Page 30 of The Challenger

“Oh, Miss Flynn,” he says, catching his breath as he rearranges himself. “I am so sorry. Denial is how I make sure you come along for the ride.”

“But, but…” I sputter. “You already bought me the plane ticket.” He told me this on the drive home.

“You can still be a no-show.”

I bring both hands to my mouth, unsure if I'm trying to stop a smile or a sob. “I thought you were useless at self-control?”

“Gotta commit to change at some point, right?”

He winks, knowing there is no comeback. He’s got me by the proverbial balls. A supernova of shitty timing.

“I admire your resolve.”

He leans forward to find my eyes with a bratty smile. “You don’t look like you’re admiring it.”

“Remember the other night when you asked if I’d murdered anyone?” I say.

He breaks into a fit of fresh laughter, and I could never cause bodily harm to anyone whose laugh buzzes through me like a great, numbing scotch. Damn him for grinning like the Cheshire Cat and being so absolute in his game plan.

“Why do I sense everything will be a challenge with you?” I ask.

He shrugs and says, “You’ve got no one but yourself to blame. You made me chase you. Can’t complain now that I’m controlling the point.”

“Maybe I’ll need to ask Carmen for some advice. In person.”

“Uh-uh,” he says, shutting down the play. “I’m keeping her far away from you. The only person more determined than me is my sister.”

A softness shines through in him that did not exist before, and I chalk it up to meeting his family and getting at least their partial approval. I still might strangle him in the near future for the stunt he pulled, and I am about to lay down that warning when my entire front yard lights up like Broadway. My scream echoes off his fine Italian leather, and Chavez jerks in his seat as if a bullet ripped through him. The shock of industrial-grade lighting smashing on from the army of security lights on the front of my house thrums through me like 220 volts. I clutch onto the sides of my seat, hyperventilating. When a raccoon family waddles across the lawn, I’m so stupidly relieved tears sting my eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asks. “It looks like you’re about to puke.”

“I’m fine,” I say, finding my breath. It feels like my chest is about to explode. “I … that scared me.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Chavez radiates supernatural awareness, and I try to squash down the vulnerability I know he’s picking up on. The fact is, we're both rattled by the incident, if the heavy silence is any indication.

He eyes me a moment longer, and then, “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.” His voice is firm, like why are we back to square one on this issue? “This is what it’s like when you’re with me. I look after you, all right?”

Something in me lightens. When did that happen, that I am with Chavez? Do I have Carmen to thank for scoping out my boobs? Nothing like being outmaneuvered to fire someone up. But beyond the wine and the clatter of anxiety thrumming through my veins is the reality that Chavez is no run-of-the-mill placeholder I am forever hooking up with. And he’s played me, like he’s played his parents, and knows exactly what it will take to make this scenario work to his advantage.

Now I have to put some thought into my own play.

Australia, here we come.

* * *

“One suitcase?”Vandana flips up her sunglasses in shock. “How is that even possible?”

Even on a scratchy FaceTime video, she’s flawless in a gold lamé bikini, lounging on a deck chair with the soaring cliffs of Capri behind her yacht. She’s joined June and me in a virtual confab to discuss my Australia adventure—our tradition of shopping until we drop on Boxing Day reduced to one Rimowa roller bag that can’t possibly fit any more of my doubts into it. Chavez, the clever fox, was right about the no-show potential.

Buyer’s remorse is alive and well this morning.

“I’ve only committed to the first tournament,” I remind her. She’s waiting for Morgan to jet in from Monaco and not entirely paying attention after half a bottle of Pinot Grigio. “And Australia isn’t the Congo. If I need to top up, I’ll hit a mall.”

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