital and print publication.

Ray whistles impressively.

I ask, “How’d we swing that?”

The woman shrugs, sipping her coffee.

“I may have bombarded their editor with a relentless email campaign, but details.”

Chuckling, Ray shakes his head. "She’s got the Farley hustle. I like her."

I smile, but stay focused. “When’s the interview?”

“Next week. They’re sending a writer and a photographer.”

Nodding, it sinks in that is a great opportunity. The kind of thing that could give us the boost we need. But yet, my mind flickers, uninvited, to Stella.

She’s a photographer. But there’s no way…

I shake my head. Not happening. Get over it, man.

The meeting wraps up thirty minutes later. I’m feeling better about our marketing; Ray confided that he’s had these struggles too, so there’s no need to worry.

The article should do us wonders. It will put us on the map, and that’s exactly what we need. There are only a handful of indoor climbing gyms here in the circle city, but not all of them are created equal.

This will be the first time I’ve ever been interviewed. Maybe Maddie can find out what they might ask so I can prepare. My mind jumps to the photographer.

Leaning back in my chair, I exhale slowly. Phone in my hand, I study it. I could look her up. But then…there’s nothing to look up.

No number.

No last name.

No trace of her.

That’s exactly how she wanted it.

My fingers hover over the screen. But again, I have nothing to type.

Instead, I push back from my desk, tossing my phone on top as I stand. After I stretch, I decide to get back to work.

"You need to sell Indy on why they need this place."

I replay Ray’s words in my mind. That’s where my head needs to be. Not on the woman who disappeared like a ghost. I grab my own climbing gear from my office, shaking off all thoughts of her.

Back to work.