Page 15 of The Challenger

Something in his face changes for the worse, and I feel blackness in my heart witnessing it. That word is a sword plunged deep into his soul. He takes a menacing step closer to her and a huddle of smokers nearby swivel their heads our way. Everybody loves a front-row seat to a juicy meltdown.

“Always the mouthy one, huh?” he spits out. “Pushing your luck.”

Before fists start to fly, I reach for his arm. The valet has rolled up with his Ferrari and it is time to skedaddle.

“Let’s go,” I urge. “The car’s here.”

It’s as if he’s forgotten I’m here, and my touch jolts him back to reality. “You don’t call the shots, all right?” His aggression startles me, and then he yanks me off the sidewalk and tries to stuff me into the car. "Get in,” he says, pushing against my resistance.

“Thank you and thank you, but I can get in without your help.” I rip my arm out of his grip so violently that a few feathers from my dress death-spiral to the ground. “Or I might walk home.”

We are now the focus of everyone milling outside and the wide-eyed valet has clearly decided not to get involved with a domestic. Chavez needs serious schooling in manners, and I would love nothing more than to teach him a lesson and hightail it out of here. But my Louboutins are not built for trekking. Chavez is one wrong word away from losing it, and he is probably the kind of loose cannon to track me all the way home.

Fuck! Now there’s that, too.

Why did I let him pick me up?

Tears of humiliation threaten to fall, but I will not crumble in front of Sofia. I drop like lead into the car seat, slamming the door so hard that the aftershock rattles up my elbow to the small bones in my neck. Chavez crushes his door too, and we squeal away in a very illegal U-turn with horns blaring at us while the smug mug of Sofia in my side mirror eventually gets smaller and smaller until the night swallows her whole.

ChapterSix

CHAVEZ

With the rageslowly flowing out of me, I’m no longer seeing death stars and I can deal. Not so sure about Flynn. She’s sitting there all rigid with a pissed-off set to her jaw and every fricking right to be mad. Que pendejo!What was I thinking? Smythe says I’m a textbook example of unresolved childhood anger, but I know I can’t keep being angry my whole life.

“Hey.”

“Hey what?” she asks.

“I know that wasn’t cool.”

“I think I hear a sorry in there, but maybe I’m mistaken.”

“Listen—”

“No, you listen,” she interrupts. “Don’tevertalk to me like that again.”

Ay Yi Yi. I’m deep in the penalty box and the only Hail Mary within my pathetic reach is if the Chavez shit show gets his act together. Last-minute Christmas shoppers are clogging up the streets like a cardiac arrest and I weave past a Corolla slug to pull over after the next light.

She immediately asks, “Why are you stopping?”

“Can I explain?"

“No. I need you to take me home. Now.”

Finally, she looks at me. Her pupils are greener than center court at Wimbledon, but I can tell they are still seeing red. The clock is ticking on my ability to turn this around. Now is the time to pick my words wisely. And get them out, fast.

“I can say sorry a hundred times, but it boils down to the same thing: I fucked up. I took you to a restaurant owned by the family of my ex. She wasn’t supposed to be there. You think I’d put you in that situation on purpose? On a first date?”

She digests this, holding my gaze in case I crack, like my voice just did.

“For your future dates,” she says stiffly. “I suggest someplace else.”

Future datesdo not sound like they involve her, and I feel a pinch in my heart. Hostile Chavez is a dismal shell of who I know I can be. This is the time to dig deep for strength and resilience, but I’m suddenly overcome with all the things I need to change and don’t know how.

“I know. I know,” I say. “It’s just…” I lean on the steering wheel, out of steam and excuses. “It’s complicated. My family knows her family. We go way back. We support each other. That’s how it goes with familia, right?” I’m praying she’ll understand this mess and the muscles around her mouth twitch like I’ve struck a chord. Then I remember she told me her parents had passed and I’m like, fuck. I can’t catch a break to save my life. “Look, I’m useless at managing my self-control. What can I do to make it up to you?”

She studies me for three long seconds. “Is that why you’re in therapy?”

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