Page 23 of The Challenger

“Slow down, Miss Flynn. It's all good."

He stands and wraps me in a gentle embrace. The touch of his hands eases the tightly wound sensation humming inside me, and I hug him back, a bit desperately, burrowing my head in the dark comfort of his shoulder. Neither of us seems to know what to say.

Chavez strokes my tangled curls and whispers, “You all right?”

“Yeah,” I say. Because how do you tell a person that a fog in your soul you never thought would lift clears with nothing more than their touch?

He pulls back and studies me in the late afternoon light. “What are you doing the day after tomorrow?”

I freeze, as old emotions wash over me. “It’s Christmas Day. Aren’t you spending it with your family?”

“Christmas Eve is my family’s deal. Why don’t you … I mean, if you’re free, some, uh, friends of mine are having brunch on the twenty-fifth. Be great if you came along.”

Christmas? With him? Something flips inside me. “You sure I won’t be intruding?”

“I leave soon,” he says, a solemn quality to his voice. “I want to see you again if you’re cool with that.”

He hugs me again, and there is something unspoken, an undercurrent running between us that is impossible to ignore. Our time together isn’t finished and where it goes from here is anybody’s guess, but for now, I’ll take the two of us locked together in the safety of each other’s arms with the warm glow of knowing someone wants me.

* * *

I affectionally callJune's Malibu home office the Sanitarium. Some designer hoodwinked her into paying a hundred grand so he could splash white paint around and indulge his glass and chrome fetish, but the real madness lies in how much time she spends here. She’s been at work since six this morning, and reminding June they have internet in Canada and that she doesn't have to work right up until her flight leaves, is futile because Putin will move to small-town America before she’d ever call it quits at a reasonable hour. Not much can tear her attention away from her latest deal, some tech thing I don’t fully understand, but the retelling of my afternoon tryst captures her full attention.

“The pool cabana?” June whoops with laughter. “Bloody fucking hell, girl. That is some of your best work.”

“He said afterward that it was the hottest thing ever.”

“I bet he did.” June smiles. We’ve been friends long enough for her to pick up on the vibe. “This lad has potential, by the sounds of it.”

“What do you think of the brunch invite?”

Her eyebrows raise in an,are you serious,look. “Making time for you on Christmas Day this early in the game? That is a man crushing hard.”

“A man who leaves for Australia on Tuesday,” I add.

“He won’t be there forever.”

I’m lying on her white-leather sofa in my second therapy session of the day. With the static in my mind dulled from the pills I squeezed out of Dr. Bradford this afternoon, I can focus on tactics. Or lack thereof.

“Don’t tell her I said this, but Vandana might be right,” I say. “Dating a guy who is never around is a dead end. Look what happened with her and Derek.”

“Their marriage was already on the rocks,” she reminds me. “We need to approach this thinking from a fresh perspective.” June leans back in her chair with the ever-present Bic pen in her mouth, mind as sharp as the lapels on her Phillip Plein blazer. “You planned on taking some time off. Why not travel there with him?"

"I can't just invite myself along,” I say, astonished at her suggestion. “Australia is not a vacation for him. He’s getting his career back up and running. I also don’t want to bethatgirl," I add. “Hanging around, waiting to spend time with a guy.”

“Flynn,” June says—and for someone who insists she would be a train wreck as a mother, her approximation of one is note-perfect. “You don’t hang aroundanyone.Look, I know it’s your life, and I’m no great shakes since dumping my ex, but Vandana and I are concerned. You talk about men, and you shag a fair lot of them, but you don’t have relationships. Maybe it’s time to try a new approach.” She crosses her stilettos on the smoked-glass desktop with a scheming smile. “Here’s the deal. After your Santa Clause shag, throw the question out there. Hey, I was thinking…” She pulls off a decent rendition of my SoCal accent before switching back to her posh Brit drawl. “You know the best time to ask a man for anything is after an orgasm. It’s a guaranteed yes.”

I look at her sideways. “Tell me that is not how you raise money.”

June makes apffftsound. “I’m not swallowing anything, including my pride, for money. Ever.”

The money talk suddenly triggers my earlier conversation with Chavez. “Oh, hey, speaking of cash. Are you still looking for some? Chavez mentioned this guy he invested with forLeostarta. Turned a million into forty, which, as you know is, like, insane.”

June shoots me a wary glance. “He’s not talking about Dallas Evener, is he?”

“Yes. You know him?”

“There’s only one Dallas, and he is the last person I will ever talk to.”

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