Page 2 of The Challenger

“You’re one to talk, Sporty Spice,” I flip back. “Not leaving much to the imagination, are you?”

He shoots me a saucy wink. “I got you imagining. That’s the first step.”

Jesus. How is it even possible to have a mouth made for sin on such a baby face? My mind races back and forth because he looks so familiar. And his name rings a bell. Something about him in general rings all my bells. Curiosity gets the better of me.

“What’s step two?” I ask.

The office phone jingles to life, and Chavez steers us away from Madison’s chatter to corner me by the fish tank. He raises one arm, boxing me in further by laying his palm against the wall beside my head. Heat radiates off him like a five-alarm fire.

“You tell me,” he says, his breath sweet and dangerously close to mingling with mine.

A flush creeps onto my cheeks. He is young and yummy and flaunting way too much skin for eleven in the morning. And if it’s possible to smell like male dominance, well, he’s got that covered too. Sweet fuckery, where was he last night? My dating app run and gun with Dwayne from Denver imploded into the usual disaster. Nothing sexier than a guy lapping my lady business like a panicky toddler with a melting ice cream cone while I count spiderwebs on his ceiling. I had to fake an orgasm to end that misery, and he passed out believing it was all due to his Herculean efforts.

“Ms. Dryden.” Madison’s voice jolts us out of our intimate cocoon. Chavez cuts her an irritated look over his shoulder and steps back, taking his body heat with him. “You’re in luck,” she says. “I just had a cancellation for tomorrow at four.”

“Oh, uhm … sure,” I reply. “Tomorrow works.”

“Flynn Dryden.” Chavez says my name as if he’s testing out a new language. “My last name also starts with D. If we got married, you’d still be Flynn D. How do you feel about that?”

In my attempt to suppress a laugh, I end up spraying it instead. “How often does that line work for you?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, I’m sorry to be the one to crush your odds.”

My pushback only seems to amuse him. “Muy tierna y fogosa,” he says, working the Spanish accent with a smile. “I like.”

Whatever is going on here, I like it too. It’s a good feeling, this rarity of being admired by a younger man not clutching one of my books. Our little flirtathon is the first bit of fun I’ve had in a long while. But like everything good in my life, it’s cut short. One of the office doors in the hallway opens and a weeping, expensively tended woman clutching a hairless dog shuffles out.

“Excuse me,” she sniffs, sliding past us to make a dramatic exit in her sequined tracksuit.

Following in her footsteps is a burly man of the Scottish Highlands variety, with horn-rimmed glasses and a braided beard held together with a festive red hair tie. He looks surprised to see us.

“Hey, Smythe.” Chavez greets the man with a two-fingered salute off his forehead.

Smythe glances at his watch. “You’re early.”

“If you’re late, that’s not showing respect.”

Funny that I’ve been coming here for a year and have never set eyes on the Ethan Smythe of Bradford and Smythe Psychiatry until now. Compared to the dashing and impeccably dressed Dr. Bradford, Ethan and his flannel shirt looks better suited to carve statues with a chainsaw than probe my mind.

“Your punctuality is appreciated,” Ethan says. “I need to use the little boy’s room. Make yourself comfortable in my office.” He turns to me with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but no girlfriends allowed.”

I arch a brow. As if I don’t have anything better to do with my time than hold my boyfriend’s hand during his therapy session.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I point out.

Chavez glances over and disarms me with another wink. “Not yet.”

Ethan’s head is on a swivel, unsure what to make of us. “I’ll be back in five. I hope that’s enough time to sort yourselves out.”

After he leaves, Chavez takes a step closer, erasing the distance between us. My body hums with a strange energy.

“Looks like our time is up, Miss Flynn. I left my phone in the car but how about I do my thing and you leave your number with her?”

He tilts his head at Madison who, to give credit where credit is due, can certainly act like she’s busy. Chavez must think this is a slam dunk, judging from his confident smile.

Not so fast.

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