Page 2 of Broken on the Mountain
"I was not climbing anything," I say defensively, snatching my thong and clutching it behind my back. "I was... carefully navigating my way up here. Which I now realize was a terrible decision."
His laugh is warm and genuine, the kind that makes my chest flutter in ways that have nothing to do with my hangover.
"Sweetheart, you practically scaled that fire escape like Spider-Man in heels. Pretty sure you broke some kind of record."
The memory comes flooding back—me, three sheets to the wind, standing outside this building after our disastrous meeting at Timber Tavern, looking up at his apartment window and thinking,I can totally climb that.
"Oh God," I groan, covering my face with my free hand. "I actually climbed a fire escape. In a dress. And heels."
"Best part of my night," he says, sitting up fully now, completely unbothered by his nudity. "Well, second best part."
The way he's looking at me makes my pulse race and my carefully constructed defenses crumble. It's almost like I'm something fascinating instead of a hot mess in borrowed clothes.
This is exactly the kind of man my parents would have an aneurysm over.
Working class, unpolished, the type who gets excited about rescue equipment and probably thinks thread count is a math problem.
He's also seems like the most genuine person I've met in years.
"Coffee?" he asks, like I didn't just get caught trying to sneak out of his apartment.
"Um, sure?"
Chase slips out of bed and pads to the kitchen area completely naked, and I meancompletelynaked, like he's auditioning for a Scandinavian wellness commercial.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to wrestle myself back into my designer dress while maintaining some semblance of dignity.
"Would you please put some clothes on?" I hiss, yanking my dress over my head and immediately regretting the violent head movement.
"You weren't complaining last night," he calls over his shoulder, opening cabinets and reaching for coffee grounds. "Pretty sure you told me if I was a real helicopter rescuer, I should demonstrate my... what was it? Oh yeah, my 'rotor skills.'"
Oh God. I actually said that. Out loud. While wine-drunk and apparently channeling someone with an actual personality.
"I did not say that."
His smile grows bigger. "You did. Should I show you again?"
"I did not say rotor skills! And no, you should not!"
He ignores me and proceeds to helicopter his hips in a way that makes me simultaneously want to die of embarrassment and also maybe climb him like that fire escape again.
"CHASE! Stop helicoptering your... your..." I gesture frantically at his general nakedness.
"My what?" He grins, completely unashamed, still moving in that ridiculous circular motion that makes his…thing…swirl round and round.
"Your EQUIPMENT!"
He laughs so hard he nearly drops the coffee pot. "Equipment? Sweetheart, last night you called it—"
"I was drunk!" I shriek, my face burning. "I don't remember what drunk Piper said, but sober Piper is having a complete breakdown! STOP SWINGING YOUR DICK LIKE THAT!"
His laughter fills the apartment, but finally stops the helicopter demonstration and focuses on making coffee. "I don't know why you're getting all up tight about my junk. You've seen everything there is to see. Multiple times, if memory serves."
The coffee maker gurgles to life, and the smell of liquid tar fills the air. This man makes coffee like he's preparing for a nuclear winter.
"I'm up tight because this isn't me," I say, finally managing to zip my dress. "I don't do this kind of thing. I don't climbfire escapes or sleep with men I've known for twelve hours or—" I gesture wildly at his still-naked form, "—have awkward breakfast conversations with naked mountain men."
"Mountain man?" He grins, pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs. "Last night you called me a 'delicious specimen of American masculinity.'"
