“Pretty awesome. Skiing in Taos and Angel Fire, obviously, but skiing has never been my favorite. Santa Fe National Forest is right outside the city and has great camping and hiking, and Valles Caldera has some of the best fly-fishing in the state. After my first camping trip with my dad as a kid I was hooked. It got even worse after my first climb in Pecos River Canyon. I was thirteen and had more confidence than sense, but I had a patient guide and somehow made it to the top. The second I looked down and saw what I’d scaled with my bare hands and a pair of rubber shoes, I never looked back. It was inevitable I’d end up somewhere like Colorado.”
“I get that. I jumped at the chance for a job opportunity up here. Arkansas has some hidden gems, but I wanted more.”
Chris clipped on his helmet and looked at Tyler. “So what’s your standard level of difficulty? Would give us a good idea of where to start. This area is pretty versatile and has a little of everything.”
“I stick to blues, mostly. The occasional green or single black depending on who I’m with and how I’m feeling.”
Chris nodded. “Let’s start with a blue and see how it goes. There’s a nice three-mile out-and-back we can do, but at the top it branches out into a black if we want to go that way.”
“Sounds great,” Tyler said.
Graham hopped up and rolled forward, clipping in as he headed for the trail Chris had referenced. “Let’s do it.”
They set off between the trees, and with each pump of his legs, Graham focused on the challenge before him and left everything else behind.
“Who needs another round?”
The club was crowded and the music ridiculously loud, drowning out Graham’s question. He leaned across the table and reached out with both hands, nudging Reagan and Claire, who had their heads together, deep in conversation. When they looked up at him, he held up his empty glass and raised an eyebrow.
Claire nodded and Reagan shook her head. Graham shouldered his way to the bar to wait, wondering why Claire had chosen this place. It felt more like a meat market than the casual hipster bars they usually went to. He hadn’t seen one guy who seemed anywhere near Claire’s age, or worth her time.
And the women sending him seductive gazes had to have been at least ten years younger than him, if not more. To each their own, but he didn’t usually go for women that far from his age group. He’d done his share of dating when he was in his early twenties, and at best it could be described as a complete shit show.
He could tell a thirty-five-year-old woman he wasn’t in the market for a commitment, and she’d usually take him at his word. The last time he’d tried that with a twenty-five-year-old she’d cried when he’d said he had no intention of attending her family Christmas as her boyfriend.
Seeing how （1） he’d never broached the subject of precollege life with any woman and （2） the only one he’d （accidentally） introduced to his parents had left him the next day, serious events like holidays with his or anyone else’s family were firmly off the table.
With drinks in hand he returned to the high-top near the dance floor and found it empty. Setting the glasses down, he looked around and found Claire and Reagan on the dance floor. The DJ was playing a Post Malone remix and they were laughing and having fun. Graham took a long pull from his beer and smiled.
Someone tapped Reagan on the shoulder and she turned, her face lighting up. She threw her arms around a woman Graham didn’t recognize, and immediately went for a second woman a few feet away. Claire didn’t seem to know Reagan’s friends, so she kept her distance and kept dancing among the crowd, unbothered to be by herself.
Just as the thought of joining her crossed Graham’s mind, a clean-cut man in a polo and chinos approached her. He leaned down to speak into her ear, and though Graham couldn’t quite see her face, he figured everything was fine when Claire nodded.
Graham’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he dug it out, finding a message from one of his coworkers asking him to switch a shift. It took him few minutes to check his calendar and reply, and when he looked up, out of habit he searched the crowd to locate Reagan and Claire.
Reagan was still talking animatedly with her friends and Claire was still dancing with Khaki Pants. But as they moved with the music and her body rotated a little, she swiveled her head around to catch Graham’s eye. Her left eyebrow went up and in seconds Graham was moving, his beer forgotten on the table.
Years ago they’d arranged the signal—a raised eyebrow for her, a tip of the chin for him—that meant save me.