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Apparently this place is run entirely by incompetent asshats with sticks up whichever orifice they defecate from. After talking to three different staff members in garish lime-green polo shirts and another supervisor, it’s become apparent I’m stuck sharing a tiny, remote bungalow with Javier fucking Zamora.

“So?” Javier looks up at me from where he’s sitting on the front steps as I approach.

I shake my head, slowing to a stop a few feet in front of him. I wish I had changed into shorts—I’m sweating in my packing boxers and baggy jeans.

“I will take the couch,” he offers.

I’m almost disappointed he doesn't put up a fight. I want to shout at him, to tell him exactly what I think of his hot face and his hot dad-bod and hairy arms. I can’t believe he has the audacity to be hot and fucking decent. Asshole.

“Fine.”

He’s staring at me, and I know the look well. It was a look he’d get sometimes when he stood behind my mother, watching us in a calculating way that felt both impersonal and discerning at the same time.

Brushing past him, I go into the cabin I shouldn’t have to share. I grab a tall can of ViperVenom I picked up in the airport and crack it open, taking a long sip.

“What is your plan?”

I glance over at Javier, who now stands in the doorway. His shirt has ridden up his front, exposing the soft underside of his belly, and I feel a throb of something. With the countertop between us, I reach my free hand down and adjust my packer, the press of it against my dick almost painfully arousing.

He’d said something. Right. My “plan.”

I take another drink. “Don’t worry about it.”

He raises a single thick brow, obviously unamused. “What is the degree of difficulty rating of your routine?” He steps inside, closing the door behind him. Even with the windows open and the slightly cooler breeze moving through the small space, something shifts in the air. “You have not told me who your partner is, either.”

I lean one hip against the counter. “I don’t have one.”

The first look of genuine surprise crosses Javier’s face. “Explain.”

“When I appealed to the IASA to compete, I submitted a request to perform a solo.”

He moves closer. “There are no solos at the Clash of Creatures, Aleks. There is no way they agreed.”

“They haven’t yet,” I say. “I have a strong appeal, citing rule 4b from Section—”

“Section H in the IASA bylaws, yes, I am familiar.” He scratches his beard, eyes narrowing like he’s thinking hard. “And you have tried to find a partner?”

“Yes, I’ve tried,” I snap. “They’ve granted exemptions before, like in 1954 when—”

“When the selkie Hermia Solomaya went into labor right before her performance and they pulled her partner because she was threatening to kill him? That was the last time they allowed for a solo at the Clash. Your situation is not the same, Aleks.”

“They haven’t said no yet.” The longer this conversation goes on, the more annoyed I feel. I want Javier to leave this alone, to stop bringing up the holes in my plan. I need this to work. I need this win. I force my shoulders back, trying to feign a confidence I don’t feel right now. “The letter I got from them said they’ll give me an official verdict when the committee is assembled at the games. I’ll probably hear from them tomorrow.”

Javier rubs a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to conceal his reaction to what I’ve said. “You are smart, Aleks. You only have a week before the qualifying round. You cannot seriously think—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together. “Okay. So then what is your plan when they say no to a solo?”

“If,” I correct. There is none, a part of me screams, but I don’t let the thought sink in. Stubborn determination has gotten me this far. I can’t stop believing in myself now. Not when I’m so fucking close. “They won’t say no.”

Javier snorts, shaking his head.

Anger flares in my chest, hot and sharp in my lungs. “What?” I snap.

Across the room, Javier lets out an audible breath. “Nothing. You obviously—what did you say? You’ve got this.”

I need to get out of here. There isn’t enough room to breathe, and Javier’s presence feels like it takes up the whole room. Everything about him—his steady gaze, his refusal to look away from me, the barely-there hint of whatever cologne he wears and sweat lingering in the air—is too much.

It only takes me a moment to grab my backpack from the corner and sling it over my shoulder. I can feel Javier’s eyes on me, but I don’t look at him.

The cabin door slams behind me, and it’s too quiet.